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expired in the moment of victory, exclaiming, "To die for Liberty is a pleasure, not a pain!" Here are some of the lines :

At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power.

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They fought-like brave men, long and well:
They piled that ground with Moslem slain;
They conquered-but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw

His smile-when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;

Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

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HALLECK'S fine Elegy on Burns abounds with impassioned and glowing beauties. We extract a few stanzas:

His is that language of the heart,

In which the answering heart would speak,
Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start,
Or the smile light the cheek;

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Brainard,

Pinkney, Read, Cutter,

Prentice, Cist, Gallagher, Perkins, Byron,

Crabbe, Scott, Hogg, Lamb, White, Montgomery,

Coleridge, Poe, Hemans, Southey, Moore,

Bryant, Hunt, Welby, Nichois,

Bot'a.

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THAT the stupendous cataract of Niagara, with its picturesque

associations, should have inspired the homage of many a gifted votary of the muse, need not provoke surprise. Yet any attempt

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