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As I do thee; and with my knowledge grew
The thirst of knowledge, and the power and joy
Of this most bright intelligence.

BYRON.

SPEECH OF RAAB KIUPRILI.

HEAR me,

Assembled lords and warriors of Illyria,
Hear, and avenge me! Twice ten years have I
Stood in your presence, honour'd by the king,
Beloved and trusted. Is there one among you,
Accuses Raab Kiuprili of a bribe?

Or one false whisper in his sovereign's ear?
Who here dares charge me with an orphan's rights
Outfaced, or widow's plea left undeferided?
And shall I now be branded by a traitor,

A bought-bribed wretch, who, being call'd my son,
Doth libel a chaste matron's name, and plant
Hensbane and aconite on a mother's grave?
The underling accomplice of a robber,
That from a widow and a widow's offspring
Would steal their heritage? To God a rebel,
And to the common father of his country

A recreant ingrate!

What means this clamour? Are these madmen's

voices?

Or is some knot of riotous slanderers leagued

To infamize the name of a king's brother
With a black falsehood? Unmanly cruelty,
Ingratitude, and most unnatural treason!

What mean these murmurs? Dare then any here
Proclaim Prince Emerick a spotted traitor?'
One that has taken from you your sworn faith,
And given you in return a Judas' bribe,
Infamy now, oppression in reversion,
And Heaven's inevitable curse hereafter?
Yet bear with me awhile? Have I for this

Bled for your safety, conquer'd for your honour?
Was it for this, Illyrians! that I forded

Your thaw-swollen torrents, when the shouldering ice

Fought with the foe, and stain'd its jagged points
With gore from wounds I felt not? Did the blast
Beat on this body, frost-and-famine-numb'd,
Till my hard flesh distinguish'd not itself
From the insensate mail, its fellow-warrior?
And have I brought home with me victory,
And with her, hand in hand, firm-footed peace,
Her countenance twice lighted up with glory,
As if I had charm'd a goddess down from heaven!
But these will flee abhorrent from the throne
Of usurpation! Have you then thrown off shame,
And shall not a dear friend, a loyal subject,
Throw off all fear? I tell ye, the fair trophies,
Valiantly wrested from a valiant foe,
Love's natural offerings to a rightful king,
Will hang as ill on this usurping traitor,
This brother-blight, this Emerick, as robes
Of gold pluck'd from the images of gods
Upon a sacrilegious robber's back.

COLERIDGE.

CASABIANCA.

Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile,) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.

THE boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames roll'd on-he would not go,
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He call'd aloud-Say, father, say
If yet my task is done?'

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
If I may yet be gone!'-
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair;

And look'd from that lone post of death,

In still yet brave despair

And shouted but once more aloud,

'My father! must I stay?"

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And stream'd above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound-
The boy-oh! where is he?

-Ask of the winds that far around

With fragments strow the sea!

MRS. HEMANS.

WALLENSTEIN'S DREAM.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

THERE exist moments in the life of man,
When he is nearer the great Soul of the world
Than is man's custom, and possesses freely
The power of questioning his destiny.
And such a moment 't was, when in the night
Before the action in the plains of Lützen,
Leaning against a tree, thoughts crowding thoughts,
I look'd out far upon the ominous plain.
My whole life, past and future, in this moment
Before my mind's eye glided in procession,
And to the destiny of the next morning
The spirit, fill'd with anxious presentiment,
Did knit the most removed futurity.
Then said I also to myself, "So many
Dost thou command. They follow all thy stars,
And as on some great number set their All
Upon thy single head, and only man
The vessel of thy fortune. Yet a day

Will come, when Destiny shall once more scatter
All these in many a several direction:

Few be they who will stand out faithful to thee."
I yearn'd to know which one was faithfullest
Of all, this camp include. Great Destiny,
Give me a sign! And he shall be the man,
Who, on th' approaching morning, comes the first
To meet me with some token of his love:
And thinking this, I fell into a slumber.
Then midmost in the battle was I led

In spirit. Great the pressure and the tumult!
Then was my horse kill'd under me: I sank;
And over me away, all unconcernedly,
Drove horse and rider-and thus trod to pieces
I lay, and panted like a dying man.
Then seized me suddenly a saviour arm.
It was Octavio's-I awoke at once.

"T was broad day, and Octavio stood before me.

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'My brother," said he, "do not ride to-day
The dapple, as you're wont; but mount the horse
Which I have chosen for thee. Do it, brother!

In love to me.

A strong dream warn'd me so." It was the swiftness of this horse that snatch'd me From the hot pursuit of Bannier's dragoons. My cousin rode the dapple on that day, And never more saw I or horse or rider.

COLERIDGE

WALLENSTEIN AND MAX. PICCOLOMINI.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER

Wallenstein.

MAX., remain with me.

Go you not from me, Max.! Hark! I will tell thee-
How when at Prague, our winter quarters, thou
Wert brought into my tent a tender boy,
Not yet accustom'd to the German winters;
Thy hand was frozen to the heavy colours;
Thou would'st not let them go-

At that time did I take thee in my arms,
And with my mantle did I cover thee:
I was thy nurse, no woman could have been
A kinder to thee; I was not ashamed
To do for thee all little offices,

However strange to me; I tended thee

Till life return'd; and when thine eyes first open'd,
I had thee in my arms. Since then, when have I
Alter'd my feelings towards thee? Many thousands
Have I made rich, presented them with lands;
Rewarded them with dignities and honours;
Thee have I loved: my heart, my self, I gave
To thee! They all were aliens: THOU wert
Our child and inmate. Max.! Thou can'st not leave

me;

It cannot be; I may not, will not think

That Max. can leave me.

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