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from the full hearts of a mighty people, will never cease to be heard. No chasms of sullen silence will interrupt its course; no discordant notes of sectional madness mar the general harmony. Year after year will increase it, by tributes from now unpeopled solitudes. The furthest West shall hear it and rejoice; the Oregon shall swell it with the voice of its waters; the Rocky Mountains shall fling back the glad sound from their snowy crests.

Ex. CXCI. CATILINE'S REPLY.

CONSCRIPT FATHERS!

I do not rise to waste the night in words;
Let that plebeian talk; 'tis not my trade;

But here I stand for right,-let him show proofs,—
For Roman right; though none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there!
Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves!
His charge is false;-I dare him to his proofs.
You have my answer. Let my actions speak!

But this I will avow, that I have scorned,
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong!
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts
The gates of honor on me,-turning out
The Roman from his birthright; and, for what?

CROLY.

[Looking round him

To fling your offices to every slave!
Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb,
And, having wound their loathsome track to the top
Of this huge, moldering monument of Rome,
Hang hissing at the nobler man below!

Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones;

[To the senate.

Fling down your scepters; take the rod and axe,
And make the murder as you make the law!

Banished from Rome! What's banished, but set free
From daily contact of the things I loathe?

Who says this?

"Tried and convicted traitor!"
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head?
Banished! I thank you for 't.

It breaks my chain!

I held some slack allegiance till this hour;
But now my sword's my own.

Smile on, my lords'
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you in your lazy dignities.

But here I stand and scoff you! here, I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!

Your consul's merciful.-For this, all thanks,
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline!

"Traitor!" I go; but, I return. This-trial! Here I devote your senate! I've had wrongs To stir a fever in the blood of age,

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel.

This day 's the birth of sorrow! This hour's work

Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my lords,
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus!-all shames and crimes!
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till anarchy comes down on you like night,
And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.

I go; but not to leap the gulf alone.
I go; but, when I come, 't will be the burst
Of ocean in the earthquake,―rolling back

In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well!

You build my funeral-pile; but your best blood

Shall quench its flame! Back, slaves! [To the lictors.] I will return!

Ex. CXCII.-KING HAROLD'S SPEECH TO HIS ARMY, BEFORE THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS.

SIR E. BULWER LYTTON.

THIS day, O friends and Englishmen, sons of our common land, this day ye fight for liberty. The count of the Nor

mans hath, I know, a mighty army; I disguise not its strength. That army he hath collected together by promising to each man a share in the spoils of England. Already, in his court and his camp, he hath parceled out the lands of this kingdom; and fierce are the robbers that fight for the hope of plunder! But he can not offer to his greatest chief boons nobler than those I offer to my meanest freeman--liberty, and right, and law, on the soil of his fathers!

Ye have heard of the miseries endured, in the old time, under the Dane; but they were slight indeed to those which ye may expect from the Norman. The Dane was kindred to us in language and in law, and who now can tell Saxon from Dane? But yon men would rule ye in a language ye know not; by a law that claims the crown as the right of the sword, and divides the land among the hirelings of an army. We baptized the Dane, and the church tamed his fierce soul into peace; but yon men make the church itself their ally, and march to carnage under the banner profaned to the foulest of human wrongs!

Offscourings of all nations, they come against you: ye fight as brothers under the eyes of your fathers and chosen chiefs; ye fight for the women we would save; ye fight for the children ye would guard from eternal bondage; ye fight for the altars which yon banner now darkens! Foreign priest is a tyrant as ruthless and stern as ye shall find foreign baron and king!

Let no man dream of retreat; every inch of ground thatye yield is the soil of your native land. For me, on this field I peril all. Think that mine eye is upon you, wherever ye are. If a line waver or shrink, ye shall hear in the midst the voice of your king. Hold fast to your ranks. Remember, such among you as fought with me against Hardrada-remember that it was not till the Norsemen lost, by rash sallies, their serried array, that our arms prevailed against them. Be warned by their fatal error, break not the form of the battle; and I tell you, on the faith of a soldier, who never yet hath left field without victory, that ye can not be beaten. While I speak, the winds swell the sails of the Norse ships, bearing home the corpse of Hardrada.

