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SAMUEL ROGERS was born at Newington Green, near London, July 30, 1763, and died December 18, 1855. In 1792, he published his "Pleasures of Memory," a poem which gave him an honorable and enduring place among the poets of his country. His subsequent productions, which are not very numerous, cannot be said to have added materially to his reputation. His poetry is marked by the careful finish and grace of patient elaboration.
The following extract is from "Italy," a poem published in 1822, consisting of sketches of Italian scenery, manners, and history. Modena is a town in the northern part of Italy. Here is kept an old worm-eaten bucket, said to have been taken from the Bolognese by the Modenese, in a fight in the thirteenth century. This trophy forms the subject of a mock-heroic poem, called “The Rape of the Bucket," by Tassoni, an Italian poet of the sixteenth century. Zampieri was a celebrated painter of Bologna, (Bọ-lōn'yä,) more generally known by his first name, Domenichino, (Do̟-mā-nē-kē'-nó,) or Domenico, (Do-mā 'ne-co).]
1 If ever you should come to Modena,*
(Where among other relics you may see
Tassoni's bucket-but 't is not the true one,)
'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth, The last of that illustrious family;
Done by Zampieri †— but by whom I care not
She sits, inclining forward as to speak,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp;
But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heirloom, its companion,
She was an only child-her name Ginevra,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come. the day, the hour;
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
* Antonio da Trento, a celebrated wood engraver, was born at Trent, in the Venetian States, about 1508.
Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast,
Weary of his life,
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten,
That mouldering chest was noticed; and 't was said
Why not remove it from its lurking-place ?"
There then had she found a grave!
[FISHER AMES was born in Dedham, Massachusetts, April 9, 1758, and died in the same place July 4, 1808. When the federal government went into operation, he was elected the first representative of his district in Congress, and retained his seat through the whole of the administration of Washington, of whose policy and measures he was an ardent supporter. He was a very eloquent man, remarkable alike for his readiness in debate and the finished beauty of his prepared speeches. He was a copious writer upon political subjects, and his essays are remarkable for vigor of thought and brilliant and animated style. In private life Mr. Ames was one of the most amiable and delightful of men, and possessed of rare conversational powers.
The speech from which the following extract is taken was delivered in the House of Representatives, April 28, 1796, in support of a resolution in favor of passing the laws necessary for carrying into effect a treaty recently negotiated with Great Britain by Mr. Jay. By this treaty, Great Britain agreed to surrender certain posts on the western frontier, which she still held. Mr. Ames argued that the possession of these posts was essential for the preservation of the western settlers against the Indians.]
Ir any, against all these proofs, should maintain, that the peace with the Indians will be stable without the posts, to them I will urge another reply. From arguments calculated to produce conviction, I will appeal directly to the 5 hearts of those who hear me, and ask whether it is not already planted there? I resort especially to the convictions of the western gentlemen, whether, supposing no posts and no treaty, the settlers will remain in security? Can they take it upon them to say, that an Indian peace, 10 under these circumstances, will prove firm? No, sir, it will not be peace, but a sword; it will be no better than a lure to draw victims within the reach of the tomahawk.
On this theme my emotions are unutterable. If I could
find words for them, if my powers bore any proportion to my zeal, I would swell my voice to such a note of remonstrance it should reach every log-house beyond the mountains. I would say to the inhabitants, wake from your false 5 security; your cruel dangers, your more cruel apprehensions are soon to be renewed; the wounds, yet unhealed, are to be torn open again; in the daytime, your path through the woods will be ambushed; the darkness of midnight will glitter with the blaze of your dwellings. You are a 10 father—the blood of your sons shall fatten your cornfield. You are a mother— the war-whoop shall wake the sleep of the cradle.
On this subject you need not suspect any deception on your feelings; it is a spectacle of horror which cannot be 15 overdrawn. If you have nature in your hearts, they will speak a language, compared with which all I have said or can say will be poor and frigid.
Will it be whispered that the treaty has made me a new champion for the protection of the frontiers? It is known 20 that my voice, as well as vote, has been uniformly given in conformity with the ideas I have expressed. Protection is the right of the frontiers; it is our duty to give it.
Who will accuse me of wandering out of the subject? Who will say that I exaggerate the tendencies of our meas25 ures? Will any one answer by a sneer that this is all idle preaching? Will any one deny that we are bound, and I would hope to good purpose, by the most solemn sanctions of duty, for the vote we give? Are despots alone to be reproached for unfeeling indifference to the tears and blood 30 of their subjects? Are republicans irresponsible? Have the principles on which you ground the reproach upon cabinets and kings, no practical influence, no binding force? Are they merely themes of idle declamation, introduced to decorate the morality of a newspaper essay, or 35 to furnish pretty topics of harangue from the windows of that State House? I trust it is neither too presumptuous