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This is love, who, deaf to prayers,
Floods with blessings unswares.
Draw, if then cauft, the mystics line
Severing rightly his from theres.

which is human, which divine.

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POEMS OF TRAGEDY.

IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON.

IPHIGENEIA, when she heard her doom
At Aulis, and when all beside the king
Had gone away, took his right hand, and said:
"O father! I am young and very happy.
I do not think the pious Calchas heard
Distinctly what the goddess spake; old age
Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew
My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood,
While I was resting on her knee both arms,
And hitting it to make her mind my words,
And looking in her face, and she in mine,
Might not he, also, hear one word amiss,
Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?"
The father placed his cheek upon her head,
And tears dropt down it; but the king of men
Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more:
"O father! sayest thou nothing? Hearest thou

not

Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour,
Listened to fondly, and awakened me
To hear my voice amid the voice of birds,
When it was inarticulate as theirs,

And the down deadened it within the nest ?'
He moved her gently from him, silent still;
And this, and this alone, brought tears from her,
Although she saw fate nearer. Then with sighs:
"I thought to have laid down my hair before
Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed

Her polished altar with my virgin blood ;
I thought to have selected the white flowers
To please the nymphs, and to have asked of each
By name, and with no sorrowful regret,

Whether, since both my parents willed the change,
I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow;
And (after these who mind us girls the most)
Adore our own Athene, that she would
Regard me mildly with her azure eyes,
But, father, to see you no more, and see
Your love, O father! go ere I am gone!"
Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,
Bending his lofty head far over hers;
And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.
He turned away,
not far, but silent still.

She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh,
So long a silence seemed the approach of death,
And like it. Once again she raised her voice :
"O father! if the ships are now detained,
And all your vows move not the gods above,
When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer
The less to them; and purer can there be
Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's prayer
For her dear father's safety and success?"

A
groan that shook him shook not his resolve.
An aged man now entered, and without
One word stepped slowly on, and took the wrist
Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw
The fillet of the priest and calin, cold eyes.
Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried:
"O father! grieve no more; the ships can sail."

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And he hath passed in safety

Unto his woful home,
And there ta'en horse to tell the camp
What deeds are done in Rome.

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.

LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS OVER THE
BODY OF LUCRETIA.

FROM "BRUTUS."

WOULD you know why I summoned you together?
Ask ye what brings me here? Behold this dagger,

Clotted with gore! Behold that frozen corse!
See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death!
She was the mark and model of the time,

And the poor queen, who loved him as her son,
Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge!
The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens,
The gods themselves, shall justify the cry,
And swell the general sound, Revenge! Revenge!
And we will be revenged, my countrymen !
Brutus shall lead you on; Brutus, a name
Which will, when you 're revenged, be dearer to
him

Than all the noblest titles earth can boast.
Brutus your king! No, fellow-citizens !
If mad ambition in this guilty frame
Had strung one kingly fibre, yea, but one,
By all the gods, this dagger which I hold.
Should rip it out, though it intwined my heart.
Now take the body up. Bear it before us
To Tarquin's palace; there we 'll light our torches,
And in the blazing conflagration rear

The mould in which each female face was formed, A pile, for these chaste relics, that shall send

The very shrine and sacristy of virtue!
Fairer than ever was a form created

By youthful faney when the blood strays wild,
And never-resting thought is all on fire!

The worthiest of the worthy! Not the nymph
Who met old Numa in his hallowed walks,
And whispered in his ear her strains divine,
Can I conceive beyond her;

the young choir
'Tis wonderful

Of vestal virgins bent to her.
Amid the darnel, hemlock, and base weeds,
Which now spring rife from the luxurious com-

post

Spread o'er the realm, how this sweet lily rose,
How from the shade of those ill-neighboring

plants

Her father sheltered her, that not a leaf
Was blighted, but, arrayed in purest grace,
She bloomed unsullied beauty. Such perfections
Might have called back the torpid breast of age
To long-forgotten rapture; such a mind
Might have abashed the boldest libertine
And turned desire to reverential love
And holiest affection! O my countrymen !
You all can witness when that she went forth
It was a holiday in Rome; old age
Forgot its crutch, labor its task,
all ran,
And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried,
"There, there's Lucretia!" Now look ye where

she lies!

That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose,
Torn up by ruthless violence,--gone! gone! gone!
Say, would you seek instruction? would ye ask
What ye should do? Ask ye yon conscious walls,
Which saw his poisoned brother,
Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove
O'er her dead father's corse, 't will cry, Revenge!
Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple
With human blood, and it will ery, Revenge!
Go to the tomb where lies his murdered wife,

Her soul amongst the stars. On! Brutus leads you!

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE

ANTONY'S ORATION OVER THE BODY
OF CESAR.

FROM "JULIUS CÆSAR," ACT III SC 2.

ANTONY. Omighty Cæsar! dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure?- Fare thee well.

(To the people.)

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your

ears;

I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interrèd with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious :
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honorable man ;
So are they all, all honorable men,)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
| You all did see that on the Lupercal

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause.
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for
him?

O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason!- Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
O masters! if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,

I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men :
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men.
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar, -
I found it in his closet, - 't is his will.
Let but the commons hear this testament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,)
And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood :
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,
Unto their issue.

ANT. You will compel me, then, to read the will?

Then make a ring about the corse of Cæsar, And let me show you him that made the will Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? CITIZENS. Come down.

ANT. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off. CITIZENS. Stand back; room; bear back. ANT. If you have tears, prepare to shed them

now.

You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on ;

'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent;
That day he overcame the Nervii :-
Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through:
See what a rent the envious Casca made :
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed;
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel :
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished him: then burst his mighty
heart;

And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statua,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.

4 CITIZEN. We'll hear the will: read it, Mark O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel
Antony.
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.
CITIZENS. The will, the will! we will hear Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold
Cæsar's will.
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here,

ANT. Have patience, gentle friends, I must Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors.

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2 CIT. They were villains, murderers: the Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,

will read the will!

To stir men's blood: I only speak right on;

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