All dim in haze the mountains lay, While ever rose a murmuring sound He listened, till he seemed to hear "Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, — 66 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, 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 And fountains welled beneath the bowers, And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear, There lived, and walked again; And there was one who many a year Within her grave had lain· A fair young girl, the region's pride: Bounding as was her wont, she came And stretched her hand, and called his name, The hunter leaned in act to rise. Forward he leaned, and headlong down He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown, 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 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 SHAKSPEARE. V. MERCY. THE quality of mercy is not strained; : It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, for mercy; SHAKSPEARE. VI. SPEECH OF CAIUS GRACCHUS. O ROME, my country! O my mother, Rome! Preserve the many? They will not let me do it; The fatal virtue of necessity. Upon them! Give them stout hearts, ye gods! to enable them Senseless to wounds, and without eyes for blood; - J. SHERIDAN KNOWLES. VII. THANATOPSIS. To him who, in the love of Nature, holds Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, |