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Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be,

Are at his heart; and such fidelity
It is his darling passion to approve;
More brave for this, that he hath
much to love:

'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high,

Conspicuous object in a nation's eye, Or left unthought of in obscurity, Who, with a toward or untoward lot,

Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not,

Plays, in the many games of life, that one

Where what he most doth value must be won;

Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,

Nor thought of tender happiness betray;

Who, not content that former worth stand fast,

Looks forward persevering to the

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One still strong man in a blatant land,

Whatever they call him, what care I, Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat

one

Who can rule, and dare not lie! TENNYSON.

ROYALTY.

THAT regal soul I reverence, in whose eyes

Suffices not all worth the city knows

To pay that debt which his own heart he owes;

For less than level to his bosom rise

The low crowd's heaven and stars: above their skies

Runneth the road his daily feet have pressed;

A loftier heaven he beareth in his breast,

And o'er the summits of achieving hies

With never a thought of merit or of meed;

Choosing divinest labors through a pride

Of soul, that holdeth appetite to feed

Ever on angel-herbage, nought be side;

Nor praises more himself for herodeed

Than stones for weight, or open seas for tide.

D. A. WASSON.

THE MASTER SPIRIT.

GIVE me a Spirit that on life's rough

sea

Loves to have his sails filled with a

lusty wind,

Even till his sailyards tremble, his masts crack,

And his rapt ship run on her side so low

That she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air:

There is no danger to a man that knows

Where life and death is; there's not any law

Exceeds his knowledge, neither is it

needful

That he should stoop to any other law;

He goes before them, and commands them all,

That to himself is a law rational. GEORGE CHAPMAN.

CHIVALRY.

THE house of Chivalry decayed, Or rather ruined seems, her buildings laid

Flat with the Earth, that were the pride of Time;

Those obelisks and columns broke and down,

That strook the stars, and raised the British Crown

To be a constellation.

When to the structure went more noble names

Than to the Ephesian Temple lost in flames,

When every stone was laid by virtuous hands.

BEN JONSON.

SAMSON AGONISTES.

Samson. -O DARK, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day!

O first created beam, and thou great Word,

"Let there be light, and light was over all;"

Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree?

The sun to me is dark

And silent as the moon,
When she deserts the night,

Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.

Chorus.-This, this is he; softly a while,

Let us not break in upon him; O change beyond report, thought, or belief!

See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused,

With languished head unpropped,
As one past hope, abandoned,
And by himself given over;
In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds
O'er-worn and soiled;

Or do my eyes misrepresent? can this be he,

That heroic, that renowned, Irresistible Samson? whom unarmed No strength of man or fiercest wild beast could withstand;

Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid,

Ran on embattled armies clad in iron,

And, weaponless himself, Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery

Of brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuirass,

Chalybean tempered steel, and frock of mail Adamantëan proof;

But safest he who stood aloof, When insupportably his foot advanced,

In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools,

Spurned them to death by troops.
The bold Ascalonite
Fled from his lion ramp; old war-
riors turned

Their plated backs under his heel, Or, grovelling, soiled their crested helmets in the dust.

Then with what trivial weapon came to hand,

The jaw of a dead ass, his sword of bone,

A thousand foreskins fell, the flower of Palestine

In Ramath-lechi, famous to this day: Then by main force pulled up, and on his shoulders bore

The gates of Azza, post, and massy bar,

Up to the hill by Hebron, seat of giants old,

No journey of a Sabbath day, and loaded so;

Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up heaven.

Which shall I first bewail,
Thy bondage or lost sight,
Prison within prison
Inseparably dark?

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