Of petty tyrants, feudal despots,-lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages;

Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great
In that strange spell,—a name!

Each hour, dark fraud,

Or open rapine, or protected murder,

Cry out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbor,-there he stands,-
Was struck,-struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini, because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,

Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor? Men, and wash not
The stain away in blood?

Such shames are common:

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,

I had a brother once, a gracious boy,

Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy: there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
That pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance: Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye
slaves!

Have ye brave sons?-Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters?-Look

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice,

Be answered by the lash!

Yet, this is Rome,

That sate on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world! Yet, we are Romans!
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman

Was greater than a king. And once again-
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus!-once again I swear,
The Eeternal City shall be free!

But see!

THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS-MOORE.
He starts: what heard he then?
That dreadful shout!-Across the glen
From the land side it comes, and loud
Rings through the chasm; as if the crowd
Of fearful things that haunt that dell,
Its ghouls and fiends, and shapes of hell,
Had all in one dread howl broke out,-
So loud, so terrible that shout.

"They come,-the Moslems come!" he cries,
His proud soul mounting to his eyes.-
"Now, spirits of the brave, who roam
Enfranchised through yon starry dome,
Rejoice; for souls of kindred fire

Are on the wing to join your choir!"
He said; and, light as bridegrooms bound
To their young loves, re-climbed the steep
And gained the shrine. His chiefs stood round,
Their swords, as with instinctive leap,

Together, at that cry accurst,

Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst.
And hark!-again-again it rings;

Near and more near its echoings

Peal through the chasm. Oh! who that then
Had seen those listening warrior-men,
With their swords grasped, their eyes of flame
Turned on their chief, could doubt the shame,
Th' indignant shame with which they thrill
To hear those shouts, and yet stand still?

He read their thoughts; they were his own:-
"What! while our arms can wield these blades,
Shall we die tamely, die alone?

Without one victim to our shades,
One Moslem heart where, buried deep,
The sabre from its toil may sleep?
No! God of Iran's burning skies!
Thou scorn'st th' inglorious sacrifice.
No! Though of all earth's hope bereft,
Life, swords, and vengeance still are left.
We'll make yon valley's reeking caves
Live in the awe-struck minds of men,
Till tyrants shudder when their slaves
Tell of the Ghebers' bloody glen.
Follow, brave hearts! This pile remains
Our refuge still from life and chains;
But his the best, the holiest bed,

Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead!”

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB

-BYRON.

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the

sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath

flown,

That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the

blast,

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew

still.

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his

pride;

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail;
And the idols are broken in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.

SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA

-KELLOGG.

It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus, returning with victorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto unknown even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revelry had died away; the roar of the lion had ceased; the last loiterer had retired from the banquet; and the lights in the palace of the victor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dewdrops on the corslet of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of the Vulturnus with a wavy, tremulous light. No sound was heard, save the last sob of some retiring wave, telling its story to the smooth pebbles of the beach; and then all was still as the breast when the spirit had departed. In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band of gladiators were assembled; their muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their brows; when Spartacus, starting forth from amid the throng, thus addressed them:

"Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief, who for twelve long years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say, that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always thus,-a hired butcher, a savage chief of