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"Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there,
In very truth, is he,

The father whom thy faithful heart
Hath yearn'd so long to see."

* His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heaved,
His cheek's hue came and went;
He reach'd that grey-hair'd chieftain's side,
And there, dismounting, bent;

A lowly knee to earth he bent,
7 His father's hand he took,-
What was there in its touch that all
His fiery spirit shook?

* That hand was cold-a frozen thing-
It dropp'd from his like lead ;-
He look'd up to the face above-
The face was of the dead!

A plume waved o'er that noble brow-
The brow was fix'd and white;-

He met at last his father's eyes-
But in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprung, and gazed!
But who can paint that gaze?

It hush'd their very hearts, who saw
Its horror and amaze;

They might have chain'd him, as before
That stony form he stood,

For the power was stricken from his arm,
And from his lip the blood!

"Father!" at length he murmur'd low,

And wept like childhood then ;—
Talk not of grief till thou hast seen
The tears of warlike men!—
He thought on all his glorious hopes-
On all his high renown,-

He flung the falchion from his side,
'And in the dust sat down.

And covering with his steel-gloved hands
His darkly mournful brow,

"No more, there is no more," he said,

"To lift the sword for now.

My King is false, my hope betray'd,
My father-oh! the worth,

The glory and the loveliness,
Are pass'd away from earth!

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I thought to stand where banners waved,
My sire, beside thee yet;

I would that there on Spain's free soil
Our kindred blood had met;

Thou would'st have known my spirit then,
For thee my fields were won;

But thou hast perish'd in thy chains,

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As if thou had'st no son."

Then, starting from the ground once more,

He seized the Monarch's rein,

Amid the pale and wilder'd looks
Of all the courtier train;

And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp,
The rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face-
The King before the dead!

"Came I not here upon thy pledge,

My father's hand to kiss?—

Be still, and gaze thou on, false King!
And tell me what is this!

The look, the voice, the heart I sought-
Give answer, where are they?
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul,
Put life in this cold clay!—

"Into these glassy eyes put light,—
Be still! keep down thine ire,-
Bid these cold lips a blessing speak:-
This earth is not my sire!

Give me back him for whom I strove,
For whom my blood was shed!—
"Thou canst not?—and a King?-His dust
Be mountains on thy head!"

12 He loosed the rein; his slack hand fell!
Upon the silent face

He cast one long, deep, troubled look,-
Then turn'd from that sad place!
His hope was crush'd, his after-fate

Untold in martial strain,

His banner led the spears no more
Among the hills of Spain!

Mrs. Hemans.

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ON WAR.

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1Low, well modulated voice; very distinct articulation. 2 Soft, tremulous, pathetic tone. Acute grief. Extreme tenderness. 5 Clear and elevated voice; distinct articulation. Melting tenderness. Acute grief. Pity and tenderness; voice variously modulated. Increased tenderness. 10 Tones firm, cheerful, and well modulated. "Tones cheerful; voice commencing low, and gradually increased into a buoyant climax. 12 Relapsing into low voice, and gradually swelling into a bold enthusiastic climax to the conclusion.

1 Of all the curses that afflict humanity, war is the most dreadful. It drives its destructive ploughshare over whole nations. Liberty, Peace, and Prosperity fly from its presence-gaunt Famine stalks after it with destructive strides, and Iron Despotism closes the

scene.

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If we cast our eyes over the whole of the picture, what gloomy scenes present themselves. Behold, amid the festal shouts of triumph, that aged matron wringing her hands in speechless agony -with the briny flood furrowing her wan cheek, and the worm of sorrow cankering her soul, and wasting her withered form. 3 Aye! she has drunk the cup of sorrow to its very dregs: her son, the light of her eyes, and her only stay during the last years of her pilgrimage her child, to whom she clung with all the tenderness of a mother's love-is snatched from her embraces for ever, and the last battle has sealed his eyes in death. 5 Amid the flashes and the smoke of artillery-the trampling of horses, and the groans of the dying—® behold that orphan cleaving to the bloody clay of its perishing parent, pale, hopeless, and tearless; and now with tattered garb, and tottering step, shivering amid the pelting of the pitiless storm, and wandering an outcast amongst the abodes of men, a 'prey to famine, and disease, and despair. See the soldier torn away from the smiles of his family, and the cheerful blaze of his fireside enduring the heart-wringing anguish of the parting scene the last embrace-the long-long adieu,-tossing on the stormy billow, and viewing his native home lessening and lessening on his sight, and marking the dim waved signal of some dear relative on the beach; sinking during day under the scorching blaze of the sun, and wasted at night amid damps and dews;-if spared from the general havoc of battle, sent, perhaps, with all his wounds green

