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651. MODERN REPUBLICS. Where are So home the clown, with his good fortune went, the republics of modern times, which cluster'd Smiling, --in heart and soul content, round immortal Italy? Venice, and Genoa And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes. exist, but in name. The Alps, indeed, look down upon the brave and peaceful Swiss, in
Being well lathered, from a dish or tub, their native fastnesses; but the guaranty of
Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub their freedom is in their weakness, and not in Just like a hedger, cutting furze: their strength. The mountains are not easily 'Twas a vile razor!-then the rest he tried ; crossed, and the valleys are not easily retain- All were impostors. “Ah!" Hodge sighed, ed. When the invader comes, he moves like “I wish my eighteen-pence was in my purse." an avalanche, carrying destruction in his path. The peasantry sink before him. The
In vain, to chase his beard, and bring the graces, country is too poor for plunder; and toorough He cut and dug, and whined, and stamp'd, and for valuable conquest. Nature presents her
swore; eternal barriers, on every side, to check the Bro't blood, and danc'd, blasphem'd and made wry wantonness of ambition, and Switzerland re
And curs'd each razor's body,o'er and o'er.[faces, mains, with her simple institutions, a military road to fairer climates, scarcely worth a per
His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff, manent possession.
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff; We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably So kept it-laughing at the steel, and suds. the last experiment of self-government by the Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws, people. We have begun it, under circum- Vowing the direst veng’nce, with clench'd claws, stances of the most auspicious nature. We
On the vile cheat that sold the goods. are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has
“Razors! a vile, confounded dog! never been checked, by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been
Not fit to scrape a hog!" enfeebled by the vices, or luxuries of the old Hodge sought the fellow-found him-and begun, world. Such as we are, we have been from “P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue! to you, 'tis fun, the beginning; simple, hardy, intelligent, ac- That people flay themselves out of their lives. customed to self-government, and self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us, and any for
You rascal! for an hour, have I been grubbing, midable foe. Within our own territory,
Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing, stretching through many degrees of latitude | With razors, just like oyster-knives. and longitude, we have the choice of many Sirrah! I tell you, you 're a knave, products, and many means of independence. To cry up razors that can't shave." The government is mild. The press is free.
"Friend,” quoth the razor man,"I'm not aknave; Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could
As for the razors you have bought -be presented? What means more adequate
Upon my soul, I never thought to accomplish the sublime end? What more That they would shave.” is necessary, than for the people to preserve, “Not think they'd shave?” quoth Hodge, with what they themselves have created ?
wond'ring eyes, Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It has already ascended the An- “What were they made for then, you dog?” he cries.
And voice, not much unlike an Indian yell, des, and snuffed the breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Eu- “Made!” quoth the fellow, with a smile,“ to sell." rope, and warmed the sunny plains of France, 653. UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION. I and the lowlands of Holland. It has touched speak-in the spirit-of the British law, the philosophy of Germany, and the North, which makes liberty -commensurate with, and, moving onward to the South, has opened and inseparable from, the British soil,—which to Greece the lessons of her better days. proclaims, even to the stranger and the so
Can it be, that America, under such cir- journer, the moment he sets his foot upon cumstances, can betray herself? that she is British earth, that the ground on which he to be added to the catalogue of republics, the treads is holy, and consecrated-by the geinscription upon whose ruins is- -“They nius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION. NO were, but they are not.” Forbid it, my coun- matter in what language-his doom may trymen; forbid it, Heaven !--Storý.
have been pronounced; no matter what com
plexion-incompatible with freedom, an In632. RAZOR SELLER.
dian, or an African sun may have burnt upon A fellow, in a market-town,
him; no matter in what disastrous battle--his Most musical, cried razors, up and down, liberty may have been cloven down; no matAnd offered twelve-for eighteen-pence;
ter with what solemnities—he may have been Wh. 11, certainly, seem'd wondrous cheap,
devoted-upon the altar of slavery; the first
moment-he touches the sacred soil of Britain, And, for the money, quite a heap,
the altar, and the god, sink together in the That every man would buy, with cash and sense. dust; his soul walks abroad in her own maA country bumpkin the great offer heard;
jesty; his body swells beyond the measure Poor Hodge, who suffer'd by a broad black beard, of his chains, that burst from around him, That seemed a shoe-brush, stuck beneath his nose. disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of
and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and With cheerfulness, the eighteen-pence he paid, UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION.-Grattan. And, proudly, to himself, in whispers said
When breezes are soft, and skies are fair, *This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.
