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the very line of the enemy we shall find friends. The Britons, the Gauls, the Germans, will recognize their own cause in ours. Here is a leader; here an army! There are tributes, and levies, and badges of servitude, - impositions, which to assume, or to trample under foot forever, lies now in the power

your arms.

Forth, then, Caledonians th the field! Think of your ancestors! Think of your descendants

15. ICILICS ON VIRGINIA'S SEIZURE. – T. B. Macaulay. Nuw by your children's cradles, — now, by your fathers' graves, Be men to-day, Quirités, or be forever slaves ! For this did Servius give us laws ? For this did Lucrece bleed ? For this was the great vengeance wrought on Tarquin's evil seed ? For this did those false sons make red the axes of their sire ? For this did Scævola's right hand hiss in the Tuscan fire ? Shall the vile earth-fox awe the race that stormed the lion's den? Shall we, who could not brook one lord, crouch to the wicked Ten?

for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate's will! O for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred Hll! In those brave days our fathers stood firmly, side by side ; They faced the Marcian fury; they tamed the Fabian, pride; They drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast forth from Rome: They sent the haughtiest Claudius with shivered fasces home. But what their care bequeathed us, our madness flung away: All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a day. Exult, ye proud Patricians! The hard-fought fight is o'er. We strove for honors, - 't was in vain : for freedom, 't is no more. No crier to the polling summons the eager throng; No Tribune breathes the word of might, that guards the weak from

wrong. Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath will. Riches, and lands, and power, and state -- ye have them :- keep

them still. Still keep the holy fillets; still keep the purple gown, The axes and the curule chair, the car, and laurel crown Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is done, Still fill your garners from the soil which our good swords have won But, by the Shades beneath us, and by the Gods above, Add not unto your cruel hate your yet more cruel love ! llave ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs From Consuls, and High Pontiffs, and ancient Alban kings? Then leave the poor Plebeian his single tie to lifeThe sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife; The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul endures, The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as yours. Still let the maiden's beauty swell the father's breast with pride Still let the bridegroom's arms enfold an unpolluted bride •


Spare us the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame,
That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame,
Lest, when our latest hope is filed, ye taste of our despair,
And learn, by proof, in some wild hour, how much the wretched dare


THE SPARTANS' MARCH. — Felicia Hemans. Born, 1794 ; died, 1835. The Spartans used not the trumpet in their march into battle, gays Thucydides, because they wished not to excite the rage of their warriors. Their charging-step was made to the Doriaa 6107d of flutes and soft recorders. T was morn upon the Grecian hills, where peasants dressed the vines; Sunlight was on Cithæron's rills, Arcadia's rocks and pines. And brightly, through his reeds and flowers, Eurotas wandered by, When a sound arose from Sparta's towers of solemn harmony. Was it the hunter's choral strain, to the woodland-goddess pourel ? Did virgin hands, in Pallas' fane, strike the full-sounding chord ? But helms were glancing on the stream, spears ranged in close array, And shields flung back a glorious beam to the morn of a fearful day ! And the mountain echoes of the land sweiled through the deep-blue sky While to soft strains moved forth a band of men that moved to die. They marched not with the trumpet's blast, nor bade the horn peal out; And the laurel-groves, as on they passed, rung with no battle shout! They asked no clarion's voice to fire their souls with an impulse high But the Dorian reed, and the Spartan lyre, for the sons of liberty! And still sweet flutes, their path around, sent forth Æolian breath : They needed not a sterner sound to marshal them for death! So moved they calmly to their field, thence never to return, Save bringing back the Spartan shield, or on it proudly borne !


Io ! they come, they come! garlands for every shrine !
Strike lyres to greet them home! bring roses, pour ye wine !
Swell, swell the Dorian flute, through the blue, triumphant sky!
Let the Cittern's tone salute the sons of victory.
With the offering of bright blood, they have ransomed hearth and tomb,
Vineyard, and field, and flood; = Io! they come, they come'
Sing it where olives wave, and by the glittering sea,
And o'er cach hero's grave, — sing, sing, the land is free!
Mark ye the flashing oars, and the spears that light the deep!
Flow the festal sunshine pours, where the lords of battle sweep!
Fach hath brought back his shield; maid, greet thy lorer home!
Mother, from that proud field, — Io! thy son is come!
Who murmured of the dead? Hush, boding voice! We know
That many a shining head lies in its glory low.
Breathe not those names to-day! They shall have their praise ere long
And a power all hearts to sway, in ever-burning song.

But now shed flowers, pour wine, to hail the conquerors home
Bring wreaths for every shrine, Io! they come, they como

18. ODE. - William Coilins. Born, 1720; died, 1750.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest !
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall a while repair,
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there.


-- Original Paraphrase from Livy. I AFFIRM, O Romans, that Appius Claudius is the only man not entitled to a participation in the laws, nor to the common privileges of civil or human society. The tribunal over which, as perpetual Decemvir, he presided, was made the fortress of all villanies. A despiser of Gods and men, he vented his fury on the properties and persons of citizens, threatening all with his rods and axes. Executioners, not Lictors, were his attendants. His passions roaming from rapine to murder, from murder to lust, he tore a free-born maiden, as if she were a prisoner of war, from the embraces of me, her father, before the eyes of the Roman People, and gave her to his creature, the purveyor of his secret pleasures! Ye heard, my countrymen, the cruel decree, the infamous decision. Ye beheld the right hand of the father armed against his daughter. Armed against, do I say? No, by the Gods! armed in her behalf,— since it was to rescue her, by death, from dishonor, that I sheathed in her innocent bosom the knife! Ye heard the tyrant, when the uncle and the betrothed husband of Virginia raised her lifeless body, order them to be taken off to prison. Yes, Romans, even at that tragical moment, the miscreant Claudius was more moved by the disappointment of his gross sensual appetite than by the untimely death of the unoffending victim !

And Appius Claudius now appeals! You hear his words. “] appeal !” This man, who, so recently, as Decemvir, would have consigned a free-born maiden to bonds and to dishonor, utters that sacred expression that safeguard of Roman liberty, —"I appeal!” Well may ye stand awe-struck and silent, O my countrymen! Ye sce, at length, that there are Gods who overlook human affairs; that there is such a thing as P.ETRIBUTION! Ye see that punishment must sooner cf later overtake all tyranny and injustice. The man who abciished the right of appeal now appeals! The man who trampled on the rights of the People now implores the protection of the People ! And, finally, the man who used to cali the prison the fitting domicile of the Roman commons' shall now find that it was built for him also. Wherefore, Appius Claudius, though thou shouldst appeal, again and again, to me, the Tribune of the People, I will as often refer thee to a Judge, on the charge of having sentenced a free person to slavery. And since thou wilt not go before a Judge, well knowing that justice will condemn thee to death, I hereby order thee to be taken hence to prison, as one condemned.


Original Paraphrase from Livy.
Tuis is not the first time, O Romans, that Patrician arrogance

has denied to us the rights of a common humanity. What do we now demand? First, the right of intermarriage; and then, that the People may confer honors on whom they please. And why, in the name of Roman manhood, my countrymen, — why should these poor boons be refused? Why, for claiming them, was I near being assaulted, just now, in the senate-house? Will the city no longer stand, - will the empire be dissolved,- because we claim that Plebeians shall no longer be excluded from the Consulship? Truly these Patricians will, by and by, begrudge us a participation in the light of day; they will be indignant that we breathe the same air ; that we share with them the faculty of speech; that we wear the forms of human beings! But I cry them mercy. They tell us it is contrary to religion that a Plebeian should be made Consul! The ancient religion of Rome forbids it! Ah! verily? How will they reconcile this pretence to the facts ? Though not admitted to the archives, nor to the commentaries of the Pontiffs, there are some notorious facts, which, in common with the rest of the world, we well know. We know that there were Kings before there were Consuls in Rome. We know that Consuls possess no prerogative, no dignity, not formerly inherent in Kings. We know that Numa Pompilius was made King at Rome, who was not only not a Patrician, but not even a citizen ; that Lucius Tarquinius, who Wis not even of Italian extraction, was made King; that Servius Tullius, who was the son of a captive woman by an unknown father, was made King. And shall Plebeians, who formerly were not escluded from the Throne, now, on the juggling plea of religious objection, be debarred from the Consulship? Brit it is not encugh that the offices of the State are withheld from

To keep pure their dainty blood, these Patricians would prevent, by law, all intermarriage of members of their order with Plebeians Could there be a moro marked indignity, a more humiliating insult, than this? Why not legislate against our living in the same neigh


borhood, dwelling under the same skies, walking the same earth? Ignominy not to be endured! Was it for this we expelled Kings? Was it for this that we exchanged one master for many ?

No! Let the rights we claim be admitted, or let the Patricians fight the battles of the State themselves. Let the public offices be open to let

every invidious law in regard to marriage be abolished; or, by the Gods of our fathers, let there be no levy of troops to achieve victories, in the benefits of which the People shall not most amply and equally partake!


21. CATILINE TO IIIS ARMY, NEAR FÆSČLÆ. --Ben Jonson. Born, 1574 ; died, 1037.

A paraphrase of the celebrated speech which Sallust attributes to Catiline, previous to the engageincnt which ended in the rout of his army, and his own death.

I NEVER yet knew, Soldiers, that in fight
Words added virtue unto valiant men;
Or that a General's oration made
An army fall or stand: but how much prowess,
Habitual or natural, each man's breast
Was owner of, so much in act it showed.
Whom neither glory nor danger can excite,
'Tis vain to attempt with speech.

Two armies wait us, Soldiers; one from Rome
The other fror the provinces of Gaul.
The sword must now direct and cut our passage.
I only, therefore, wish you, when you strike,
To have your valors and your souls about you ;
And think you carry in your laboring hands
The things you seek,- glory and liberty !
For by your swords the Fates must be instructed !
If we can give the blow, all will be safe ;
We shall not want provision, nor supplies;
The colonies and free towns will lie open ;
Where, if we yield to fear, expect no place,
Nor friend, to shelter those whom their own fortune
And ill-used arms have left without protection.

You might have lived in servitude or exile,
Or safe at Rome, depending on the great,
But that you thought those things unfit for men;
And, in that thought, my friends, you then were valiant »
För no man ever yet changed peace
But he that meant to conquer.

Hold that purpose.
Meet the opposing army in that spirit.
There's more necessity you should be such,
In fighting for yourselves, than they for others.
He's base who trusts his feet, whose hands are armeil.

Methinks I see Death and the Furies waiting
What we will do, and all the Ileaven at leisure

for war

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