THE AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIM SELF. In humble dwelling born, retired, remote; And with old bards of honourable name Thus stood his mind, when round him came a Slowly and heavily it came, a cloud Of ills we mention not: enough to say, To find some avenue to light, some place Of loss, he as some atom seem'd, which God Oh! who can tell what days, what nights he spent, It was not so with him. When thus he lay, His praise be ever new!-and on him breathed, That roll'd its numbers down the tide of time: Ambitious now, but little to be praised Of men alone; ambitious most, to be Such things were disappointment and remorse; One place, one only place, there was on earth, Where no man e'er was fool, however mad. "Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die." Ah! 'twas a truth most true; and sung in time, And to the sons of men, by one well known On earth for lofty verse and lofty sense. REPUTATION. Good name was dear to all. Without it, none Whole kingdoms, life, were given for it, and he RUMOUR AND SLANDER. RUMOUR was the messenger Of defamation, and so swift that none Could be the first to tell an evil tale; And was, withal, so infamous for lies, That he who of her sayings, on his creed, The fewest enter'd, was deem'd wisest man. The fool, and many who had credit, too, For wisdom, grossly swallow'd all she said, Unsifted; and although, at every word, They heard her contradict herself, and saw Hourly they were imposed upon and mock'd, Yet still they ran to hear her speak, and stared, And wonder'd much, and stood aghast, and said It could not be; and, while they blush'd for shame At their own faith, and seem'd to doubt, believed, And whom they met, with many sanctions, told. So did experience fail to teach ;-so hard It was to learn this simple truth,-confirm'd At every corner by a thousand proofs,That common fame most impudently lied. 'Twas slander fill'd her mouth with lying words, Slander, the foulest whelp of sin. The man In whom this spirit enter'd was undone. His tongue was set on fire of hell, his heart Was black as death, his legs were faint with haste To propagate the lie his soul had framed, His pillow was the peace of families Destroy'd, the sigh of innocence reproach'd, Broken friendships, and the strife of brotherhoods, Yet did he spare his sleep, and hear the clock Number the midnight watches, on his bed, Devising mischief more; and early rose, And made most hellish meals of good men's names. From door to door you might have seen him speed, Or placed amidst a group of gaping fools, And whispering in their ears with his foul lips. Peace fled the neighbourhood in which he made His haunts; and, like a moral pestilence, Before his breath the healthy shoots and blooms Of social joy and happiness decay'd. Fools only in his company were seen, And those forsaken of God, and to themselves WISDOM. WISDOM is humble, said the voice of God. 'Tis proud, the world replied. Wisdom, said God, Forgives, forbears, and suffers, not for fear Of man, but God. Wisdom revenges, said The world, is quick and deadly of resentment, Thrusts at the very shadow of affront, And hastes, by death, to wipe its honour clean. Wisdom, said God, loves enemies, entreats, Solicits, begs for peace. Wisdom, replied The world, hates enemies, will not ask peace, Conditions spurns, and triumphs in their fall. Wisdom mistrusts itself, and leans on heaven, Said God. It trusts and leans upon itself, The world replied. Wisdom retires, said God, And counts it bravery to bear reproach, And shame, and lowly poverty, upright; And weeps with all who have just cause to weep. Wisdom, replied the world, struts forth to gaze, Treads the broad stage of life with clamorous foot, Attracts all praises, counts it bravery Alone to wield the sword, and rush on death; And never weeps, but for its own disgrace. Wisdom, said God, is highest, when it stoops Lowest before the Holy Throne; throws down Its crown, abased; forgets itself, admires, And breathes adoring praise. There wisdom stoops, Indeed, the world replied, there stoops, because It must, but stoops with dignity; and thinks And meditates the while of inward worth. Thus did Almighty God, and thus the world, Wisdom define: and most the world believed, And boldly call'd the truth of God a lie. Hence, he that to the worldly wisdom shaped His character, became the favourite Of men, was honourable term'd, a man Of spirit, noble, glorious, lofty soul! And as he cross'd the earth in chase of dreams, Received prodigious shouts of warm applause. Hence, who to godly wisdom framed his life, Was counted mean, and spiritless, and vile; And as he walk'd obscurely in the path [tongue, Which led to heaven, fools hiss'd with serpent And pour'd contempt upon his holy head, And pour'd contempt on all who praised his name. But false as this account of wisdom was, The world's I mean, it was his best, the creed Of sober, grave, and philosophic men, With much research and cogitation framed, Of men who with the vulgar scorn'd to sit. T. B. MACAULAY. THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY is the son of ZACHARY MACAULAY, principally distinguished as a philanthropist, and as the coadjutor of CLARKSON in the cause of Anti-slavery. He was educated at CAMBRIDGE, and graduated with the highest honours. While at college he was a contributor to "Knight's Quarterly Magazine," and many of his best ballads were first published in that periodical. He chose the law for his profession. In 1825 his celebrated article on MILTON appeared in the "Edinburgh Review," and excited much attention and panegyric. This was the first of a series of papers which have been continued at intervals to the present day, all displaying strong peculiarities of character, analytical acuteness, a vast range of knowledge, considerable dialectical skill, great independence and affluence of thought, and much splendour, energy, and eloquence of diction. He soon after entered