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Ingrat'itude, ! more strong than traitor's arms, ,
Quite van quish'd him.

Then burst his mighty heart,
And, in his mantle muflling up his face,
E'en at the base of Pompey's statue,
(Which all the while ran blood !) great Cæsar fell. I
O what a fall was there', my countrymen !!
Then I', and you', , and all of us, fell down., I
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd' over us. |
O now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity. | These are gra cious drops. !.
Kind, souls ! | what ! | weep you when you but behold
Our Cæsar's ves'ture wounded? | Look you here!
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, by traitors.
Good friends, I sweet' friends! I let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mu'tiny - 1
They that have done this deed, are honorable!
What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not,
That made them do it— i they are wîse and hôn'orable; /
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you!!
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; |
But, as you know me all, / a plain, blunt man, I
That love my friend'; I and that they know full well,
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit', nor words', nor worth', i
Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech',
To stir men's blood: I only speak right on.
I tell you that which you yourselves do know. ;
Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds', / poor, poor, dumb

And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, I there were an Antony |
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise in mutiny.

• That is, Aourished the sword. — STEEVENS.


(R. K. TOWNSEND.) Sylph of the blue, and beaming eye! |

The Muses' fondest wreaths are thine The youthful heart beats warm, and high, !

Ani joys to own thy power divine, ! | Thou shinest o'er the flowery path

Of youth; I and all is pleasure there!! Thou soothest man, / whene'er he hath |

An eye of gloom' - | a brow of care. I To youth, thou art the early morn', /

With light, and melody, and song,” | To gild his path'; | each scene adorn', /

And swistly speed his time along. I To man, thou are the gift of Heav'n, |

A boon from regions bright above'; | His lot, how dark, I had ne'er been giv'n

To him the light of woman's love !! When o'er his dark’ning brow, I the storm

Is gath’ring in its power, and might', I The radiant beain of woman's form,

Shines through the cloud', and all is light' !! When dire disease prepares her wrath

To pour in terror from above', 1 How gleams upon his gloomy path', /

The glowing light of woman's love! When all around is clear, and bright',

And pleasure lends her fairest charm. ; And man, enraptur'd with delight',

Feels, as he views, his bosom warm, 1 Why glows his breast with joy profuse',

And all his deeds, his rap ture prove, ? | It is, because the scene he views'i

Through the bright rays of woman's love! O woman! | thine is still the power, 1

Denied to all but only thee,
To chase away the clouds that lower,

To harass life's eventful sea. I
Thou light of man! | his only joy.

Beneath a wide, and boundless sky, Long shall thy praise his tongue , employ

Sylph of the blue, and beaming eye !!


When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
Ere yet in early Greece she sung, 1
The Passions ost, to hear her shell, 1
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, I trembling, i raging, | faint ing, !
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. I
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd', I delighted, rais'd, refind. ; 1
Till once, 't is said, when all, were fired,
Filld with fu'ry, , rapt', I inspir'dı,
From the supporting myrtles round',
They snatch'd her instruments of sound ; !
And, as they oft had heard, apart, /
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, !
Each (for Madness ruld the hour)
Would prove his own expres sive power.

First, Fear, I his hand, its skill to try, 1

Amid the chords, bewilder'd, laid, i And back recoil'd, he knew not why!,!

E’en at the sound himself had made. Next, An ger rush'/'; his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own'd his secret stings. ; | In one rude clash, he struck the lyre', 1

And swept, with hurried hand, the strings. With wo ful measures, wan Despair, 1

Low sullen sounds his grief beguildil A solemn', strange', and min gld air:

’T was sad by fits; 1 by starts, 't was wild. I But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, 1

What was thy delighted measure?!
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! |
Suill would her touch the strain prolong": 1

And, from the rocks', the woods', the vale, She callid on echo still, through all the song : 1

And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soti, responsive voice was heard at every close ; ! And Hope, enchanted, sinild, and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had she sung; but, with a frown,

Revenge, impatient, rose :
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down-

And with a withering look,

The war denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud, and dreal, 1
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo';

And ever, and anon, he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat : 1 And, though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,

Dejected Pity, at his side,

ller soul-subduing voice, applied ; 1 Yet still he kept his wild, unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight, seem'd bursting

from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought', were fix'd

Sad proof of thy distress ful state!!
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd ; I
And now it courted Love';, now, raving, callid on

With eyes, uprais'd, as one inspir’d, 1
Pale Melancholy sat retird'; }

And, from her wild, sequester'd seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet, I Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul;

And, dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; Through glades, and glooms, the minglid measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, I

Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing, I
In hollow murmurs, died away. I
But, O! how alter'd was its spright'lier tone, |
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, i

Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew, |

Blew an inspiring air, 1 that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call', i to fawn and dryad known. I

The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-ey'd queen.
Satyrs, and sylvan boys' were seen, I
Peeping from forth their alleys green. - |
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;
And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. i
Last came Joy's ecstat'ic trial — 1

He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe', his hand address’d; !

But soon he saw the brisk, awakening violl Whose sweet, entrancing voice he lov'd the best. I

They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, ! Amidst the festal-sounding shades

To some unwearied minstrel dan cing, I While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love fram'd with Mirth, a gay, fantastic round : 1 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone, unbound; I

And he, amidst the frolic play, I

As if he would the charming air repay', 1 Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

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