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All dim in haze the mountains lay,
With dimmer vales between,
And rivers glimmered on their way
By forests, faintly seen;

While ever rose a murmuring sound
From brooks below and bees around.

He listened, till he seemed to hear
A voice so soft and low,
That whether in the mind or ear,
The listener scarce might know;
With such a tone, so sweet and mild,
The watching mother lulls her child.

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"Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, —

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Though faint with toil and heat! The pleasant land of rest is spread

Before thy very feet;

And those whom thou would gladly see

Are waiting there to welcome thee."

He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky,
Amidst the noontide haze,

A shadowy region met his eye,

And grew beneath his gaze,

As if the vapors of the air

Had gathered into shapes so fair.

Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers
Showed bright on rocky bank,

And fountains welled beneath the bowers,
Where deer and pheasant drank. .
He saw the glittering streams; he heard
The rustling bough and twittering bird.

And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear,

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There lived, and walked again;

And there was one who many a year

Within her grave had lain·

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A fair young girl, the region's pride:
His heart was breaking when she died.

Bounding as was her wont, she came
Right toward his resting-place,

And stretched her hand, and called his name,
With sweet and smiling face:
Forward, with fixed and eager eyes,

The hunter leaned in act to rise.

Forward he leaned, and headlong down
Plunged from that craggy wall;

He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown,
An instant, in his fall-

A fearful instant, and no more:

The dream and life at once were o'er.

W. C. BRYANT,

IV. MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY.

If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly. If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success! That but this blow
Might be the be-all, and the end-all, here—
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,

We'd jump the life to come.

But, in these cases, We still have judgment here, that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And Pity, like a naked, new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubims Horsed upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind.

I have no spur

To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other side.

SHAKSPEARE.

V. MERCY.

THE quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath it is twice blessed;

:

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
Ilis sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute of awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above the sceptred sway;
It is cuthronéd in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then show likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice: therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this-
That in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation. No, we do pray
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy; I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea.

for

mercy;

SHAKSPEARE.

VI. SPEECH OF CAIUS GRACCHUS.

O ROME, my country! O my mother, Rome!
Is it to shed thy blood I draw my sword?
To fill thy matrons' and thy daughters' eyes
With tears, and drain the spirits of thy sons?
Should I not rather turn it 'gainst myself,
And, by the timely sacrifice of one,

Preserve the many? They will not let me do it;
They take from the rule of mine own acts,
And make me freedom's slave! What! is it so?
Come, then, the only virtue that is left me,-

The fatal virtue of necessity.

Upon them!

Give them stout hearts, ye gods! to enable them
To stand the flashing of their tyrants' swords;
Deaf to the din of battle let them be;

Senseless to wounds, and without eyes for blood; -
That for this once they may belie themselves,
Make tyranny to cower, and from her yoke
Lift prostrate Liberty, to fall no more.

J. SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

VII. THANATOPSIS.

To him who, in the love of Nature, holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language: for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart,
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around-
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-
Comes a still voice-Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more

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