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The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! rouse, ye slaves !
Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters ? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored; and if ye dare call for justice,

Be answered by the lash! 4.

Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world! Yet we are Romans !
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a king! and once again-
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus! once, again, I swear
The eternal city shall be free!

Death of Alexander Hamilton.


1. A short time since and he who is the occasion of our sorrows was the ornament of his country. He stood on an eminence, and glory covered him. From that eminence he has fallen-suddenly, forever fallen. His intercourse with the living world is now ended; and those who would hereafter find him must seek him in the grave. There, cold and lifeless, is the heart which just now was the seat of friendship. There, dim and sightless, is the eye whose radiant and enlivening orb beamed with intelligence; and there, closed forever, are those lips on whose persuasive accents we have so often and so lately hung with transport.

2. From the darkness which rests upon his tomb there proceeds, methinks, a light in which it is clearly seen that those gaudy objects which men pursue are only phantoms. In this light how dimly shines the splendor of victory-how humble appears the majesty of grandeur! The bubble which seemed to llave so much solidity has burst, and we again see that all below the sun is vanity.

3. True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced; the sad and solemn procession has moved; the badge of mourning has



already been decreed; and presently the sculptured marble will lift up its front, proud to perpetuate the name of Hamilton, and rehearse to the passing traveler his virtues. Just tributes of respect, and to the living useful; but to him, moldering in his narrow and humble habitation, what are they? How vain ! How unavailing !

4. Approach and behold, while I lift from his sepulcher its covering Ye admirers of his greatness, ye emulous of his talents and his fame, approach and behold him now. How pale! how silent! No martial bands admire the adroitness of his movements; no fascinated throng weep and melt and tremble at his eloquence. Amazing change! a shroud! a coffin! a narrow subterraneous cabin! This is all that now remains of Hamilton. And is this all that remains of him ? During a life so transitory, what lasting monument, then, can fondest hopes erect? My brethren, we stand on the borders of an awful gulf which is swallowing up all things human. And is there, amid this universal wreck, nothing stable, nothing abiding, nothing immortal, on which poor, frail, dying man can fasten ? 6. Ask the hero, ask the statesman, whose wisdom you

have been accustomed to revere, and he will tell you. He will tell you, did I say? He has already told you from his death-bed, and his illumined spirit still whispers from the heavens, with wellknown eloquence, the solemn admonition: Mortals, hastening to the tomb, and once the companions of my pilgrimage, take warning and avoid my errors ; cultivate the virtues I have recommended; choose the Saviour I have chosen. Live disinterestedly-live for immortality. And would you rescue any thing from final, dissolution, lay it up in God.”

Sheridan's Ride.


1. Up from the south at break of day,

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door

The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

2. And wilder still those billows of war

Thundered along the horizon's bar;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold,
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

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3. But there is a road from Winchester town,

A good, broad highway leading down:
And there through the flush of the morning light,
A steed, as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight;
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with his utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

4. Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south,

The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth;
Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster.
The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play
With Sheridan only ten miles away,

5. Under his spurning feet, the road

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind,
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire.
But, lo! he is nearing his heart's desire:
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.

6. The first that the general saw were the groups

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;
What was done? what to do? a glance told him both,
Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,
He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas,
And the wave of retreat checked its course there, becacse
The sight of the mister compelled it to pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say,
“I bave brought you Sheridan all the way

From Winchester, down to save the day.” . Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan!

Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man!
And when their statues are placed high
Under the dome of the Union sky,
The American soldiers' Temple of Fame,
There with the glorious general's name
Let it be said in letters both bold and bright:
“ Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester, twenty miles away!”

The Charge of the Light Brigade.


1. Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,
All in the valley of death

Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
“Charge for the guns," he said,
Into the valley of death

Rode the six hundred.
2. “Forward, the Light Brigade!”

Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldiers knew

Some one had blundered,

Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of death

Rode the six hundred.

3. Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

4. Flashed all their sabers bare,

Flashed as they turned in air,
Sabering the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered:
Plunged in the battery-smoke,
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the saber-stroke

Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not,

Not the six hundred.

5. Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them

Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They who had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

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