Puslapio vaizdai
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O, some sweet mission of true love must urge This boy will bear a Scheik's chibouk, and that them to the shore, a Bey's jerreed.

--

They bring some lover to his bride, who sighs in O, some are for the arsenals by beauteous DarBaltimore !

All, all asleep within each roof along that rocky street,

And these must be the lover's friends, with gently gliding feet.

A stifled gasp! a dreamy noise ! The roof is in a flame!

From out their beds, and to their doors, rush maid and sire and dame,

And meet, upon the threshold stone, the gleaming saber's fall,

danelles,

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And o'er each black and bearded face the white 'Tis two long years since sunk the town beneath or crimson shawl. that bloody band,

The yell of "Allah!" breaks above the prayer And all around its trampled hearths a larger and shriek and roar

concourse stand,

O blessed God! the Algerine is lord of Baltimore! Where high upon a gallows-tree a yelling wretch

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yield their store,

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There's one hearth well avenged in the sack of PARRHASIUS stood, gazing forgetfully
Baltimore !

Upon the canvas. There Prometheus lay,
Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus,

Midsummer morn, in woodland nigh, the birds The vulture at his vitals, and the links

begin to sing;

Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh;

And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim | Your heart, old man!

Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows forth
With its far-reaching fancy, and with form
And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye
Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl
Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip,

lives

forgive-ha! on your

Let him not faint! rack him till he revives !

-

"Vain, — vain, give o'er. His eye Glazes apace. He does not feel you now, —

Were like the winged god's breathing from his Stand back! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow!

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Gods! if he do not die,

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And he hath passed in safety Unto his woful home,

And there ta'en horse to tell the camp
What deeds are done in Rome.

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.

LAMENT OF VIRGINIUS.

FROM "APPIUS AND VIRGINIA."

VIRGINIUS. Farewell, my sweet Virginia;

never, never,

Shall I taste fruit of the most blessed hope
I had in thee. Let me forget the thought
Of thy most pretty infancy: when first
Returning from the wars, I took delight
To rock thee in my target; when my girl
Would kiss her father in his burganet

Of glittering steel hung 'bout his armèd neck;
And, viewing the bright metal, smile to see
Another fair Virginia smile on thee;

When I first taught thee how to go, to speak; And when my wounds have smarted, I have

sung

With an unskillful, yet a willing voice, To bring my girl asleep. O my Virginia, When we began to be, began our woes, Increasing still, as dying life still grows!

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JOHN WEBSTER.

A DAGGER OF THE MIND.

FROM "MACBETH."

image of a dagger in the air, and thus soliloquizes:]

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It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about it:

[Macbeth, before the murder of Duncan, meditating alone, sees the The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mark their charge with snores: I have drugged their possets,

Is this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me That death and nature do contend about them,

clutch thee : ·

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on thy blade, and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. - There's no such
thing:

It is the bloody business, which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half
world

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtained sleep; witchcraft celebrates

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