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“And all that day I read in school,

But my thought was otherwhere ; As soon as the midday task was done,

In secret I was there, — And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,

And still the corse was bare !

“ Then down I cast me on my face,

And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one

That earth refused to keep, — Or land or sea, though he should be

Ten thousand fathoms deep.

“To the man who 'll bring to me,”

Cried Intendant Harry Lee, -
Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine, -

“ Bring the sot alive or dead,
I will give to him," he said,
“ Fifteen hundred pesos down,

Just to set the rascal's crown
Underneath this heel of mine :

Since but death
Deserves the man whose deed,
Be it vice or want of heed,
Stops the pumps that give us breath, —

Stops the pumps that suck the death
From the poisoned lower levels of the mine ! "

“So wills the fierce avenging sprite,

Till blood for blood atones !
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,

And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off his flesh, —

The world shall see his bones !

"O God ! that horrid, horrid dream

Besets me now awake!
Again -- again, with dizzy brain,

The human life I take; and my red right hand grows raging hot,

Like Cranmer's at the stake.

No one answered, for a cry

From the shaft rose up on high ;
And shuffling, scrambling, tumbling from below,

Came the miners each, the bolder
Mounting on the weaker's shoulder,
Grappling, clinging to their hold or

Letting go,
As the weaker gasped and fell
From the ladder to the well,
To the poisoned pit of hell

Down below!

But stand to your glasses, steady!

And soon shall our pulses rise ; A cup to the dead already

Hurrah for the next that dies !

“To the man who sets them free,"

(ried the foreman, Harry Lee, – Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine, - |

“ Brings them out and sets them free,
I will give that man," said he,
“ Twice that sum, who with a rope
Face to face with death shall cope :
Let him come who dares to hope !
“ Hold your peace !” some one replied,

Standing by the foreman's side ; “There has one already gone, whoe'er he be !".

Not a sigh for the lot that darkles,

Not a tear for the friends that sink; We 'll fall, midst the wine-cup's sparkles,

As mute as the wine we drink. So stand to your glasses, steady!

'T is this that the respite buys; One cup to the dead already --

Hurrah for the next that dies !

Then they held their breath with awe,
Pulling on the rope, and saw
Fainting figures reappear,
On the black rope swinging clear,
Fastened by some skilful hand from below;

Till a score the level gained,
And but one alone remained, -
He the hero and the last,

He whose skilful hand made fast
The long line that brought them back to hope

and cheer !

Time was when we frowned at others ;

We thought we were wiser then ;
Ha ! ha ! let those think of their mothers,

Who hope to see them again.
No ! stand to your glasses, steady!

The thoughtless are here the wise ;
A cup to the dead already -

Hurrah for the next that dies !

Haggard, gasping, down dropped he

At the feet of Harry Lee, Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine ;

“I have come,” he gasped, “ to claim
Both rewards, Señor, — my name

Is Ramon !
I'm the drunken engineer, —
I'm the coward, Señor – ” Here
He fell over, by that sign

Dead as stone!

There's many a hand that's shaking,

There's many a cheek that's sunk; But soon, though our hearts are breaking,

They ’ll burn with the wine we've drunk So stand to your glasses, steady!

'T is here the revival lies ; A cup to the dead already

Hurrah for the next that dies !

BRET HARTE.

There's a mist on the glass congealing,

”T is the hurricane's fiery breath ; And thus does the warmth of feeling

Turn ice in the grasp of Death. Ho ! stand to your glasses, steady!

For a moment the vapor flies ; A cup to the dead already —

Hurrah for the next that dies !

REVELRY OF THE DYING.

(Supposed to be written in India, while the plague was raging, and playing havoc among the British residents and troops stationed there. This has been attributed to Alfred Domett and to Bar. tholomew Dowling, but was written by neither of them. It first appeared in the New York Albion, but the author is absolutely un. known.)

We meet 'neath the sounding rafter,

And the walls around are bare ; As they shout to our peals of laughter,

It seems that the dead are there. But stand to your glasses, steady!

We drink to our comrades' eyes ; Quaff a cup to the dead already

And hurrah for the next that dies !

Who dreads to the dust returning ?

Who shrinks from the sable shore, Where the high and haughty yearning

Of the soul shall sting no more! Ho! stand to your glasses, steady!

The world is a world of lies; A cup to the dead already

Hurrah for the next that dies !

Not here are the goblets glowing,

Not here is the vintage sweet ; 'T is cold, as our hearts are growing,

And dark as the doom we meet.

Cut off from the land that bore us,

Betrayed by the land we find, Where the brightest have gone before us,

And the dullest remain behind — Stand, stand to your glasses, steady!

"T is all we have left to prize ; A cup to the dead already —

And hurrah for the next that dies !

SHAKESPEARE

MILTON

Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds,
FRAGMENTS.

In ranks and squadrons, and right form of war,
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol.

O Cæsar ! these things are beyond all use,
THE FIRST TRAGEDY.

And I do fear them.
So saying, her rash hand in evil hour
Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat : When beggars die there are no comets seen ;
Earth feit the wound ; and Nature from her seat, The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe, princes.
That all was lost.

Julius Cæsar, Ad ii. Sc. 2. Paradise Lost, Book ix.

Danger knows full well

That Cæsar is more dangerous than he.
He scrupled not to eat

We are two lions littered in one day,
Against his better knowledge, not deceived,

And I the elder and more terrible. But fondly overcome with female charm.

Julius Casar, Act ii. Sc. 2.

