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To show they still are free. | 'Methinks, I hear
A spirit in your echoes, an'swer me,

And bid your tenant, welcome to his home,

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Again! O sa cred forms, | how proud you looka !
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How high you lift your heads into the sky'! |

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How huge you are! | how mighty, and how free! |
Ye are the things that tow'r-that shine-whose smile
Makes glad whose frown, is terrible—whose forms,
Robed, or un robed, I do all the impress wear, |
Of awe divine. | Ye guards of liberty, |

I'm with you once again!. fff I call to you |
With all my voice'! I hold my hands to you
To show, they still are free-I rush to you,
As though, I could embrace, you'! |

C

a

BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.

(CAMPBELL.)

On Linden," when the sun was low', |
All bloodless, lay the untrodd'n_snow、, |
And dark as win'ter, was the flow' |
Of Iser rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight, |

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When the drum, beat at dead of night, |
Commanding fires of death, to light, I
The darkness of her scenery. T

By torch, and trumpet fast array'd', |
Each horseman, drew his battle blade; |
And furious every charger, neigh'd',

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To join the dreadful revelry. |

e

me-think' si. Huge, you

Lin'-
Trump'it.

Still, are; not stillar. b Methinks, I; not Agen. a Proud, you look; not prow'jew-look. are; not hew'jew-are. Embrace you; not embra'shew. dên; not Lindun. h E'sår. i Sèn'er-è; not sce'nury. Hårs'mân; not hosmun.

Then shook the hills, with thun.der riv'n; |
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n; |
And louder than the bolts of heav'n, |
Far flash'd the red artillery". |

And redder yet those fires shall glow, I
On Linden's hills of blood-stain'd snow; |
And darker yet, shall be the flow',
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. |

'Tis morn',

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but scarce yon lurid sun' |
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, |
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun', |
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. I

The combat deep''ns - On', ye brave, |
Who rush to glory, or the grave, ! |

fff Wave, Munich, all thy banners, wave'!!
And charge with all thy chivalry® ! |

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mpFew, few shall part where many meet! |
The snow, shall be their winding-sheet, |
And every turf beneath their feet', |
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

SPEECH OF ROLLA TO THE PERUVIAN ARMY.
[From Kotzebue's Pizarro]
(R. B. SHERIDAN.)

My brave associates! partners of my toil, my feel'ings, and my fame!

Can Rolla's words add

vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts? No! you have judged as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. Your generous spirit has compared as mine has, the mo'tives, which, in a war, like this', can animate their minds, and ours. |

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a Artil'lur-rè. Tshiv'al-rè.

C

b Lin'dên; not Lindun. Kum'båt. (Be-nèтH'. Rollåź; not Rolluz.

ůs. i En'êr-džèż. J And ours; not Ann Dowers.

|

d Mu'nik. b Vertshu

They, by a strange frenzy driven, | fight for power, | for plunder, and extended rule. We, for our coun`try, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer, whom they fear, and obey a power, | which they hate. We serve a monarch whom we love, a God, whom we adore, ! |

b

Whene'er they move in anger, | desolation tracks their progress; where'er they pause, in am'ity,° | affliction mourns their friend ship. They boast they come but to improve our state', | enlarge our thoughts', | and free us from the yoke of error! Yes they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves', the slaves of passion, | av'arice, pride. |

and They offer us their protection. | Yes - such pro| tection as vultures give to lambs', | covering, and devouring them! They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited, and proved, for the desperate chance of something better, | which they prom

ise.

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Be our plain answer this: The throne we honour, | is the people's choice the laws we reverence | are our brave fathers' legacy | the faith we follow, I teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hopes of bliss, beyond the grave.] Tell your invaders this'; | and tell them too', we seek no change; | and least of all', | such change as they would bring us. |

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CHILDE HAROLD'S ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.

(BYRON.)

O that the desert were my dwell'ing-place, |
With one fair spirit for my minister, |
That I might all forget the human race', |
And, hating no one, I love but only her! |

paw-zin-nam'ity.

d Yis. e Plain an

Mon'nårk; not monnuck. Move in anger; not mo-vin-nang'ger. Pause in amity; not swer; not plain-nan'swer.

C

Rev'èr-êns; not revurunce.

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Ye elements! in whose ennobling stir
I feel myself exalted

can ye not

Accord me such a being? | Do I err

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In deeming such inhabiť many a spot? | Though with them to converse, can rarely be our lot.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, | There is a rap'ture on the lonely shore, | There is society, where none intrudes, | By the deep sea, and music in its roar. | I love not man the less, but nature more', | From these, our interviews, in which, I steal From all I may be, or have been before, 1 To mingle with the universe, | and feel What I can ne'er express', yet cannot all conceal. I

Roll, on', thou deep, and dark-blue ocean |roll! | Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; | Man marks the earth' with ruin | his control Stops with the shore. ;- upon the watery plain, | The wrecks are all thy' deed, | nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, | When, for a moment, like a drop of rain', He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan', | Without a grave, unknell❜d`, uncof'fin'd, and unknown.]

His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields, Are not a spoil for him, - thou dost arise, And shake him from' thee; the vile strength, he wields, For earth's destruction, thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies', | And send'st him, 'shivering in thy playful spray, | And howling to his gods', where haply lies His petty hope, in some near port, or bay, | Then dashest him again to earth':- there let him lay.

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The armaments which thunderstrike the walls, Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, | And monarchs tremble in their capitals, | The oak leviathans whose huge ribs make | Their clay-creator, the vain title take, | Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war; | These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake', | They melt into thy yest of waves, | which mar, Alike, the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. Thy shores are em pires, chang'd in all save thee — | Assyria, Greece, Rome, Car thage, what are they? | Thy waters wasted them while they were free', | And many a tyrant since ; | their shores obey The stranger, slave', or savage; | their decay Has dri'd up realms to deserts :— | not so thou', | Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play, Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow Such as creation's dawn' beheld, thou rollest now. | Thou glorious mirror, 'where the Almighty's form, Glasses itself in tem pests; | 2in all' time, |

Calm, or convuls'd — in breeze', or gale', or storm, | Icing the pole', or in the torrid clime,

end'less, and sublime'the throne

Dark-heaving; bound less, The image of eternity Of the Invisible; | even from out thy slime', I The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; [thou goest forth, dread', fath'omless,│alōne,.] SP And I have lov'd thee, o'cean! | and my joy, Of youthful sports, was on thy breast to be, Borne, like thy bubbles, on ward: | from a boy'| I wanton'd with thy breakers: they to me,, Were a delight'; | and, if the fresh'ning sea Made them a terror | 't was a pleasing fear,| For I was, as it were a child' of thee, | And trusted to thy billows, far, and near, | And laid my hand upon thy mane'- | as I do here. |

a

Mon'nårks; not mon'nucks. Yêst. Ar-ma'-dâz. a Trâf-făl-gâr.

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