Εικόνες σελίδας
Ηλεκτρ. έκδοση

Oh, spare ye w
war-hounds, spare

their tender age,
On me, on me,” she cried, “ exhaust your rage !
Then with weak arms her weeping babes caressed,

And sighing, hid them in her blood-stained vest. 4. From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies,

Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes;
Eliza's name along the camp he calls,
Eliza ! echoes through the canvas walls;
Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread
O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead,
Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood,

Lo! dear Eliza, weltering in her blood !
5. Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds,

With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds :
“Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand,
“ Eliza sleeps upon the dew-cold sand;
Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake –
Why do you weep? — Mamma will soon awake.”
“She'll wake no more !” the hopeless mourner cried,
Upturned his eyes, and clasped his hands and sighed;
Stretched on the ground awhile entranced he lay,
And pressed warm kisses on the lifeless clay;
And then upsprung with wild convulsive start,
And all the father kindled in his heart:
“ Oh heavens !” he cried, “ my first rash vow forgive !
These bind to earth, for these I pray to live!”
Round his chill babes he wrapped his crimson vest,
And clasped them sobbing to his aching breast.




1. BEFORE all hearts and minds in this august asserr.blage, the vivid image of ONE MAN stands. To some aged eye, he may come forth, from the dim past, as he appeared in the neighboring city of his native state, a lithe and ardent youth, full of promise, of ambition, and of hope. To another, he may appear as, in a distant state, in the courts of justice, erect, highstrung, bold, wearing fresh forensic laurels on his



open brow.

2. Some may see him in the earlier and some in the later stages of his career on this auspicious theater of his renown; and to the former he will start out, on the background of the past, as he appeared in the neighboring chamber, tall, elate, impassioned, with flashing eye, and suasive gesture, and clarion voice, an already acknowledged " Agamemnon, King of Men;" and to others, he will again stand in this chamber“ the strong staff” of the bewildered and staggering state, and “ the beautiful rod,” rich with the blossoms of genius, and of patriotic love and hope, the life of youth still remaining to give animation, grace, and exhaustless vigor, to the wisdom, the experience, and gravity of age.

3. To others he may be present as he sat in the chamber of sickness, cheerful, majestic, gentle - his mind clear, his heart warm, his hope fixed on heaven, peacefully preparing for his last great change. To the memory of the minister of God, he appears as the penitent, humble, and peaceful christian, who received him with the affection of a father, and joined with him in solemn sacrament and rayer with the gentleness of a woman and humility of a child. “ Out of the strong came forth sweetness “How is the strong staff broken and the beautiful rod ! "

[ocr errors]

4. But not before this assembly only does the venerable image of the departed statesman this day distinctly stand. For more than a thousand miles-east, west, north, and south-it is known and remembered, that at this place and hour a nation's representatives assemble to do honor to him whose fame is now a nation's heritage. A vation's mighty heart throbs against this capitol, and beats through you. In many cities, banners droop, bells toll, cannons boom, funeral draperies


5. In crowded streets and on surrounding wharves, upon steamboats, and upon cars, in fields, in workshops, in homes, in schools, millions of men, women, and children, have their thoughts fixed upon this scene, and say mournfully to each other, “ This is the hour in which, at the capital, the nation's representatives are burying Henry Clay.” Burying Henry Clay? Bury the record of your country's history—bury the hearts of living millions--bury the mountains, the rivers, the lakes, and the spreading lands from sea to sea, with which his name is inseparably associated, and even then you would not bury Henry Clay-for he is in other lands and speaks in other tongues, and to other times, than ours.

6. A great mind, a great heart, a great orator, a great career, have been consigned to history. She will record his rare gifts of deep insight, keen discrimination, clear statement, rapid combination, plain, direct, and convincing logic. She will love to dwell on that large, generous, magnanimous, open, forgiving heart. She will linger with fond delight on the recorded or traditional stories of an eloquence that was so masterful and stirring, because it was but himself struggling to come forth on the living words—because, though the words were brave and strong, and beautiful, and melodious, it was felt that, behind them, there was a soul, braver, stronger, more beautiful, and more melodious than language could express.

7. She will point to a career of statesmanship which has, to


a remarkable degree, stamped itself on the public policy of the country, and reached in benificent practical results the fields, the looms, the commercial marts, and the quiet homes of all the land, where his name was with the departed father, and is with the living children, and will be with successive generations, the honored household word.




First Voice.
1. How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear!
With the howls of the storm-wind-the creaks of the bies,
And the white bones all clattering tagether!

Second Voice.
2. How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep!
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,
And flowrets perfume it with ether.

First Voice.
3. There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead,
And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed,
And snakes in its nettle-weeds hiss.

Second Voice.
4. How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb;
No tempests are there—but the nightingales come
And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.

First Voice.
5. The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave:
'Tis the vulture's abode—'tis the wolf's dreary cave,

Where they tear up the earth with their fangs.

Second Voice. 6. There the rabbit at evening disports with his love, Or rests on the sod—while the turtles above, Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.

First Voice. 7. There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath And loathsome decay, fill the dwelling of death,

And trees are all barren and bare!

Second Voice. 8. Oh, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume, With lilies and jessamine fair.

First Voice, 9. The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears, Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears, He is launched on the wreck-covered river !

Second Voice. 10. The traveler, outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary, Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary,

And sweetly reposes forever !





My voice is still for war.
Gods! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death ?
No, let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick array

« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »