conscience to be true to itself-it labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant; it finds itself preyed on by a torment which it dares not acknowledge to God A vulture is devouring it, and it asks no sympathy or assistance either from heaven or earth.

or man.

8. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him; and like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him withersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master; it betrays his discretion; it breaks down his courage; it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst fōrth. It must be confessed; it will be confessed; there is no refuge from confession but in suicide, and suicide is confession. DANIEL WEBSTER.

147. THE GREEK EMIGRANT'S SONG.

1.

Now

The wind is blowing off the shore—

I will not live a cowering slave,

In these polluted islands more.
Beyond the wild, dark-heaving sea,
There is a better home for me.

2 The wind is blowing off the shore,
And out to sea the streamers fly.
My music is the dashing roar,
My canopy the stainless sky:
It bends above, so fair a blue,

That heaven seems opening to my view.

'Su'icide, self-murder.-' Cån' o py, covering overhead.

THE GREEK EMIGRANT'S SONG.

3. I will not live a cowering slave,

Though all the charms of life may shine
Around me, and the land, the wave,

And sky, be drawn in tints divine:
Give lowering' skies and rocks to me,
If there my spirit can be free.

4. Sweeter than spicy gales, that blow

From orange-groves with wooing breath,
The winds may from these islands flow;
But 'tis an atmosphere of death:
The lotus which transform'd the brave
And haughty to a willing slave.

5. Softer than Minder's winding stream,
The wave may ripple on this coast,
And, brighter than the morning beam,
In golden swell be round it toss'd-
Give me a rude and stormy shore,
So power can never threat me more.

6. Brighter than all the tales they tell
Of Eastern pomp and pageantry,
Our sunset skies in glory swell,

3

Hung round with glowing tapestry1—
The horrors of a winter storm

Swell brighter o'er a freeman's form.

7. The spring may here with autumn twine,
And both combined may rule the year,
And fresh-blown flowers, and racy wine
In frosted clusters, still be near-
Dearer the wild and snowy hills

Where hale and ruddy Freedom smiles.

4

343

'Low' er ing, dark; gloomy; frowning.- Lo' tus, a class of plants the fruit or seeds of which are eaten.- Pageantry (på' jent ri), something for vain outward display or appearance.- Tåp' es try, a kind of woven hangings for rooms, often enriched with gold and silver, representing figures of men, animals, landscapes, &c.

8. Beyond the wild, dark-heaving sea,
And ocean's stormy vastness o'er,
There is a better home for me;

A welcomer and dearer shore:

There hands, and hearts, and souls are twined,
And free the man, and free the mind.

J. G. PERCIVAL.

148. FROM THE TRAGEDY' OF KING JOHN.

[King John instigates Hubert to assassinate Arthur Plantagenet, nephew of the king, and rightful heir of the crown of England, usurped by John.] K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,

We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh
There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary3 oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherishèd.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,—
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed
To say what good respect I have of thee.

Hubert. I am much bounden to your majesty.

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yět: But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,

Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.

I had a thing to say,-But, let it go:

The sun is in the heaven; and the proud day,

Attended with the pleasures of the world,

4

Is all too wanton, and too full of gauds,

To give me audience :

If the midnight bell

Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night:

4

'Tråg' e dy, a poem prepared for the stage, representing some action having a fatal end; an event in which human lives are lost by human violence.- Wall of flesh, the body.- Vôl' un ta ry, willing.— Wanton (won' tun), sportive; frolicsome.-' Gâuds, showy things to attract attention; ornaments.- Aud' i ence, act of hearing; a hearing.

FROM THE TRAGEDY OF KING JOHN.

If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possessèd with a thousand wrongs;
Or, if that surly spirit, melancholy,'

Had baked thy blood, and made it heavy, thick,—
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle měrriment
(A passion hateful to my purposes);

Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:-
But ah, I will not:-yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.
Hubert. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct3 to my act,
By heaven, I would do it.

K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst ?-
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend,
He is a very serpent in my way;

And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me :-Dost thou understand me?-

345

I could be merry, now :-Hubert, I love thee—

Well. I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember!

1 Melancholy (mel' an kôli), gloom of mind; depression of spirits.Troth, truth; belief.- Ad' junct, joined to, or united with.

149. FROM THE TRAGEDY OF KING JOHN-CONTINUED.

[Interview of Hubert with Arthur, in which Hubert purposes to fulfill the murderous commission described in the preceding exercise, on which he was sent by King Johr.}

Hubert. Heat me these irons hot, and look thou stand Within the arras:' when I strike my foot

Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,

And bind the boy, which you shall find with me,
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

1 Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Hubert. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to❜t.

[Attendants retire,

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

Enter Arthur.

Good-morrow, little prince.

Arthur. Good-morrow, Hubert.

Hubert.

Arthur. As little prince (having so great a title

To be more prince) as may be.-You are sad.
Hubert. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Mercy on me!

Arthur.
Methinks nobody should be sad but I:
Yet I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practices more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him :

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?

No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven

í were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

Hubert. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:

1 Ar' ras, tapestry; hangings of tapestry, made first at Arras, in France.