CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. Who would fardels bear, To groan and sweat under a weary life,— Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 333 SHAKSPEARE. ON BEING BANISHED FROM ROME BY THE SENATE WAN (won), a., pale and sickly. BAN'ISHED, pp., expelled; ex'iled. TARTA-RUS (Greek), n., a name for the infernal regions. AN'ARCH-Y (-ark-), n., political confusion; want of rule. PRO-SCRIPTION, n., a dooming to death, exile, or loss of property. CON-VICT'ED, pp., proved guilty. In hearth (harth) th is aspirate in the singular, but vocal (as in breathe) in the plural. Pronounce massacre, mas'sa-ker. In thirsty and burst, give the vowel the sound of e in her. Do not pervert oi in poi'son. BANISHED from Rome! What's banished, but set free "Tried and convicted traitor!"-Who says this? But now my sword 's my own. Smile on, my lords. I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 334 CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, - here I fling Hatred and full defiance in your face. "Traitor!" I go—but I return. This . . . . trial !— .... Here I devote your senate! I've had wrongs, Or make the infant sinew strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrows! This hour's work Will breed proscriptions. Look to your hearths, my lords; For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; I go I go -but not to leap the gulf alone. but when I come, 't will be the burst I will return. GEORGE CROLY. IMMORTALITY. O, No! it is no flattering lure, no fancy weak or fond, When Hope would bid us rest secure in better life beyond; Nor loss, nor shame, nor grief, nor sin, her promise may gainsay; The voice divine hath spoke within, and God did ne'er SARAH F. ADAMS. betray. In plenitude, gratitude, heed the y sound of long u. Do not say relums for realms (relmz). Pronounce ere (meaning before) like air; nothing, nŭthing. In its sublime research, philosophy May measure out the ocean-deep; may count And thought is lost, ere thought can soar so high, Thou from primeval nothingness,didst call Sprang forth from thee of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin; all life, all beauty thine. Thy word created all, and doth create, Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine. Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious! great! Thou art directing, guiding all, thou art! Still I am something, fashioned by thy hand! On the last verge of mortal being stand, Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land! 336 THE UNSEARCHABLE ONE. The chain of being is complete in me; I can command the lightning, and am dust! a god! Whence came I here, and how so marvelously Creator, yes thy wisdom and thy word Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude, Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, Even to its Source to Thee—its Author, there! O, thought ineffable! O, vision blest! Though worthless our conceptions all of thee, God, thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar, THE END. 1 1 |