pompous display of honors to the memory of some veteran patriot, who was suffered to linger out his latter days in unregarded penury! "How proud we can press to the funeral array Of him whom we shunned in his sickness and sorrow; Whose pall shall be borne up by heroes to-morrow." We are profuse in our expressions of gratitude to the soldiers of the revolution. We can speak long and loud in their praise, but when asked to bestow something substantial upon them, we hesitate and palter. To them we owe every thing, even the soil which we tread, and the air of freedom which we breathe. Let us not turn them houseless from habitations which they have erected, and refuse them even a pittance from the exuberant fruits of their own labors. FROM SPRAGUE. CCLIV. HECTOR. THE siege and destruction of Troy is the subject of Homer's Iliad. Priam was its king. His son Hector was its bravest and most successful defender, but was, at last, slain by Achilles, one of the assailing Greeks. Cassandra was a sister of Hector. The following is from Pope's translation. AURORA; morning. ILION; Troy. Now shed Aurora round her saffron ray, Sprung through the gates of light, and gave the day: The sage and king, majestically slow. Then, as the pensive pomp advanced more near, "Turn here your steps, and here your eyes employ, If e'er ye rushed in crowds, with vast delight, In thronging crowds they issue to the plains, With plaintive sighs, and music's solemn sound: The obedient tears, melodious in their woe. แ Then to the corse the weeping consort flew; Around his neck her milk-white arms she threw, And, oh my Hector! oh my lord!" she cries, "Snatched in thy bloom from these desiring eyes. And I abandoned, desolate, alone! Who now protects her wives with guardian care? Why gav'st thou not to me thy dying hand? CCLV.-ENGLAND'S DEAD. Go, stranger! track the deep, Free, free, the white sail spread! Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, Where rest not England's dead. On Egypt's burning plains, From heaven look fiercely red, The hurricane hath might And far, by Ganges' banks at night, Is heard the tiger's roar. But let the sound roll on! It hath no tone of dread For those that from their toils are gone; Loud rush the torrent-floods But let the floods rush on! Let the arrow's flight be sped! Why should they reck whose task is done? There slumber England's dead! On the frozen deep's repose 'Tis a dark and dreadful hour, When round the ship the ice-fields close, To chain her with their power. But let the ice drift on! Let the cold-blue desert spread! Their course with mast and flag is done, FROM MRS. HEMANS. CCLVI. CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. DURING the siege of Sebastopol, an English officer received orders to attack with his small force a very large body of Russians, who were defended by heavy batteries. Though suspecting from the disproportion, some mistake, he charged with such promptness and courage, that the enemy, astonished to see this brave handful rushing into the jaws of death, were brought to a sudden stand, and had the attack been seconded, it is supposed that important results might have followed. A small portion only succeeded in regaining their ranks. It proved afterward that a mistake in the bearer of the order, cost this useless sacrifice of life. This event is celebrated in the following lines by Tennyson, Poet Laureate of England. แ HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of death, Rode the six hundred. Charge!" was the captain's cry; Theirs not to make reply, Theirs but to do or die; Into the valley of death, rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them, Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, Into the mouth of hell, Into the jaws of death, rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them, Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, They that had struck so well Rode through the jaws of death, Half a league back again, Up from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, left of six hundred. Honor the brave and bold! FROM TENNYSON. CCLVII. THE ONSET. RED ROSE, in the last stanza, refers to the wars between the houses of York and Lancaster for the English throne. The red rose was adopted by one party as its emblem, and the white rose by the other. SOUND an alarum! The foe is come! I hear the tramp, the neigh, the hum, The cry, and the blow of his daring drum: Huzza! Sound! The blast of our trumpet blown Have we not sinews as strong as they? Huzza! Look! they are staggered on yon black heath: Now is your time, men! Down, like death! Stand by each other, and front on your foes! Huzza! Sound! Bid your terrible trumpet bray! Huzza! hozza! FROM PROCTOR. |