of its own deep mysteries and glorious inspirations. This is the greatness which belongs to philosophers, and to the master-spirits in poetry and the fine arts. Next comes the greatness of action; and by this we mean 5 the sublime power of conceiving bold and extensive plans; of constructing and bringing to bear on a mighty object, a complicated machinery of means, energies, and arrangements, and of accomplishing great outward effects. To this head belongs the greatness of Bonaparte, and that 10 he possessed it, we need not prove, and none will be hardy enough to deny. A man who raised himself from obscurity to a throne; who changed the face of the world; who made himself felt through powerful and civilized nations; who sent the terror of his name across seas and oceans; whose 15 will was pronounced and feared as destiny; whose donatives were crowns; whose antechamber was thronged by submissive princes; who broke down the awful barrier of the Alps, and made them a highway; and whose fame was spread beyond the boundaries of civilization to the steppes 20 of the Cossack, and the deserts of the Arab, a man, who has left this record of himself in history, has taken out of our hands the question, whether he shall be called great. All must concede to him a sublime power of action—an energy equal to great effects. CXVI.-PRISONERS' EVENING SERVICE-A SCENE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. MRS. HEMANS. [The Reign of Terror was the period in French history from June 2, 1793, to July 27, 1794, during which Robespierre was at the head of the government, and a great many persons were put to death by the revolutionary tribunals. A royalist father and his daughter have been condemned to death, and the following dialogue is supposed to take place between them, in prison, on the evening before their execution.] [Scene - A Prison in Paris, during the Reign of Terror.] D'AUBIGNE an aged Royalist.-BLANCHE, his Daughter, a young girl. BLANCHE. What was our doom, my father? In thine arms I lay unconsciously through that dread hour. Tell me the sentence ! - Could our judges look, 5 Was there not mercy, father? — Will they not 10 On the bright Loire? Will the old hamlet-spire, And the gray turret of our own château, Look forth to greet us through the dusky elms? The loving laughter in their children's eyes, 15 Welcome us back at last? But how is this? - Father! thy glance is clouded, There sits no joy! D'AUBIGNE. on thy brow Upon my brow, dear girl, There sits, I trust, such deep and solemn peace 20 As may befit the Christian, who receives And recognizes, in submissive awe, The summons of his God. D'AUBIGNE'. Where is the spirit's home? Oh! most of all, in these dark evil days, Where should it be, but in that world serene, Beyond the sword's reach, and the tempest's power? 30 Where, but in Heaven. * Pronounced Do-bēn'yā. BLANCHE. D'AUBIGNE'. My father! We must die! We must look up to God, and calmly die. - Come to my heart, and weep there! - for awhile 5 Give Nature's passion way, then brightly rise In the still courage of a woman's heart! Do I not know thee?- Do I ask too much BLANCHE (falling on his bosom.) Oh! clasp me fast ï 10 Thy trembling child! Hide, hide me in thine arms Father! D'AUBIGNE'. Alas! my flower, thou 'rt Yet were it worse, methinks, To leave thee where the gentle and the brave, 15 The loyal-hearted and the chivalrous, And they that loved their God, have all been swept, Like the sere leaves, away. - For them no hearth Through the wide land was left inviolate, No altar holy; therefore did they fall, 20 Rejoicing to depart. The soil is steeped In noble blood; the temples are gone down, The voice of prayer is hushed, or fearfully Muttered, like sounds of guilt. — Why, who would live? 25 To quit forever the dishonored soil, 30 35 The burdened air? Our God upon the cross, Our king upon the scaffold, — let us think Of these, and fold endurance to our hearts, And bravely die! BLANCHE. A dark and fearful way ! whom all eyes Blessed as they looked upon! - Speak yet again, Say, will they part us? D'AUBIGNE'. No, my Blanche; in death We shall not be divided. I shall see His light before me to the last. And when Oh! pardon these weak shrinkings of thy child! — 5 When shall the hour befall? D'AUBIGNE'. Oh! swiftly now, And suddenly, with brief, dread interval, Comes down the mortal stroke. But of that hour As yet I know not. Each low throbbing pulse 10 Of the quick pendulum may usher in Eternity! BLANCHE (kneeling before him.) My father! lay thy hand On thy poor Blanche's head, and once again Bless her with thy deep voice of tenderness, 15 Thus breathing saintly courage through her soul, D'AUBIGNE'. If I may speak through tears!-- Child of my heart! thou who dost look on me There springing up, with soft light round thee shed, 25 For immortality! Meek child of God! I bless thee-He will bless thee! - In His love He calls thee now from this rude, stormy world, And thou wilt die, As thou hast lived, my duteous, holy Blanche! 30 In trusting and serene submissiveness, 85 Humble, yet full of Heaven. Now is there strength Infused through all my spirit. — I can rise - D'AUBIGNE' (pointing upwards.) Seest thou, my child, Yon faint light in the west? The signal-star Of our due vesper-service, gleaming in Through the close dungeon-grating! - Mournfully 5 Of adoration in our narrow cell, As if unworthy Fear or wavering Faith Silenced the strain ?—No! let it waft to Heaven In its dark hour once more ! And we will sleep — 10 Yes, calmly sleep, when our last rite is closed. (They sing together.) CXVII. THE LAST HOURS OF WEBSTER. EVERETT. [The following extract is the concluding portion of a speech delivered by Mr. Everett, October 27, 1852, in Faneuil Hall, Boston, at a meeting of the citizens of Boston, assembled in consequence of the death of Mr. Webster, which had taken place on the 24th.] 66 AMONG the many memorable words which fell from the lips of our friend just before they were closed forever, the most remarkable are those which have been quoted by a previous speaker, I STILL LIVE." They attest the se5 rene composure of his mind; the Christian heroism with which he was able to turn his consciousness in upon himself, and explore, step by step, the dark passage (dark to us, but to him, we trust, already lighted from above), which connects this world with the world to come. But I 10 know not what words could have been better chosen to express his relation to the world he was leaving - I still live." This poor dust is just returning to the dust from which it was taken, but I feel that I live in the affections of the people to whose services I have consecrated my 15 days. "I still live." The icy hand of death is already 66 |