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be deceived;
Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue,
Forgiveness may be written with the pen,
But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon
Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart.
There's that betwixt you been which men remember
Till they forget themselves, till all 's forgot, —
Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed
From which no morrow's mischief rouses them.
There's that betwixt you been which you yourselves,
Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves ;
For must it not be thought some base men's souls
Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out,
If, in the coldness of a craven heart,
Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man
For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes !

42. WAT TYLER'S ADDRESS TO THE KING. Robert Southey. B. 1774, d. 1843

King of England,
Petitioning for pity is most weak,
The sovereign People ought to demand justice.
I lead them here against the Lord's anointed,
Because his Ministers have made him odious!
His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous.
Why do ye carry on this fatal war,
To force upon the French a King they hate;
Tearing our young men from their peaceful homes,
Forcing his hard-earned fruits from the honest peasant,
Distressing us to desolate our neighbors ?
Why is this ruinous poll-tax imposed,
But to support your Court's extravagance,

mad title to the Crown of France ?
Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils,
Petitioning for pity ? King of England,
Why are we sold like cattle in your markets,
Deprived of every privilege of man?
Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet,
And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that beats us?
You sit at ease in your gay palaces :
The costly banquet courts your appetite;
Sweet music soothes your slumbers : we, the while,
Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food,
And sleep scarce sheltered from the cold night wind,

your wild projects wrest the little from us
Which might have cheered the wintry hours of age !

The Parliament forever asks more money;

that we

Do you

We toil and sweat for money for your taxes ;
Where is the benefit, — what good reap we
From all the counsels of your government ?

should quarrel with the French ?
What boots to us your victories, your glory?
We pay, we fight, - you profit at your ease !

not claim the country as your own?
Do you not call the venison of the forest,
The birds of Heaven, your own? - prohibiting us,
Even though in want of food, to seize the prey
Which Nature offers ? King! is all this just?
Think you we do not feel the wrongs we suffer ?
The hour of retribution is at hand,
And tyrants tremble, - mark me, King of England !

43. TIIE SOLDIER'S DREAM. - Thomas Campbell.
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,

By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,

And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again.
Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array,

Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track;
'Twas autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore


home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o’er,

wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.
• Stay, stay with us, - rest, thou art weary and worn ”!

And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay,
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

H. TO THE ARMY BEFORE QUEBEC, 1759.— Gen. Wolfe. Born, 1728 ; died, 1759.

I CONGRATULATE you, my brave countrymen and fellow-soldiers, on the spirit and success with which you have executed this important part of our enterprise. The formidable Heights of Abraham are now surmounted ; and the city of Quebec, the object of all our toils, now stands in full view before us. A perfidious enemy, who have dared to exasperate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you on equal ground, are now constrained to face you on the open plain, without ramparts or intrenchments to shelter them.

You know too well the forces which compose their army to dread their superior numbers. A few regular troops from old France, weakened by hunger and sickness, who, when fresh, were unable to withstand the British soldiers, are their General's chief dependence. Those numerous companies of Canadians, insolent, mutinous, unsteady, and ill-disciplined, have exercised his utmost skill to keep them together to this time; and, as soon as their irregular ardor is damped by one firm fire, they will instantly turn their backs, and give you no further trouble but in the pursuit. As for those savage tribes of Indians, whose horrid yells in the forests have struck many a bold heart with affright, terrible as they are with a tomahawk and scalping-knife to a flying and prostrate foe, you have experienced how little their ferocity is to be dreaded by resolute men upon fair and open ground: you can now only consider them as the just objects of a severe revenge for the unhappy fate of many slaughtered countrymen.

This day puts it into your power to terminate the fatigues of a siege which has so long employed your courage and patience. Possessed with a full confidence of the certain success which British valor must gain over such enemies, I have led you up these steep and dangerous rocks, only solicitous to show you the foe within your reach. The impossibility of a retreat make no difference in the situation of men resolved to conquer or die : and, believe me, my friends, if your conquest could be bought with the blood of your General, he would most cheerfully resign a life which he has long devoted to his country.

45. THE AMERICAN FLAG.-J.R. Drake. Born, 1795 ; died, 1820.

When Freedom, from her mountain height,

Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous

The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white,
With streakings of the morning light;
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,

gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch of the cloud,

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumpings loud,

And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm,

And rolls the thunder-drum of Heaven,
Child of the Sun ! to thee 't is given

To guard the banner of the free;
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke;
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,

The harbingers of victory!
Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high.
When speaks the signal trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on,
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, –
Each soldier's

eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn;
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And, when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,

sabres rise and fall
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,

And cowering foes shall fall beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below

That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas ! on ocean's wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave.
When Death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back,
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to Heaven and thee;
And smile to see thy splendors fly,
In triumph, o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home !

By angel hands to Valor given!
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in Heaven. Forever float that standard sheet !

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us?

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General George Washington. Born, 1732; died, 1799. The time is now near at hand which must probably determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves; whether they are to have any property they can call their own; whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, and themselves consigned to a state of wretchedness from which no human efforts will deliver them. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the choice of a brave resistance, or the most abject submission. We have, therefore, to resolve to conquer or to die.

Our own, our country's honor, calls upon us for a vigorous and manly exertion ; and if we now shamefully fail, we shall become infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, rely on the goodness of our cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands victory is, to animate and encourage us to great and noble actions. The eyes of all our countrymen are now upon us; and we shall have their blessings and praises, if happily we are the instruments of saving them from the tyranny meditated against them. Let us, therefore, animate and encourage each other, and show the whole world that a freeman contending for liberty on his own ground is superior to any slavish mercenary on earth.

Liberty, property, life and honor, are all at stake. Upon your courage and conduct rest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted country. Our wives, children and parents, expect safety from us only; and they have every reason to believe that Heaven will crown with success so just a cause. The enemy will endeavor to intimidate by show and appearance; but remember they have been repulsed on various occasions by a few brave Americans. Their cause is bad, their men are conscious of it; and, if opposed with firmness and coolness on their first onset, with our advantage of works, and knowledge of the ground, the victory is most assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be silent and attentive, wait for orders, and reserve his fire until he is sure of doing execution.

47. TO THE ARMY OF ITALY, MAY 15, 1796. — Napoleon Bonaparte. B. 1769 ; d. 1821.

Original Translation. SOLDIERS! You have precipitated yourselves like a torrent from the Apennines. You have overwhelmed or swept before you all that opposed your march. Piedmont, delivered from Austrian oppression, has returned to her natural sentiments of peace and friendship towards France. Milan is yours; and over all Lombardy floats the flag of the Republic. To your generosity only, do the Dukes of Parma and of Moděna now owe their political existence. The army which proudly threatened you finds no remaining barrier of defence against your courage. The Po, the Tessino, the Adda, could not stop you a single

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