I steal an hour from study and care, “No matter, if the fellow be a knave,
And hie me away-to the woodland scene,
Where wanders the stream with waters of green; Provided that the razors shave;
As if the bright fringe-of herbs on its brink It certainly will be a monstrous prize."
Had given their stain, to the wave they drink.
654. GINEVRA; OR LOST BRIDE.
Something he could not find--he knew not whal If ever you should come to Modena,
When he was gone, the house remained awhile, Stop at a palace, near the Reggio-gate,
Silent, and tenantless—then, went to strangers. Dwelt in, of old, by one of the Donati.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, Its noble gardens, terrace, above terrace, When, on an idle day, a day of search, And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Mid the old lumber, in the gallery, [said, Will long detain you—but before you go,
That mouldering chest was noticed ; and, 'twas Enter the house-forget it not, I pray you By one as young; as thoughtless as Ginevra, And look awhile upon a picture there
“Why not remove it from its lurking-place ?! Tis of a lady, in her earliest youth,
'Twas done, as soon as said ; but, on the way, The last, of that illustrious family ;
It burst, it fell; and lo! a skeleton ! Done by Zampieri-but by whom I care not. With here and there a pearl, and emerald-stone, He, who observes it-ere he passes on,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. Gazes his fill, and comes, and comes again, All else—had perished--save a wedding-ring, That he may call it up, when far away.
Aud a small seal, her mother's legacy, She sits, inclining forward, as to speak,
Engraven with a name, the name of bothHer lips half open, and her finger up,
" Ginevra." As though she said, " Beware!” her vest of gold, There, then, had she found a grave ! Broidered with flowers, and clasp'd from head to Within that chest, had she concealed herself, An emerald stone, in every golden clasp ; [foot, Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy; And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, A coronet of pearls.
Fastened her down forever !--Rogers.
The gay belles of fashion, may boast of excelling, The overflowing-of an innocent heart
In waltz, or cotillion, at whist or quadrille; It haunts me still, though inany a year has fled,
And seek admiration, by vauntingly tellingLike some wild melody!
Of drawing, and painting, and musical skill; Alone it hangs,
But give me the fair one, in country or city, Over a mouldering heir-loom; its companion,
Whose home, and its duties, are dear to her heart; An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm,
Who cheerfully warbles some rustical ditty, But richly carved, by Antony of Trent,
While plying the needle, with exquisite art; With scripture-stories, from the life of Christ;
The bright little needle, the swift flying needle, A chest, that came from Venice, and had held
The needle--directed by beauty, and art.
If LOVE has a potent, a magical token,
A talisman, ever resistless, and true,
A witchery, certain the heart to subdue, The joy, the pride of an indulgent father;
Tis this, and his armory--never has furnished, And, in her fifteenth year, became a bride,
So keen, and unerring, or polish'd a dart, Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,
(Let beauty direct it,) so pointed, and burnish'd,
And, oh! it is certain of touching the heart, Her playmate, from her birth, and her first love. Just as she looks there, in her bridal dress,
The bright little needle, the swift flying needle,
The needle—directed by beauty, and art. all gentleness, all gayety ; Her pranks, the favorite theme of every tongue.
Be wise, then, ye maidens, nor seek admiration, the day was come, the day, the hour;
By dressing—for conquest, and flirting-with all; Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time,
You never, whate'er be your fortune, or station, The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum;
Appear half so lovely, at roul, or at ball, And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave
As-gaily conven'd at the work-covered table, Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco. Each-cheerfully active, and playing her part, Great was the joy; but, at the nuptial feast, (ing. Beguiling the task, with a song, or a fable, When all sat down, the bride herself-was want- And plying the needle—with exquisite art; Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
The bright little needle,—the long darning needle, 'Tis but to make a trial of our love !"
The swift knitting needle, the needle, directed by And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
BEAUTY and ART.--Woodworth.
To see all others' faults, and feel our own;
Condemn'd in business, or in arts to drudge, Nor, from that hour, could anything be guessed,
Without a second, or without a judge. But, that she was not !
Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land; Weary of his life,
All fear, none aid you, and few-understand. Francesco-flew to Venice, and, embarking,
Even from the body's purity, the mind Flung it away, in battle with the Turk.
Receives a secret sympathetic aid. Donati lived-and long might you have seen
Not rural sight alone, but rural sounds, An old man, wandering—as in quest of something, Exhilarate the spirits.
655. ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. They have , Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken, gone to the companions of their cares, of their In dreams, I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ! foils. It is well with them. The treasures of But alas! in a far distant land I awaken, [more! America are now in Heaven. How long the list of our good, and wise, and brave, assem
And sigh for the friends, who can meet me no bled there! how few remain with us! There O, hard, cruel fate, wilt thou never replace me, is our Washington; and those who followed In a mansion of peace, where no per:!,8:1 chase me! him in their country's confidence, are now Ah! never, again, shall my brother pnubrace me, met together with him, and all that illustrious They died to defend me, or live-to ueplore ! company.
The faithful marble may preserve their But yet, all its fond recollections suppressing, image; the engraven brass may proclaim One dying wish=my lone bosom shall draw: their worth; but the humblest sod of inde- Erin, an exile bequeaths thee his blessing, pendent America, with nothing but the dew- Land of my forefathers, ERIN Go BRAGH! drops of the morning to gild it, is a prouder Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion, mausoleum than kings or conquerors can Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean, boast. The country is their monument. Its independence is their epitaph.
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devoBut not to their country is their praise lim- 0, ERIN MA VORNEEN, Erin Go Bragh!
(tion, ited. The whole earth is the monument of
657. THE HYPOCRITE. illustrious men, Wherever an agonizing
He was a man, people shall perish, in a generous convulsion, for want of a valiant arm and a fearless Who stole the livery of the court of heaven, heart, they will cry, in the last accents of de- To serve the devil in; in virtue's guise, spair, oh, for a Washington, an Adams, a Devoured the widow's house, and orphan's bread; Jefferson! Wherever a regenerated nation, In holy phrase, transacted villanies, starting up in its might, shall burst the links That common sinners-durst not meddle with. of steel that enchain it, the praise of our fathers shall be the prelude of their triumphal At sacred feast, he sat among the saints, song.
And with his guilty hands-ouched holiest things.. The contemporary and successive genera- And none of sin lamented more, or sighed tions of men will disappear. In the long More deeply, or with graver countenance, lapse of ages, the tribes of America, like those Or longer prayer, wept o'er the dying manz. of Greece and Rome, may pass away. The Whose infant children, at the momeni, he fabric of American freedom, like all things Planned how to rob. In sermon-style ho bought; human, however firm and fair, may crumble into dust. But the cause in which these our And sold, and lied; and salutation made, fathers shone is immortal. They did that, to In scripture terms. He prayed, by quantity, which no age, no people of reasoning men, And with his repetitions, long and loud, can be indifferent.
All knees were weary. With one hand, he put Their eulogy will be uttered in other lan- A penny—in the urn of poverty, guages, when those we speak, like us who speak them, shall all be forgotten. And when And with the other-took a shilling out. the great account of humanity shall be closed On charitable lists,—those trumps, which told at the throne of God, in the bright list of his The public ear, who had, in secret, done children, who best adorned and served it, The poor a benefit, and half the alms [ing, shall be found the names of our Adams and They told of, took themselves to keep them sound our Jefferson.--Everett.
He blazed his name, more pleased to have it there, 656. EXILE OF ERIN.
Than in the book of life. Seest thou the man! 'There came to the beach-a poor exile of Erin, A serpent with an angel's voice! a grave, (ceiv'd.
The dew, on his thin robe, hung heavy and chill; With flowers bestrewed! and yet, few were deFor his country he sigh’d, when, at twilight repair- His virtues, being over-done, his face,
To wander alone, by the wind-beaten hill: (ing, Too grave, his prayers too long, his charities, But the day-star-attracted his eyes' sad devotion, | Too pompously attended, and his speech, For it rose-on his own native Isle of the Ocean, Larded too frequently, and out of time, Where once, in the glow of his youthful emotion, with serious phraseology,—were rents, He sung the bold anthem-of Erin Go BRAGII!
That in his garments opened, in spite of him, O, sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger, Thro’ which, the well accustomed eye, could see
The wild deer and wolf, to a covert can flee; The rottenness of his heart. None deeper blush'd, But I-have no refuge-from famine, of danger, As in the all-piercing light he stood, exposed,
A home, and a country-remain not for me; No longer herding-with the holy ones.
Sisters and sires, did ye weep for its fall? (hood, As, ineffectually, he strove to wipe
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all? Detected wretch! of all the reprobate,
658. PARRHASIUS AND CAPTIVE.
He does not feel you now " Parrhasius, a painter of Athens, amongst those Olynthian cap
Stand back! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow!
