increase. He was no nameless man, staking life for reputation; he ranked among nobles, and looked unawed upon kings.

3. He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide a broken heart; he was girdled by the companions of his childhood; his kinsmen were about him; his wife was before him. Yet from all these loved ones he turned away. Like a lofty tree that shakes down its green glories, to battle with the winter's storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and pride to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He càme; but not in the day of successful rebéllion; not when the new-risen sun of independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered to its place in the héavens.

4. He came when darkness curtained the hills, and the tempest was abroad in its anger; when the plow stood still in the field of promise, and briers cumbered the garden of beauty; when fathers were dying, and mothers were weeping over them; when the wife was binding up the gashed bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the deathdamp from the brow of her lover. He came when the brave began to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. It was then that this ONE joined the ranks of a revolted people.

5. Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. With them he courted the battle's rage; with theirs, his arm was lifted; with theirs, his blood was shed. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length, kind Heaven smiled on the good cause, and the beaten invaders fled. The profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and at her pure shrine the pilgrim warrior, with his adored Commander, knelt and worshiped. Leaving there his offering, the incense of an uncorrupted spirit, he, at length, rose, and crowned, with benedictions, turned his happy feet toward his long-deserted home.

6. After nearly fifty years, that ONE has come again. Can mortal tongue tell, can mortal heart feel the sublimity of that

coming? Exulting millions rejoice in it; (f) and their loud, long, transporting shout, like the mingling of many winds, rolls on, undying, to freedom's farthest mountains. A congregated nation comes around him. Old men bless him, and children reverence him. The lovely come out to look upon him; the learned deck their halls to greet him; the rulers of the land rise up to do him homage.

7. How his full heart labors! He views the rusting trophies of departed days; he treads the high places where his brethren molder; he bends before the tomb of his FATHER;* * his words are tears, the speech of sad remembrance. But he looks round upon a ransomed land and a joyous race; he beholds the blessings those trophies secured, for which those brethren died, for which that FATHER lived; and again his words are tears, the eloquence of gratitude and joy.

8. Spread forth creation like a map; bid earth's dead multitude revive; and of all the pageant splendors that ever glittered to the sun, when looked his burning eye on a sight like this? Of all the myriads that have come and gone, what cherished minion ever ruled an hour like this? Many have struck the redeeming blow for their own freedom; but who, like this man, has bared his bosom in the cause of strangers? Others have lived in the love of their own people; but who, like this man, has drank his sweetest cup of welcome with another? Matchless Chief! of glory's immortal tablets, there is one for him, for him alone! Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlasting flame of liberty shall guard it, that the generations of men may repeat the name recorded there, the beloved name of LA FAYETTE.

QUESTIONS.-1. On what principle are own and other, emphatic, first paragraph? See Note VII., page 22. Why the rising inflection on rebellion and heaven, third paragraph? See Note L., page 29.

* Washington.

EXERCISE CV.

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

I.

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,

MRS. NORTON.

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears;
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.
The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand,
And he said: "I never more shall see my own, my native land;
Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine,
For I was born at Bingen,—at Bingen on the Rhine.

II.

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around,
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground,
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done,
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun.
And midst the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars,—
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars;
But some were young,—and suddenly beheld life's morn decline,—
And one had come from Bingen,-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

III.

"Tell
my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age,
And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage:
For my father was a soldier, and, even as a child,

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild;
And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard,

I let them take whate'er they would—but kept my father's sword; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the cottage-wall at Bingen,-calm Bingen on the Rhine!

IV.

"Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye,

For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die.
And, if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name

To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame;

And to hang the old sword in its place, (my father's sword and mine,) For the honor of old Bingen,-dear Bingen on the Rhine!

V.

"There's another-not a sister;-in the happy days gone by, You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye; Too innocent for coquetry,-too fond for idle scorning ;

Oh! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourn-
Tell her the last night of my life-(for ere this moon be risen [ing!
My body will be out of pain-my soul be out of prison,)

I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine,
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen,-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

VI.

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along—I heard, or seemed to hear,
The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear;
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,
That echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still;
And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk,
Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk;
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine,

But we'll meet no more at Bingen,-loved Bingen on the Rhine !"

VII.

His voice grew faint and hoarser,—his grasp was childish weak,—
His eyes put on a dying look,—he sighed and ceased to speak:
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled,—
The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land—was dead!
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down,
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown;
Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen,-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

EXERCISE CVI.

PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE

POPE'S HOMER'S ILIAD

1. Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run?
Ah! too forgetful of thy wife and son!
And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,
A widow I, a helpless orphan he!

For sure such courage length of life denies,
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain;
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain!
O, grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of Heaven, an early tomb!
So shall my days in one sad tenor run,
And end with sorrows as they first begun.

2. No parent now remains my grief to share,
No father's aid, no mother's tender care.
The fierce Achilles wrapped our walls in fire,
Laid Thebé waste, and slew my warlike sire!
His fate compassion in the victor bred;
Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead.
His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil,
And laid him decent on the funeral pile:

3.

4.

Then raised a mountain where his bones were burned:
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorned:
Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow
A barren shade, and in his honor grow.

By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell;
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell;
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed,
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled!
My mother lived to bear the victor's bands,
The queen of Hippoplacia's silver lands;
Redeemed too late, she scarce beheld again
Her pleasing empire and her native plain,
When, ah! oppressed by life-consuming woe
She fell a victim to Diana's bow.

Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all in thee;
Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall.