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An hour passed on-the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;

He woke to hear his sentries shriek,

"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek! He woke to die midst flame, and smoke, And shout, and groan, and saber-stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band:

"Strike-till the last armed foe expires;
Strike-for your altars and your fires;
Strike for the green graves of your sires;
God and your native land!"

They fought-like brave men, long and well;
They piled that ground with Moslem slain;
They conquered-but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw

His smile, when rang their proud huzza,

And the red field was won;

Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

Come to the bridal-chamber, Death!
Come to the mother when she feels
For the first time her first-born's breath;
Come when the blessed seals

That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake's shock, the ocean's storm;
Come when the heart beats high and warm

With banquet-song and dance and wine;

And thou art terrible! The tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know or dream or fear

Of agony, are thine.

But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word;
And in its hollow tones are heard

The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee-there is no prouder grave
Even in her own proud clime.

We tell thy doom without a sigh;

For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's;
One of the few, the immortal names

That were not born to die.

VII.-POEMS UNWRITTEN. MARY H. C. BOOTH.

There are poems unwritten and songs unsung
Sweeter than any that ever were heard;
Poems-that wait for an angel tongue,
Songs-that but long for a paradise-bird.

Poems-that ripple through lowliest lives;
Poems unworded and hidden away,
Down in the soul where the beautiful thrives
Sweetly as flowers in the airs of May.

Poems-that only the angels above us,

Looking down deep in our hearts, may behold;
Felt, though unseen, by the beings who love us,
Written on lives as in letters of gold.

Sing to my soul the sweet song that thou lovest
Read me the poem that never was penned,—
The wonderful idyl of life that thou givest
Fresh from thy spirit, O beautiful friend!

VIII.—THE ANGEL POST.

I have nothing to say to you, dearest,—
Nothing that I can write,—

For all the word that I had to send
I sent by the post to-night.

Not in the form of a letter,

With mark and stamp and seal,

Did I trust the tender message
That my soul had to reveal.

Not in a bunch of blossoms,
Not in a sweet bouquet,
Did I hide the beautiful meaning
Of the words I dared not say.

But I sent the sweet heart-music

No mortal on earth e'er wrote.
What need that the soul's soft melodies
Be written down by note?

So I have nothing to say to you, dearest,

But to send you my love at most.

And the news of my heart that I can not write
I send by the Angel Post.

IX.-THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. MRS. SOUTHEY.

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A fresh gale from the north has sprung up, and carried us off the coast of St. Mary's, where we are to land and take in water; so I shall have time to speak of one peculiarity of this people, which has been my study, more or less, ever since I came on board. I find, on acquaintance, one redeeming trait, which would go far to atone for many shortcomings, because it may finally prepare the way to arrest and amend them. They are more devout in their common life than any other people I have ever known. Do not infer from this, O Hadgi Hassan, that they waste their time or spend their money in pilgrimages to kiss the holy stone of the Kaäba, or perform its sacred walk. And as to the nine ablutions, appearances do not indicate any very strict

observances of this sort. But they have certain forms of worship, which they use on almost all occasions. In their work and in their rest, and even in their story-telling, they often call on God in the most earnest and vehement manner, and also sometimes on their prophet. They frequently invoke curses on their enemies; and this I can understand perfectly, for it is in strict accordance with the word of the great Prophet, as written in the Holy Book. But when I hear them pray God to curse themselves, and especially their own eyes, I am perplexed. It may, however, be merely a form of penance or of self-sacrifice which is in use amongst them. There is something in these ejaculations that affects me strangely-I could almost say unpleasantly; yet I have the strongest conviction of their sincerity. They have no particular form for these prayers, neither is their worship confined to stated times. They do not welcome the rising nor dismiss the setting sun with prayer and praise; but every man is permitted to adopt his own forms and times for these exercises. I observe that their ejaculations become more ardent when there is a great pressure of workbut most especially when the work goes wrong. All this is certainly very natural; for at such times we feel more need to call on Allah for his help and guidance. I have also observed that the men moved with much greater celerity while under their influence. Does not this show their sincerity?

I said that these people have no regular time for prayer; but there may be a slight mistake in this. A person called a Chaplain-which is, I suppose, a kind of Marabout*-calls all the men together once a week, on the Sabbath of their Prophet, and talks to them awhile. I believe they call these formalities devotions; but they have none of the zeal and heartiness of the spontaneous exercises; and their gravity might very easily be mistaken for dullness, as both speaker and hearers seem to feel. There is a sensible relief at the close, when I observe they all get a good, long inspiration, and stretch themselves as if they had felt contracted, or had not breathed freely under the imposed restraint.

I observe that the Chaplain never makes use of any of these forms of social prayer, which are in common use by every other man on board, from the commodore down to the cabin-boy. He must either be less devout by nature than they, or else he is jealous of a wide diffusion of the religious principle, lest the foundations of his place should be undermined and his profession itself destroyed. Their worship, being spontaneous, is more hearty and sincere; and when they can pray so well for themselves he may reasonably fear that they will hardly employ another to pray for them. I have observed too that these ejaculations are seldom uttered, unless, as it were, from habit or by chance, in the presence of the spiritual teacher. Are they conscious of trespassing on his rights, or afraid that he will vindicate his prerogative?

An unexpected opportunity for sending this occurs, and I hasten to improve it. A respectable Arab traveler has just come on board, from an English ship bound for Algiers. I inclose in this package a volume of the writings of Channing. He was a priest of Jesus, and, I am told, he did great good for his people. His heart is large and deep as the ocean. It embraces the whole race, recognizing the good of the lowest. You will find many an echo to our own thoughts in these volumes. Let them be the companions of your most sacred hours. Let them speak to you as your bosom friend!

"Priest.

XI.-OUR FIELD.

The orator's field is the universe of mind and matter, and his subjects all that is known of God and man. Study the principles of things, and never rest satisfied with the results and applications. All distinguished speakers, whether they ever paid any systematic attention to the principles of elocution or not, in their most successful efforts conform to them; and their imperfections are the results of deviations from these principles. Think correctly-rather than finely; sound conclusions are much better than beautiful conceptions. Be useful rather than showy; and speak to the purpose, or not speak at all. Persons become eminent by the force of mind,—the power of thinking comprehensively, deeply, closely, usefully. Rest more on the thought, feeling, and expression than on any particular style; for language is like the atmosphere-a medium of vision, intended not to be seen itself, but to make other objects seen; the more transparent, however, the better.

XII.-PROFANITY. E. H. CHAPIN.

You whose blood would boil to hear the venerable names of your earthly parents hurled about in scoffs and jests, abuse without compunction and without thought the name of your heavenly Father! Finally, profaneness is an awful vice. Once more I ask, whose name is it you so lightly use? That name of God-have you ever pondered its meaning? Have you ever thought what it is that you mingle thus with your passion and your wit? It is the name of Him whom the angels worship and whom the heaven of heavens can not contain! Profane man! though habit be ever so stringent with you, when the word of mockery and of blasphemy is about to leap from your lips think of these considerations-think of God, and instead of that rude oath cry out in reverent prayer, "Hallowed be thy name!"

XIII. THE ROSE.

"Rose! thou art the sweetest flower
That ever drank the amber shower;
Rose! thou art the fondest child

Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild!"

The rose is mentioned by the earliest writers of antiquity as an object of culture. Herodotus speaks of the double rose, and Solomon of the Rose of Sharon and of the plantations of roses at Jericho. Theophrastus tells us that the hundred-leaved rose grew in his time on Mount Pangaus; and it appears that the Isle of Rhodes (Isle of Roses) received its name from the culture of roses carried on there. Roses were more highly prized by the Romans than any other flowers, and they had even attained to the luxury of forcing them. Under the reign of Domitian the Egyptians thought of offering to that emperor's courts, as a magnificent present, roses in the middle of winter; but this the Romans smiled at, so abundant were roses in Rome at that season. "In every street," says Martial, "the odor of spring is breathed, and garlands of flowers, freshly gathered, are displayed. Send us corn, Egyptians! and we will send you roses." Roses were employed both by the Greeks and Romans to decorate their tombs. Of the history of the rose from the time of the

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