These many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride Enter Cromwell, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What! amazed At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder Crom. How does your grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy, too much honor: Oh, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Crom. I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it, Wol. I hope I have. I'm able now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, To endure more miseries, and greater far, What news abroad? Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, Is your displeasure with the king. Wol. God bless him! Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden; But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his highness' favor, and do justice, For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones, Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, Only about her coronation. Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down! Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me; all my glories, In that one woman, I have lost forever. No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; To be thy lord and master. Seek the king; (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Crom. Oh, my lord, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it! Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; There, take an inventory of all I have, I dare now call my own. Oh, Cromwell, Cromwell! Crom. Good sir, have patience. MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, the greatest of Roman orators, was born at Arpinum, 106 B.C. After the assassination of Cæsar, he took part against Antony, at whose demand he was proscribed, and by whose orders he was basely murdered, in his sixty-fourth year. 1. I ASK now, Verres, what have you to advance against this charge? Will you pretend to deny it? Will you pretend that any thing false, that even any thing aggravated, is alleged against you? Had any prince, or any state, committed the same outrage against the privilege of Roman citizens, should we not think we had sufficient ground for declaring immediate war against them? 2. What punishment ought, then, to be inflicted upon a tyrannical and wicked prætor, who dared, at no greater distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, to put to the infa mous death of crucifixion that unfortunate and innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus, only for his having asserted his privilege of citizenship, and declared his intention of appealing to the justice of his country against a cruel oppressor, who had unjustly confined him in prison at Syracuse, from whence he had just made his escape? 3. The unhappy man, arrested as he was going to embark for his native country, is brought before the wicked prætor. With eyes darting fury, and a countenance distorted with cruelty, he orders the helpless victim of his rage to be stripped, and rods to be brought, accusing him, but without the least shadow of evidence, or even of suspicion, of having come to Sicily as a spy. It was in vain that the unhappy man cried out, "I am a Roman citizen; I have served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus and will attest my innocence." 4. The blood-thirsty prætor, deaf to all he could urge in his own defence, ordered the infamous punishment to be inflicted. Thus, Fathers, was an innocent Roman citizen publicly mangled with scourging; whilst the only words he uttered amidst his cruel sufferings were, "I am a Roman citizen!" With these he hoped to defend himself from violence and infamy; but of so little service was this privilege to him, that, while he was thus asserting his citizenship, the order was given for his execution,— for his execution upon the cross! 5. O liberty! O sound once delightful to every Roman ear! O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship! once sacred, now trampled upon! But what then? Is it come to this? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red-hot plates of iron, and at the last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty and sets mankind at defiance? LESSON CXXV. HYMN AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. 1. 2. 3. 4. BY H. W. LONGFELLOW. WHEN the dying flame of day Had been consecrated there. And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, "Take thy banner! May it wave "Take thy banner! And, beneath "Take thy banner! But when night Spare him! he our love hath shared : |