6. "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche !"

This was the peasant's last good-night ;-
A voice replied, far up the hight,
"Excelsior!"

7. At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,

A voice cried through the startled air,
"Excelsior!"

8. A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
"Excelsior!"

9. There, in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay;
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star-
"Excelsior!"

LXXXVI.-SOLILOQUY OF KING RICHARD III.
SHAKSPEARE

1. GIVE me another horse-bind up my wounds-
Have mercy, Jesu-soft: I did but dream!
O, coward conscience, how dost thou affict me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.
Richard loves Richard: that is, I am I.

Is there a murderer here? No: yes; I am.

Then fly. What! From myself? Great reason, why?
Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself?

I love myself? Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?

O, no: alas! I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.

2. I am a villain: yet I lie: I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well-fool, do not flatter-
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues;
And every tongue brings in a several tale;
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree,―
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me,
And, if I die, no soul will pity me; .

Nay; wherefore should they; since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?—

Methought the souls of all that I had murdered
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

LXXXVII.-MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC.

SHAKSPEARE

1. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven

Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:

There's not the smallest orb, which thou beholdest,
But in his motion like an angel sings,

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim:

But, while this muddy vesture of decay

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it

Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn;

With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,

And draw her home with music.

2. Do thou but note a wild and wanton herd,

Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,

Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their blood;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze,

By the sweet power of music. Therefore, the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods:
Since nought so stockish hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,

Nor is not moved with coucord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils:
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted.

LXXXVIII.-THE ISLES OF GREECE.

1. THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece !
Where burning Sappho loved and sung:
Where grew the arts of war and peace:
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet;
But all, except their sun, is set.

2. The mountains look on Marathon-
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,

I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
For, standing on the Persian's grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.

8. '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 Grecce a tear.

4. 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!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopyla.

5. What! silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no;-the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,

And answer, Let one living head,

BYRON

But one arise, we come, we come! "
'Tis but the living who are dumb.

6. 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 !

7. The tyrant of the Chersonese

Was freedom's best and bravest friend:

That tyrant was Miltiades!

O that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind!

Such chains as his were sure to bind.

8. 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.
9. Place me on Sunium's marble 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!

MARSDEN

LXXXIX.-WHAT IS TIME?

1. I ASKED an aged man, a man of cares,

Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs:
"Time is the warp of life," he said, "oh tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well."

2. I asked the ancient, venerable dead,

Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled:

From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed,
"Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode ! "

8. I asked the dying sinner, ere the tide

99

Of life had left his veins: "Time!" he replied: "I've lost it! Ah, the treasure!" and he died.

4. I asked a spirit lost; but oh, the shriek

That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak !

It cried, "A particle! a speck! a mite

Of endless years, duration infinite! "

5. I asked my Bible; and, methinks, it said,
"Time is the present hour: the past is fled :
Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On any human being rose or set."

6. I asked old Father Time himself, at last;
But in a moment, he flew swiftly past,
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.

7. I asked the mighty Angel who shall stand
One foot on sea, and one on solid land:

"I now declare, the mystery is o'er:

Time was," he cried, "but Time shall be no more!"

XC.-DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD.

1. His form was fair, his cheek was health:
His word a bond, his purse was wealth;
With wheat his field was covered o'er,
Plenty sat smiling at his door.

His wife, the fount of ceaseless joy:
Now laughed his daughter, played his boy:
His library, though large, was read

Till half its contents decked his head.

At morn, 'twas health, wealth, pure delight,
'Twas health, wealth, peace, and bliss at night.
I wished not to disturb his bliss:

'Tis gone! but all the fault is his.

2. The social glass I saw him seize,

The more with festive wit to please,
Daily increase his love of cheer:
Ah, little thought he I was near!
Gradual indulgence on him stole,
Frequent became the midnight bowl.
I, in that bowl, the headache placed,
Which, with the juice, his lips embraced.
Shame next I mingled with the draught:
Indignantly he drank, and laughed.