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But cover not with such a shield his baseness;
His country's foe can be the friend of no man.
Wal. Alasco, this is wild and mutinous;
An outrage, marking deep and settled spleen
To just authority.

Alas. Authority!

Show me authority in honor's garb

And I will down upon the humblest knee
That ever homage bent to sovereign sway:
But shall I reverence pride, and hate, and rapine?
No. When oppression stains the robe of state,
And power's a whip of scorpions in the hands.
Of heartless knaves, to lash the o'erburdened back
Of honest industry, the loyal blood

Will turn to bitterest gall, and the o'ercharged heart
Explode in execration.

Hoh. [Going to the side scene.] My servants, there! Audacious railer! thou provokest my wrath Beyond forbearance.

[Two of the Baron's servants enter.]

Seize the Count Alasco;

I here proclaim him rebel to the state.
Alas. [Drawing and putting himself on his defence.]

At your peril venture on my sword.

Wal. My lord! my lord! this is my house; my castle;

You do not, cannot mean this violation:
Beneath the sanctuary of a soldier's roof,
His direst foe is safe.

Slaves !

Hoh. But not his sovereign's;

You would not screen a traitor from the law!

Wal. Nor yield a victim, sir, to angry power;

He came in confidence, and shall depart
In safety. Here my honor guards him.


Your loyalty, my friend, seems rather nice,
And stands upon punctilio.

Wal. Yes, the loyalty

'That is not nice, in honor and good faith,

May serve the tool; the slave; the sycophant;
But does not suit the soldier.

Hoh. Colonel Walsingham,

My station must prescribe my duty here:
Bear hence your prisoner, and await my orders.


[To the attendants.)

[Drawing and interposing.] Ha! touch him, ruffians, on your lives! By heaven!

This arm has not yet lost its vigor. Hence;
Hence, miscreants, from my presence, lest my rage
Forget that you are unworthy of my sword.

[The Baron motions his attendants to retire.]

My lord, this is an outrage on my honor;
Alasco, like a father I have loved thee,
And hoped a worn-out soldier might have found
Fit refuge, in the winter of his age,
Beneath thy sheltering virtues; but no more;
I have now beheld thee attainted of a crime,
Which blots thy fame and honor in my sight,
Beyond the blackest hue of felon trespass;

You've heard the charge, and as you may, must answer it.
Alas. Had conscious wrong drawn down upon my head

This solemn censure from a friend like thee,

It had been death to hear it: But, thank Heaven!

My soul in honor, as in duty clear,

Indignant triumphs o'er unjust reproach,
And holds her seat unshaken.



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1. Lo, how impatiently upon the tide

The proud ship tosses, eager to be free.

Her flag streams wildly, and her fluttering sails
Pant to be on their flight. A few hours more,
And she w move in steady grandeur on,

Cleaving her path majestic through the flood,
As if she were a goddess of the deep.
O, 'tis a thought sublime, that man can force
A path upon the waste, can find a way
Where all is trackless, and compel the winds,
Those freest agents of Almighty power,

To lend their untamed wings, and bear him on
To distant climes.

2. Thou, William, still art young,

And dost not see the wonder. Thou wilt tread
The buoyant deck, and look upon the flood,
Unconscious of the high sublimity,

As 't were a common thing; thy soul unawed,
Thy childish sports unchecked; while thinking man
Shrinks back into himself; himself so mean
'Mid things so vast; and wrapped in deepest awe,
Bends to the might of that mysterious Power,
Who holds the waters in his hand, and guides
The ungovernable winds. 'Tis not in man
To look unmoved upon that heaving waste,
Which, from horizon to horizon spread,
Meets the o'erarching heavens on every side,
Blending their hues in distant faintness there.

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3. 'Tis wonderful! and yet, my boy, just such Is life. Life is a sea, as fathomless,

As wide, as terrible, and yet sometimes

As calm and beautiful. The light of Heaven
Smiles on it, and 'tis decked with every hue
Of glory and of joy. Anon, dark clouds
Arise, contending winds of fate go forth,
And hope sits weeping o'er a general wreck.
4. And thou must sail upon this sea, a long,
Eventful voyage.
The wise may suffer wreck
The foolish must. O, then, be early wise!
Learn from the mariner his skillful art,
To ride upon the waves, and catch the breeze

And dare the threat'ning storm, and trace a path
'Mid countless dangers, to the destined port
Unerringly secure. O, learn from him

To station quick-eyed Prudence at the helm,
To guard thy sail from Passion's sudden blasts,
And make Religion thy magnetic guide,
Which, though it trembles as it lowly lies,
Points to the light that changes not, in heaven.
5. Farewell: Heaven smile propitious on thy course,
And favoring breezes waft thee to the arms
Of love paternal. Yes, and more than this;
Blest be thy passage o'er the changing sea
Of life; the clouds be few that intercept
The light of joy; the waves roll gently on
Beneath thy bark of hope, and bear thee safe
To meet in peace thine other Father, GOD!



1. DURING the contest of opinion through which we have passed, the animation of discussions and of exertions has sometimes worn an aspect which might impose on strangers, unused to think freely, and to speak and to write what they think; but this being now decided by the voice of the nation, announced according to the rules of the constitution, all will, of course, arrange themselves under the will of the law, and unite in common efforts for the common good. All, too, will bear in mind this sacred principle; that, though the will of the majority is, in all cases, to prevail, that will, to be rightful, must be reasonable; that the minority possess their equal rights, which equal laws must protect, and to violate which would be oppression.

2. Let us, then, fellow-citizens, unite with one heart and one mind. Let us restore to social intercourse that harmony

and affection, without which liberty, and even life itself, are but dreary things; and let us reflect, that, having banished from our land that religious intolerance, under which mankind so long bled and suffered, we have yet gained little, if we countenance a political intolerance, as despotic, as wicked, and capable of as bitter and bloody persecutions.

3. During the throes and convulsions of the ancient world, during the agonizing spasms of infuriated man, seeking through blood and slaughter his long-lost liberty, it was not wonderful that the agitation of the billows should reach even this distant and peaceful shore; that this should be more felt and feared by some, and less by others, and should divide opinions, as to measures of safety.

4. But every difference of opinion is not a difference of principle. We have called by different names brethren of the same principle. We are all republicans; we are all federalists. If there be any among us who would wish to dissolve this union, or to change its republican form, let them stand undisturbed, as monuments of the safety with which error of opinion may be tolerated, where reason is left free to combat it.

5. I know, indeed, that some honest men fear that a republican government cannot be strong; that this government is not strong enough. But would the honest patriot, in the full tide of successful experiment, abandon a government which has so far kept us free and firm, on the theoretic and visionary fear, that this government, the world's best hope, may, by possibility, want energy to preserve itself? I trust not. I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest government on earth. I believe it the only one where every man, at the call of the law, would fly to the standard of the law, and would meet invasions of the public order as his own personal concern.

6. Sometimes it is said, that man cannot be trusted with the government of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others? or have we found angels, in the form of kings, to govern him? Let history answer this question.

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