political life, was 'elected to parliament, and became one of the sturdiest, most eloquent, and most efficient of the supporters of the Reform Bill in the House of Commons. His various speeches, from 1831 to 1844, as reported in "Hansard's Parliamentary Debates," are characterized by nearly the same qualities of manner which distinguish his written compositions, though pervaded often by even more directness, intensity, fire, and intellectual hardihood. They are not included in the collection of his miscellaneous writings. On the triumph of his party he was sent on a lucrative commission to India. He was Secretary at War under Lord MELBOURNE's administration, but, of course, shared in the defeat of the Whigs. He is said to be now engaged on an historical work, which will try the whole power and resources of his mind. As a poet, MACAULAY displays the same vehemence and energy, the same rush of style, which have conferred such popularity on his prose. His earliest efforts in the ballad-style are probably his best, though his "Lays of Ancient Rome" are thought to exhibit more true imagination than he has shown in any of his preceding works. The sparkle and glow of his verse always take strong hold upon the sensibility and fancy, and of all writers, he is the last who could be accused of tediousness. The extracts we give will better illustrate his manner than the most laboured analysis. HORATIUS. A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX. LARS PORSENA of Clusium By the Nine Gods he swore That the great house of Tarquin Should suffer wrong no more. By the Nine Gods he swore it, And named a trysting day, East and west, and south and north Who lingers in his home, The horsemen and the footmen From many a stately market-place; From many a lonely hamlet, Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest Of purple Appennine; From lordly Volaterræ, Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants For godlike kings of old; From seagirt Populonia, Whose sentinels descry Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops Fringing the southern sky; From the proud mart of Pisa, Queen of the western waves, Where ride Massilia's triremes Heavy with fair-hair'd slaves; From where sweet Clanis wanders Through corn and vines and flowers; From where Cortona lifts to heaven Her diadem of towers. Tall are the oaks whose acorns Drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Is to the herdsman dear; But now no stroke of woodman Is heard by Auser's rill; No hunter tracks the stag's green path In the Volsinian mere. The harvests of Arretium, This year, old men shall reap; This year, young boys in Umbro Shall plunge the struggling sheep; And in the vats of Luna, This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls, Whose sires have march'd to Rome. There be thirty chosen prophets, The wisest of the land, Who alway by Lars Porsena Both morn and evening stand: Evening and morn the Thirty Have turned the verses o'er, Traced from the right on linen white By mighty seers of yore. And with one voice the Thirty Have their glad answer given: "Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; Go forth, beloved of Heaven; Go, and return in glory To Clusium's royal dome; And hang round Nurscia's altars And now hath every city Sent up her tale of men; The foot are fourscore thousand, The horse are thousands ten. Before the gates of Sutrium Is met the great array, A proud man was Lars Porsena Upon the trysting day. For all the Etruscan armies Were ranged beneath his eye, And many a banish'd Roman, And many a stout ally; And with a mighty following To join the muster came The Tusculan Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name. But by the yellow Tiber Was tumult and affright: From all the spacious champaign To Rome men took their flight. A mile around the city, The throng stopp'd up the ways; A fearful sight it was to see Through two long nights and days. For aged folk on crutches, And women great with child, And mothers sobbing over babes That clung to them and smiled, And sick men borne in litters High on the necks of slaves, And droves of mules and asses That creak'd beneath their weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods, Choked every roaring gate. Now, from the rock Tarpeian, They sat all night and day, To eastward and to westward Have spread the Tuscan bands; Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote, In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia Hath wasted all the plain; Astur hath storm'd Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain. On the low hills to westward The consul fix'd his eye, And nearer fast and nearer Doth the red whirlwind come; Now through the gloom appears, In broken gleams of dark-blue light, And plainly and more plainly, Of twelve fair cities shine; The terror of the Gaul. And plainly and more plainly Now might the burghers know, By port and vest, by horse and crest, There Cilnius of Arretium On his fleet roan was seen; Girt with the brand none else may wield, Fast by the royal standard, Sate in his ivory car. That wrought the deed of shame. But when the face of Sextus From all the town arose. But the consul's brow was sad, And darkly at the foe. Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge, Then out spake brave Horatius, "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers And the temples of his gods, "And for the tender mother Who dandled him to rest, Who feed the eternal flame, Will hold the foe in play. "I will abide on thy left side, And keep the bridge with thee." "Horatius," quoth the consul, "As thou sayest, so let it be." And straight against that great array Forth went the dauntless Three. For Romans in Rome's quarrel Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old. Then none was for a party; Then all were for the state; Then spoils were fairly sold: Now Roman is to Roman In battle we wax cold; Now while the Three were tightening |