and fresh upon him, into some wet and suffocating dungeon, and with no kind hand to smooth his lonely pillow, or pour balm into his wounds, or watch over his broken slumbers; and deprived of sweet air, and sweeter liberty,—his imagination wanders among the verdant plains, or fresh mountain breezes of his youth, and amongst those beloved beings, who cheered and brightened his path in later years. But, alas!

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"For him no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care.

No children run to lisp their sire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share."

But, notwithstanding this gloomy picture, there are occasions on which war is undertaken, which not only extenuate its guilt, but even cast a solid lustre over its woes. "Great has been our pleasure, when sitting at our firesides, and enjoying our comforts unmolested, to hear the roar of battle afar off-to mark the gathering glories of our triumphs, and to hail the tyrant's downfall. High is the delight of the warrior, when returning to the bosom of his family-heralded by the trumpet of fame-crowned with the laurels of victory-greeted by the applause of grateful senates, and hailed by the shouts of an emancipated people. 12 So felt Gideon, when he sheathed the sword of the Lord in its scabbard, and entered with trembling extasy the threshold of the temple, now no longer polluted by the unhallowed footstep of the heathen-when he was saluted by the triumphant songs of the Hebrew maidens, and cheered by the approving smile of his God. So felt Themistocles, when thousands rose before him in reverential homage, at the Olympic games, when he had driven back the Persian tyrant, with his countless hosts, in shame and confusion, to their seraglios and their parasites,-plucked his country from the jaws of destruction, and raised her to a proud and dazzling pre-eminence amongst the nations—a vast and imperishable monument of the quenchless fires of the freeman's heart, and the resistless might of the freeman's arm. So felt Washington, when he moved on in his career, in the silent majesty of a planet-giving life and light to an infant republic. So felt Wellington, when, amid the desolation of a continent, and the universal crash of ruin, he went forth, the champion of Britain and of Europe,-shivered into atoms that fabric, which had

risen on the ashes of the shrine and the sanctuary-burst the fetters of imprisoned nations, and seized the arch-magician in the midst of his hellish incantations.

THE DIRGE OF WALLACE.

'Low pathetic tone. 2 Deep grief. 3 Sorrow.

4 Heroic reflection;

tones bold, clear, and elevated. 5 Tones lowered, but bold and firm. 'Tones elevated; confident admiration.

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THEY lighted a taper, at the dead of night,

And chanted their holiest hymn;

But her brow and her bosom were damp with affright,
Her eye was all sleepless and dim!

And the lady of Elderslie wept for her lord,

When a death-watch beat in her lonely room,
When her curtain had shook of its own accord,
And the raven had flapped at her window-board,
To tell of her warrior's doom!

"Now sing you the death-song, and loudly pray
For the soul of my knight so dear,
And call me a widow this wretched day,
Since the warning of God is here!

For night-mare rides on my strangled sleep;
The lord of my bosom is doomed to die;
His valorous heart they have wounded deep,
And the blood-red tears shall his country weep
For Wallace of Elderslie!"

3 Yet knew not his country that ominous hour,
Ere the loud matin-bell was rung,

That a trumpet of death, on an English tower,
Had the dirge of her champion sung!
When his dungeon-light looked dim and red

On the high-born blood of a martyr slain;
No anthem was sung at his holy death-bed,
No weeping there was when his bosom bled,
And his heart was rent in twain.

Oh! it was not thus when his oaken spear
Was true to that knight forlorn;

And hosts of a thousand were scattered, like deer
At the blast of the hunter's horn;

When he strode on the wreck of each well-fought field,
With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land,
For his lance was not shivered on helmet or shield,
And the sword, that seemed fit for archangel to wield,
Was light in his terrible hand!

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