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And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in 'nations; all were his ! He counted them at break of day – And when the sun set, where were they ?
And where are they? and where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now
The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush for Greece a tear.
Must we but weep o'er days more blessed :
Must we but blush? - Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead !
What! silent still ? and silent all ?
Ah! no; — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
“Let one living head, But one arise, we come, we come!” "Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain - in vain : strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine !
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! Hark! rising to the ignoble call — How answers each bold bacchanal !
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet —
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one ? You have the letters Cadmus gave – Think ye he meant them for a slave ?
The tyrant of the Chersonese
Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; That tyrant was Miltiades !
O that the present hour would lend
Trust not for freedom to the Franks
They have a king who buys and sells. · In native swords and native ranks
The only hope of courage dwells ; But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine: Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION. ch:- chide, chime, chain, chair, chin, chid, churl, birch,
The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a peculiar character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and eternal interests. Not content with acknowledging, in general terms, an overruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every event to the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing was too vast, for, whose inspection nothing was too minute. To know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the great end of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship of the soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze full on the intolerable brightness, and to commune with him face to face. Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial distinctions. The difference between the greatest and meanest of mankind seemed to vanish, when compared with the boundless interval which separated the whole race from him on whom their own eyes were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to superiority but his favor, and, confident of that favor, they despised all the accomplishments and all the dignities of the world.
If they were unacquainted with the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in the registers of heralds, they felt assured that they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were not accompanied by a splendid train of
menials, legions of ministering angels had charge over them. Their palaces were houses not made with hands: their diadems crowns of glory which should never fade away! On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language — nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier hand. The very meanest of them was a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance belonged; on whose slightest action the spirits of light and darkness looked with anxious interest; who had been destined, before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which should continue when heaven and earth should have passed away.
Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly causes had been ordained on his account. For his sake empires had risen, and flourished, and decayed. For his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the evangelist and the harp of the prophet. He had been rescued by no common deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He had been ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun had been darkened, that the rocks had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring God!
Thus the Puritan was made up of two different men; the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion; the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He prostrated himself in the dust before his Maker, but he set his foot on the neck of his king. In his devotional retirement, he prayed with convulsions, and groans, and tears. He was half maddened by glorious or terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of angels, or the tempting whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the Beatific Vision, or woke screaming from dreams of everlasting fire. Like Vane, he thought himself intrusted with the sceptre of the millennial year.
Like Fleetwood, he cried in the bitterness of his soul that God had hid his face from him. But when he took his seat in the council, or girt on his sword for war, these tempestuous workings of the soul had left no perceptible trace behind them. People who saw nothing of the godly but their uncouth visages, and heard nothing from them but their groans and their whining hymns, might laugh at them. But those had little reason to laugh, who encountered them in the hall of debate, or on the field of battle.
The Puritans brought to civil and military affairs a coolness of judgment, and an immutability of purpose, which some writers have thought inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which were, in fact, the neces
essary effects of it. The intensity of their feelings on one subject made them tranquil on every other. One overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself pity and hatred, ambition and fear. Death had lost its terrors, and pleasure its charms. They had their smiles and their tears, their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the things of this world. Enthusiasm had made them stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, and raised them above the influence of danger and of corruption. It sometimes might lead them to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means.
Such we believe to have been the character of the Puritans. We perceive the absurdity of their manners. We dislike the sullen gloom of their domestic habits. We acknowledge that the tone of their minds was often injured by straining after things too high for mortal reach. Yet when all circumstances are taken into consideration, we do not hesitate to pronounce them a brave, a wise, an honest, and a useful body.