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And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Great Cæsar fell.
you but behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded ? Look
here. Here is himself, marred, as you see, by traitors.
1st Citizen. O piteous spectacle ! 2d Citizen. O noble Cæsar!
3d Citizen. We will be revenged ! Revenge ! about, Seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! - let not a trai
tor live. Antony. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir
I am no orator, as Brutus is;
From“ Julius Cæsar."
A DAY IN JUNE
And what is so rare as a day in June ?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
And over it softly her warm ear lays:
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world and she to her nest In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best ? Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a rippling cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God wills it; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
Tells all in his lusty crowing !
Everything is upward striving ;
'Tis the natural way of living; Who knows whither the clouds have fled ?
In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
SPEECH AND SILENCE
1. He who speaks honestly cares not, needs not care, though his words be preserved to remotest time. The dishonest speaker, not he only who purposely utters falsehoods, but he who does not purposely, and with sincere heart, utter Truth, and Truth alone; who babbles he knows not what, and has clapped no bridle on his tongue, but lets it run racket, ejecting chatter and futility, — is among the most indisputable malefactors omitted, or inserted, in the Criminal Calendar.
2. To him that will well consider it, idle speaking is precisely the beginning of all Hollowness, Halfness, Infidelity (want of Faithfulness); the genial atmosphere in which rank weeds of every kind attain the mastery over noble fruits in man's life, and utterly choke them out: one of the most crying maladies of these days, and to be testified against, and in all ways to the uttermost withstood.
3. Wise, of a wisdom far beyond our shallow depth, was that old precept: “Watch thy tongue; out of it are the issues of Life!” Man is properly an incarnated word: the word that he speaks is the man himself. Were eyes put into our head, that we might see, or that we might fancy, and plausibly pretend, we had seen? Was the tongue suspended there, that