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Now all was ready for the foes;
But when they took their stands,
Fear made them tremble so, they found
They both were shaking hands.

Said Mr. C. to Mr. B.,

"Here one of us may fall,
And, like St. Paul's Cathedral now,
Be doomed to have a ball.

"I do confess I did attach
Misconduct to your name!
If I withdraw the charge, will then
Your ramrod do the same ?"

Said Mr. B., "I do agree;—
But think of Honor's courts,-
If we go off without a shot,
There will be strange reports.

"But look! the morning now is bright,
Though cloudy it begun;

Why can't we aim above, as if

We had called out the sun ?"

So up into the harmless air
Their bullets they did send;
And may all other duels have
That upshot in the end.

Ex. XL-OVERTHROW OF BELSHAZZAR.

BELSHAZZAR is king! Belshazzar is lord!

PROCTER.

And a thousand dark nobles all bend at his board ;-
Fruits glisten, flowers blossom, meats steam, and a flood
Of the wine that man loveth, runs redder than blood:
Wild dancers are there, and a riot of mirth,

And the beauty that maddens the passions of earth;
And the crowds all shout,

Till the vast roofs ring,

"All praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar, the king!"

"Bring forth,” cries the monarch, "the vessels of gold,
Which my father tore down from the temples of old:
Bring forth; and we 'll drink, while the trumpets are blown,
To the gods of bright silver, of gold, and of stone:
Bring forth!"—and before him the vessels all shine,
And he bows unto Baal, and he drinks the dark wine;
While the trumpets bray,
And the cymbals ring,-

"Praise, praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar, the king!"

Now, what cometh ?-look, look!-Without menace, or call, Who writes, with the lightning's bright hand, on the wall? What pierceth the king, like the point of a dart?

What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his heart?
"Chaldeans! magicians! the letters expound !"

They are read;—and Belshazzar is dead on the ground!
Hark! the Persian is come,

On a conqueror's wing;

And a Mede 's on the throne of Belshazzar, the king.

Ex. XLI.-DIRGE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL.

SOFTLY, peacefully,

Lay her to rest;
Place the turf lightly

On her young breast;

Gently, solemnly,

Bend o'er the bed

Where ye have pillowed
Thus early her head.

Plant a young willow
Close by her grave;
Let its long branches
Soothingly wave;
Twine a sweet rose-tree

Over the tomb;

Sprinkle fresh buds there ;

Beauty and bloom.

Let a bright fountain,

Limpid and clear,

ANON.

Murmur its music,

(Smile through a tear,)
Scatter its diamonds

Where the loved lies,-
Brilliant and starry,

Like angels' eyes.

Then shall the bright birds

On golden wing,
Lingering over,

Murmuring sing;

Then shall the soft breeze

Pensively sigh,

Bearing rich fragrance
And melody by.

Lay the sod lightly
Över her breast ;-
Calm be her slumbers,
Peaceful her rest!
Beautiful, lovely,

She was but given,
A fair bud to earth,

To blossom in heaven.

Ex. XLII.-THE PILGRIM FATHERS.

THE pilgrim fathers-where are they?
The waves that brought them o'er
Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray,
As they break along the shore;

Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day,
When the May-flower moored below,
When the sea around was black with storms,
And white the shore with snow.

The mists that wrapped the pilgrim's sleep,
Still brood upon the tide;

J. PIERPONT.

And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep,
To stay its waves of pride.

But the snow-white sail, that he gave to the gale,
When the heavens looked dark, is gone;—

As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud,
Is seen and then withdrawn.

The pilgrim exile-sainted name!
The hill, whose icy brow

Rejoiced, when he came, in the morning's flame,
In the morning's flame burns now;

And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night,
On the hill-side and the sea,

Still lies where he laid his houseless head ;-
But the pilgrim-where is he?

The pilgrim fathers are at rest:

When summer 's throned on high,

And the world's warm breast is in verdure drest,
Go, stand on the hill where they lie.

The earliest ray of the golden day

On that hallowed spot is cast;

And the evening sun, as he leaves the world,
Looks kindly on that spot last.

The pilgrim spirit has not fled—
It walks in noon's broad light;

And it watches the bed of the glorious dead,
With the holy stars by night.

It watches the bed of the brave who have bled,

And shall guard this ice-bound shore,

Till the waves of the bay, where the May-flower lay,
Shall foam and freeze no more.

Ex. XLIII-REPUBLICS.

H. S. LEGARE.

THE name of REPUBLIC is inscribed upon the most imperishable monuments of the species; and it is probable that it will continue to be associated, as it has been in all past ages, with whatever is heroic in character, and sublime in genius, and elegant and brilliant in the cultivation of arts and letters. It would not be difficult to prove that the base hirelings who have so industriously inculcated a contrary doctrine have been compelled to falsify history and abuse reason.

*Pronounced, "Legree."

It might be asked, triumphantly, what land has ever been visited with the influences of liberty, that has not flourished like the spring? What people has ever worshiped at her altars, without kindling with a loftier spirit, and putting forth more noble energies? Where has she ever acted, that her deeds have not been heroic? Where has she ever spoken, that her eloquence has not been triumphant and sublime?

With respect to ourselves, would it not be enough to say that we live under a form of government and in a state of society to which the world has never yet exhibited a parallel? Is it, then, nothing to be free? How many nations, in the whole annals of human kind, have proved themselves worthy of being so? Is it nothing that we are republicans? Were all men as enlightened, as brave, as proud, as they ought to be, would they suffer themselves to be insulted with any other title? Is it nothing, that so many independent sovereignties should be held together in such a confederacy as ours? What does history teach us of the difficulty of instituting and maintaining such a polity, and of the glory that, of consequence, ought to be given to those who enjoy its advantages in so much perfection and on so grand a scale? For, can any thing be more striking and sublime than the idea of an imperial republic, spreading over an extent of territory more immense than the empire of the Cæsars in the accumulated conquests of a thousand years-without prefects or proconsuls or publicans-founded in the maxims of common sense-employing within itself no arms but those of reasonand known to its subjects only by the blessings it bestows or perpetuates, yet capable of directing, against a foreign foe, all the energies of a military despotism, a republic, in which men are completely insignificant, and principles and laws exercise, throughout its vast dominion, a peaceful and irresistible sway, blending in one divine harmony such various habits and conflicting opinions, and mingling in our institutions the light of philosophy with all that is dazzling in the associations. of heroic achievement, and extended domination, and deepseated and formidable power!

W. C. BRYANT

Ex. XLIV.-SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

OUR band is few, but true and tried,——
Our leader frank and bold;

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