Gods! if he do not die tives Philip of Macedon brought home to sell, bought one very old man; and when he had him at his house, put him to death with Conception with the scorn of those calm lips !
But for one moment-one-till I eclipse atreme torture and torment, the better, by his example, to express the pains and passions of his Prometheus, whom he was then
Shivering! Hark! he mutters about to paint mm's Anat. of Mel.
Brokeuly now--that was a difficult breath There stood r unsold captive in the mart,
Another? Wilt thou never come, oh, Death! A gray-haired and majestical old man,
Look! how his temples flutter!
Is his heart still ? Aha! lift up his head !
He shudders, gasps, Jove help bim! so, he's dead. And not a sound was heard but of a dog
How like a mounting devil in the heart Crunching beneath the stall a refuse bone, Rules the unreigned ambition! Let it once Or the dull echo from the pavement rung,
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow As the faint captive changed his weary feet. Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought, 'Twas evening, and the half-descended sun And un thrones peace forever. Putting on Tipped with a golden fire the many domes The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns Of Athens, and a yellow atmosphere
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring Lay rich and dusky in the shaded street
Left in the bosom for the spirit's lip, Through which the captive gazed.
We look upon our splendor and forget The golden light into the painter's room
The thirst of which we perish! Streamed richly, and the hidden colors stole
0, if earth be all, and Heaven nothing, From the dark pictures radiantly forth,
What thrice nocked fools we are !-Willis. And in the soft and dewy atmosphere,
NATURAL HISTORY OF LOVE, Like forms and landscapes, magical they lay.
Addressed to Dr. Moyce by the ladies. Parrhasius stood, gazing, forgetrully,
Dear doctor, let it not transpire,
How much your lectures we admire;
How, at your eloquence we wonder, of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh;
When you explain the cause of thunder, And, as the painter's mind teli through the dim, Of lightning, and electricity, Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows forth
With so much plainness, and simplicity; With its far-reaching fancy, and with form And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye,
The origin of rocks, and mountains, Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl Of seas, and rivers, lakes, and fountains; Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip [flight. Of rain, and hail, and frost, and snow, Were like the winged God's, breathing from his
And all the storms, and winds that blow; “Bring me the captive now!
Besides a hundred wonders more,
Of which we never heard before.
But now, dear doctor, not to flatter,
There is a most important matter, Colors of such divinity to-day.
A matter which our thoughts run much on, Ha! bind him on his back!
A matter, which you never touch on,
A sulject, if we right conjecture,
That well deserves a long, long lecture, Press down the poison'd links into his flesh!
Which all the ladies would approve,And tear agape that healing wound afresh!
The natural history of love!
Deny us not, dear doctor Moyace!
Oh, list to our entreating voice!
Tell us why our poor, tender hearts, How fearfully he stifles that short moan!
So easily admit love's darts. Gods! if I could but paint a dying groan!
Teach us the marks--of love's beginning, “ Pity” thee! So I !
What makes us think a beau so winning ; I pity tho dumb victim at the altar-
What makes us think a coxcomb, witty, But does the rob'd priest for his pity falter? I'd rack thee though I knew
A black coat, wise, a red coat-pretty! A thousand lives were perishing in thine
Why we believe such horrid lies, What were ten thousand to a fame like mine?
That we are angels, from the skies, Yet there's a deathless name!
Our teeth like pearl, our cheeks like roses, A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn,
Our eyes like stars-such charming noses ! And like a steadfast planet mount and burnAnd though its crown of flame
Explain our dreams, awake, and sleeping, Consumed my brain to ashes as it shone,
Explain our blushing, laughing, weeping. By all the fiery stars! I'd bind it on!
Teach us, dear doctor, if you can, Ay-though it bid me rifle
To humble that proud creature, man;
To turn the wise ones into fools,
The proud and insolent to tools ;
To make them all run, helter-skelter, And taunt its mother till my brain went wild Their necks-into the marriage-halter: All-I would do it all
Then leave us to ourselves with these; Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot
We'll turn and rule them as we please. Thrust foully into earth to be forgot! O heavens-but I appal
Dear doctor, if you grant our wishes, Your heart, old man! forgive- -ha! on your lives
We promise you-five-hundred kisses ; Let him not faint?-rack him ull he revives!
And, rather than the affair be blundered, Vain-vain—give o'er! His eye
We'll give you—six-score to the hundred.
