Puslapio vaizdai

So horribly to shake our disposition,

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
Ghost. Mark me.

Ham. I will.

Ghost. My hour is almost come,

When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.

Ham. Alas! poor ghost!

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold.

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear.

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
Ham. What ?

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit,

Doom'd for a certain time to walk the night,

And, for the day, confined to fast in fire,

Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

Are burnt and purged away. *But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotty and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
But this eternal blazon must not be

To ears of flesh and blood; list, list, oh list!

If thou didst ever thy dear father love

Ham. O Heaven!

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
Ham. Murder!

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is

But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.


Ham. Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as swift

As meditation, or the thoughts of love,

May fly to my revenge.

Ghost. I find thee apt;

And duller should'st thou be, than the fat weed

That roots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf,

Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear;

'Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard,

A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark

Is by a forged process of my death

Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life,
Now wears his crown,

* Shakspeare is guilty of an anachronism in making the Danes believe in Roman-Catholic doctrines at this early period.

Ham. Oh, my prophetic soul! my uncle ?
Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, and adult'rate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous gifts,
(O wicked wit, and gifts that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen.
Oh, Hamlet, what a falling off was there!
But soft! methinks I scent the morning air-
Brief let me be: Sleeping within mine orchard,
My custom always in the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebony in a phial,
And in the porches of mine ear did pour
The leperous distilment.

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand,
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin;
No reck'ning made! but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head!

Ham. Oh horrible! oh horrible! most horrible!
Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
But howsoever thou pursuest this act,

Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught; leave her to Heav'n,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire.

Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.

Ham. Oh, all you host of heav'n! O earth! what else?

And shall I couple hell? oh fie! hold heart!

And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,

But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!

Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe! Remember thee!
Yea, from the tablet of my memory

I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,*
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter.

* Impressions.

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HORACE, born at Venusia, or Venusium, B.C. 65, was the chosen friend and companion of Augustus Cæsar and Mæcenas. The present Ode is a pleasing specimen of the graceful lyric poetry, to which, though in many instances borrowed from the Greek, the power of Horace, as an adapter, has lent a grace and beauty never surpassed.


Now winter melts in vernal gales,

And grateful zephyrs fill the spreading sails;
No more the ploughman loves his fire;
No more the lowing herds their stalls desire,
While earth her richest verdure yields,
Nor hoary frosts now whiten o'er the fields.
Now joyous thro' the verdant meads,
Beneath the rising moon, fair Venus leads
Her various dance, and with her train
Of nymphs and modest graces, treads the plain,
While Vulcan's glowing breath inspires
The toilsome forge, and blows up all its fires.
Now crown'd with myrtle, or the flowr's
Which the glad earth from her free bosom pours,
We'll offer, in the shady grove,

Or lamb, or kid, as Pan should best approve.
With equal pace, impartial Fate
Knocks at the palace, as the cottage gate,
Nor should our sum of life extend

Our growing hopes beyond their destin'd end.
When sunk to Pluto's shadowy coasts,
Oppressed with darkness, and the fabled ghosts,
No more the dice shall there assign
To thee, the jovial monarchy of wine;*
No more shall you the fair admire,
The virgin's envy, and the youth's desire.

The Earthquake at Lisbon.t

There never was a finer morning seen than the 1st of November, the sun shone out in its full lustre; the whole face of the sky was perfectly serene and clear, and not the least signal or warning of that approaching event, which has made this once flourishing,

*It was customary to cast lots who should be the king or chief of the feast. In the year 1755. The authorship of this article is uncertain. It has been ascribed to the Rev. Charles Davy, but is more probably the work of a British merchant resident during the awful catastrophe.

opulent, and populous city a scene of the utmost horror and de solation, except only such as served to alarm, but scarcely left a moment's time to fly from the general destruction.

It was on the morning of this fatal day, between the hours of nine and ten, that I was set down in my apartment, just finishing a letter, when the papers and table I was writing on began to tremble with a gentle motion, which rather surprised me, as I could not perceive a breath of wind stirring. Whilst I was reflecting with myself what this could be owing to, but without having the least apprehension of the real cause, the whole house began to shake from the very foundation, which at first I imputed to the rattling of several coaches in the main street, which usually passed that way, at this time, from Belem to the palace; but on hearkening more attentively, I was soon undeceived, as I found it was owing to a strange, frightful kind of noise under ground, resembling the hollow distant rumbling of thunder. All this passed in less than a minute, and I must confess I now began to be alarmed, as it naturally occurred to me that this noise might possibly be the forerunner of an earthquake, as one I remembered, which had happened about six or seven years ago, in the island of Madeira, commenced in the same manner, though it did little or no damage.

Upon this I threw down my pen, and started upon my feet, remaining a moment in suspense, whether I should stay in the apartment or run into the street, as the danger in both places seemed equal; and still flattering myself that this tremor might produce no other effects than such inconsiderable ones as had been felt at Madeira; but in a moment I was roused from my dream, being instantly stunned with a most horrid crash, as if every edifice in the city had tumbled down at once. The house I was in shook with such violence that the upper stories immediately fell, and though my apartment (which was the first floor) did not then share the same fate, yet everything was thrown out of its place, in such a manner that it was with no small difficulty I kept my feet, and expected nothing less than to be soon crushed to death, as the walls continued rocking to and fro in the frightfullest manner, opening in several places; large stones falling down on every side from the cracks, and the ends of most of the rafters starting out from the roof. To add to this terrifying scene, the sky in a moment became so gloomy that I could now distinguish no particular object; it was an Egyptian darkness, indeed, such as might be felt; owing, no doubt, to the prodigious clouds of dust and lime raised from so violent a concussion, and, as some reported, to sulphurous exhalations, but this I cannot affirm; however, it is certain I found myself almost choked for near ten minutes.

As soon as the gloom began to disperse, and the violence of the shock seemed pretty much abated, the first object I perceived in the room was a woman sitting on the floor, with an infant in her arms, all covered with dust, pale and trembling. I asked her how

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