Accomplish, this day, the last triumph of England; add to these hills a new mount of the conquered dead! And when, in far times and strange lands, scald and scop shall praise the brave man for some valiant deed, wrought in some holy cause,

they shall say, "He was brave as those who fought by the side of Harold, and swept from the sward of England the hosts of the haughty Norman."

Ex. CXCIII.-SPEECH OF RINGAN GILHAIZE.*

GALT.

You, Mr. Renwick, counsel moderation;-you recommend the door of peace to be still kept open;-you doubt if the Scriptures warrant us to undertake revenge; and you hope that our forbearance may work to repentance among our enemies. Mr. Renwick, you have hitherto been a preacher, not a sufferer; with you the resistance to Charles Stuart's government has been a thing of doctrine,--of no more than doctrine; with us it has been a consideration of facts. Judge, therefore, between yourself and us,--I say, between yourself and us; for I ask no other judge to decide whether we are or not, by all the laws of God and man, justified in avowing that we mean to do as we are done by.

And, Mr. Renwick, you will call to mind, that in this sore controversy, the cause of debate came not from us. We were peaceable Christians, enjoying the shade of the vine and the fig-tree of the gospel, planted by the care and cherished by the blood of our forefathers, protected by the laws, and gladdened in our protection by the oaths and the covenants which the king had sworn to maintain. The Presbyterian freedom of worship was our property,--we were in possession and enjoyment, no man could call our right to it in question,-the king had vowed, as a condition, before he was allowed to receive the crown, that he would preserve it. Yet, for more than twenty years, there has been a most cruel, fraudulent, and outrageous endeavor instituted, and carried on, to deprive us of that freedom and birthright.

We were asking no new thing from government, we were taking no step to disturb government; we were in peace with all men, when government, with the principles of a robber, and the cruelty of a tyrant, demanded of us to surrender those immunities of conscience which our fathers had earned and defended; to deny the gospel as it is written in the evan

* Addressed to the "moderator" of the last meeting of the persecuted remnant of covenanters, during their discussion of the question of further resistance to the royal government.

gelists, and to accept the commentary of Charles Stuart, a man who has had no respect to the most solemn oaths, and of James Sharp, the apostate of St. Andrews, whose crimes provoked a deed, that, but for their crimson hue, no man could have doubted to call a most foul murder. The king and his crew, Mr. Renwick, are, to the indubitable judgment of all just men, the causers and the aggressors in the existing difference between his subjects and him. In so far, therefore, if blame there be, it lieth not with us, nor in our cause.

But, sir, not content with attempting to wrest from us our inherited freedom of religious worship, Charles Stuart and his abetters have pursued the courageous constancy with which we have defended the same, with more animosity than they ever did any crime. I speak not to you, Mr. Renwick, of your own outcast condition;-perhaps you delight in the perils of martyrdom: I speak not to those around us, who, in their persons, their substance, and their families, have endured the torture, poverty, and irremediable dishonor;—they may be meek and hallowed men, willing to endure. But I call to mind what I am and was myself. I think of my quiet home: -it is all ashes. I remember my brave first-born ;-he was slain at Bothwell-brig. Why need I speak of my honest brother?-the waves of the ocean, commissioned by our persecutors, have triumphed over him in the cold seas of the Orkneys; and as for my wife,--what was she to you? Ye can not be greatly disturbed that she is in her grave. No, ye are quiet, calm, and prudent persons; it would be a most indiscreet thing of you, you who have suffered no wrongs yourselves, to stir on her account: and then how unreasonable I should be, were I to speak of two fair and innocent maidens. It is weak of me to weep, though they were my daughters. O men and Christians, brothers, fathers!-but ye are content to bear with such wrongs; and I alone, of all here, may go to the gates of the cities, and try to discover which of the martyred heads moldering there belongs to a friend or a son. Nor is it of any account whether the bones of those who were so dear to us, be exposed with the remains of malefactors, or laid in the sacred grave. To the dead all places are alike; and to the slave, what signifies who is master?

Let us, therefore, forget the past, let us keep open the door of reconciliation,-smother all the wrongs we have endured, and kiss the proud foot of the trampler. We have our lives, we have been spared; the merciless bloodhoods have not yet reached us. Let us, therefore, be humble and

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