659. SPEECH OF BELIAL, DISSUADING WAR. Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, I should be much for open war,
peers, Ages-of hopeless end !--this would be worse. As not behind in hate, if what were urged, War, therefore, open and concealed, alike Main reason to persuade immediate war,
My voice dissuades.-Milton. Did not dissuade me more, and seem to cast
POMPEII. How serenely slept the star-light Ominous conjecture on the whole success;
on that lovely city! how breathlessly its pilWhen he, who most excels in tact of arms,
lared streets reposed in their security! how In what he counsels, and in what excels,
softly rippled the dark, green waves beyond!
how cloudless spread aloft and blue the dreamMistrustful, grounds his courage on despair,
ing Campanian skies! Yet this was the last And utter dissolution as the scope
night for the gay Pompeii! the colony of the Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. [filled hoar Chaldean! the fabled city of Hercules! First, what revenge?-The towers of heaven are the delight of the voluptuous Roman! Age With armed watch, that render all access
after age had rolled indestructive, unheeded, Impregnable: oft, on the bordering deep,
over its head; and now the last ray quivered Encamp their legions: or with obscure wing,
on the dial plate of its doom!
660. THE BEGGAR'S PETITION. Scout far and wide, into the realms of night, Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, [door; By force, and at our heels, all hell should rise,
Whose trembling limbs I have borne him to your With blackest insurrection, to confound
Whose days are dwindled | to the shortest span; Heaven's purest light; yet our great enemy,
Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless your store. All incorruptible, would, on his throne,
These tatter'd clothes | my poverty bespeak, Sit, unpolluted; and the etherial mold,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; Incapable of stain, would soon expel
And many a furrow | in my grief-worn cheek, Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
Has been the channel to a flood of tears. Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope Yon house, erected on the rising ground, Is flat despair; we must exasperate
With tempting aspect | drew me from my road; The almighty victor-to spend all his rage, For plenty there | a residence has found, And that must end us; that must be our cure, - And grandeur | a magnificent abode. To be no more.-Sad cure !--for who would lose, Hard is the fate of the infirm, and poor! Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Here, as I crav'd | a morsel of their bread, Those thoughts, that wander through eternity,
A pamper'd menial | drove me from the door, To perish rather, swallowed up, and lost,
To seek a shelter | in an humbler shed, In the wide tomb of uncreated night,
Oh! take me to your hospitable dome; Devoid of sense, and motion ?--And whɔ knows (Let this be good) whether our angry foe
Keen blows the wind, I and piercing is the cold! Can give it, or will ever? How he can,
Short is my passage I to the friendly lomb; Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure.
For I am poor, and miserably old. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,
Should I reveal the sources of my grief, Belike through impotence, or unawares,
If soft humanity | e'er touch'd your breast, To give his enemies their wish, and end
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, Them in his anger, whom his anger saves
And tears of pity I would not be represt. To punish endless ?—“Wherefore cease ye then?" | Heav'n sends misfortunes; why should we repine ? Say they, who counsel war; we are decreed, 'Tis Heav'n has bro't me to the state you see; Reserved, and destined to eternal wo:
And your condition may be soon like mine, Whatever doing,—what can we suffer more, The child of sorrow | and of misery. What can we suffer worse?" Is this then worst, A little farm I was my paternal lot; Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? Then, like the lark, I sprightly hail'd the morn; What, when we fled amain, pursued and struck But ah! oppression | forc'd me from my cot, With heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. The deep to shelter us? this hell, then, seemed
My daughter, once the comfort of my age, A refuge-from those wounds! or, when we lay,
Lurd by a villain | from her native home, Chained on the burning lake? that sure was worse.
Is cast, abandon'd, on the world's wide stage, What if the breath, that kindled those grim fires,
And doom'd | in scanty poverty to roam. Awaked, should blow them into seven-fold rage,
My tender wife, sweet soother of my care! And plunge us in the flames?
Struck with sad anguish | at the stern decree, Should intermitted vengeance-arm again His red right hand to plague us? what if all
Fell, lingʻring fell, a victim to despair;
And left the world / to wretchedness and me. Her stores were opened, and this firmament Of hell-should spout her cataracts of fire,
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, [door; Impending horrors, threatening hideous fall,
Whose trembling limbs I have borne him to your One day upon our heads; while we, perhaps,
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Designing, or exhorting glorious war, .
Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless your store. Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled,
Canst thou administer-to a mind diseased ? Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey
Pluck-from the memory-a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain: Of racking whirlwinds ; or, for ever sunk
And with some sweet-oblivious antidoteUnder yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains;
Cleanse-the stuffed bosom—of that perilous stutt, There to converse_with everlasting groans,
Which weighs- upon the heart?