SHAKESPEARE Earth trembled from her entrails, as again In pangs, and Nature gave a second groan.

What is danger Paradise Lost, Book ix.

MILTON. More than the weakness of our apprehensions ?

A poor cold part o'th' blood; who takes it hold of? Death

Cowards and wicked livers : valiant minds Grinned horrible a ghastly smile, to hear

Were made the masters of it. His famine should be filled, and blessed his maw

Chances.

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. Destined to that good hour.

CÆSAE. The Ides of March are come. Paradise Lost, Book ii.

MILTON.

SOOTHSAYER. Ay, Cæsar ; but not gone. Julius Cæsar, Act iii. Sc. 1.

SHAKESPEARE. EFFECTS OF CRIME AND GRIEF.

Eyes, look your last : The stings of Falsehood those shall try,

Arms, take your last embrace; and lips, And hard Unkindness' altered eye,

0! you, That mocks the tear it forced to flow;

The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss And keen Remorse with blood defiled,

A dateless bargain to engrossing death. And moody Madness laughing wild

Romeo and Juliet, Act v. Sc. 3.

SHAKESPEARE
Amid severest woe.
On a Distant Prospect of Eton College.

The King's ENEMY.
T. GRAY.

Thou art a traitor. My heart is as an anvil unto sorrow,

Off with his head !-- now by Saint Paul I swear Which beats upon it like a Cyclop's hammer, I will not dine until I see the same. And with the noise turns up my giddy brain King Richard III., Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE, And makes me frantic !

Off with his head ! so much for Buckingham ! Edward II.

C. MARLOWE

Shakespeare's Richard III. (Altered), dctiv. 563
Every sense
Had been o'erstrung by pangs intense ;

REVENGE.
And each frail fibre of her brain

| And if we do but watch the hour, (As bowstrings, when relaxed by rain,

There never yet was human power The erring arrow launch aside)

Which could evade, if unforgiven,
Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide. The patient search and vigil long
Parisina.

BYRON. Of him who treasures up a wrong.
Mazeppa.

BYRON. I am not mad; — I would to heaven I were !

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. For then, 't is like I should forget myself ; O, if I could, what grief I should forget!

Merchant of Venice, Ad i. Sc. 2 King Fohn, Act iii. Sc. 4.

SHAKESPEARE. If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my re

venge.
Merchant of Venice, Act iii. Sc. I.

SHAKESPEARE
PORTENTS AND FEARS.

Vengeance to God alone belongs ;
CÆSAR. Speak ! Cæsar is turned to hear. But when I think on all my wrongs,

SOOTHSAYER. Beware the Ides of March! My blood is liquid flame.
Julius Cæsar, Act i. Sc. 2.
SHAKESPEARE. I Marmion, Cant. vi.

SCOTT.

SHAKESPEARE.

eyes.

FORETHOUGHT OF MURDER.

10 horror ! horror ! horror! Tongue nor heart There shall be done

Cannot conceive nor name thee.
A deed of dreadful note.
Macbeth, Ad iii. Sc. 2.

Confusion now hath made his master-piece.
SHAKESPEARE.

Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope Between the acting of a dreadful thing,

The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence And the first motion, all the interim is

The life o' the building. Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream :

Macbeth, Act ii. Sc. 2.

SHAKESPEARE The Genius, and the mortal instruments,

| Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies : Are then in council ; and the state of man,

The gods on murderers fix revengeful eyes. Like to a little kingdom, suffers then

Widow's Tears.

CHAPMAN. The nature of an insurrection. Julius Cæsar, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE

Foul deeds will rise,

Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men's If it were done, when 't is done, then 't were well It were done quickly : if the assassination Hamlet, Act i. Sc.2.

SHAKESPEARE. Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease, success; that but this blow O blisful God, that art so just and trewe ! Might be the be-all and the end-all here, Lo, howe that thou biwreyest mordre alway! But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, - Mordre wol out, that se we day by day. We'd jump the life to come.

The Nonnes Preestes Talt.

CHAUCER. For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak Besides, this Duncan With most miraculous organ. Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been

Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. I.

SHAKESPEARE. So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off.

THE HARDENED CRIMINAL. Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7.

SHAKESPEARE. I have almost forgot the taste of fear.

I have almost forgot the ta

The time has been, my senses would have quailed Put out the light, and then – put out the light.

To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,

Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir, I can again thy former light restore,

As life were in 't. I have supped full with hor. Should I repent me ; but once put out thy light,

rors : Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,

Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, I know not where is that Promethean heat,

Cannot once start me. That can thy light relume. When I have plucked

Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 4.

SHAKESPEARE, thy rose I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither.

SUICIDE.

All mankind Othello, Act v. Sc. 2.

Is one of these two cowards ; Stop up th' access and passage to remorse, | Either to wish to die That no compunctious visitings of nature When he should live, or live when he should die. Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between

The Blind Lady.

SIR R. HOWARD. Th' effect and it.

Our enemies have beat us to the hiy: Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 5.

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ;

Than tarry till they push us. Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,

Julius Cæsar, Ac v. Sc. 5. Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds.

He Julius Cæsar, Ad ii. Sc. I.

That kills himself t' avoid misery, fears it,

And at the best shows but a bastard valor : AFTERWARDS.

This life's a fort committed to my trust, 0, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; Which I must not yield up, till it be forced ; It hath the primal el lest curse upon 't,

Nor will I : he's not valiant that dares die, A brother's murder.

But he that boldly bears calamity.
Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 3
SHAKESPEARE The Maid of Honor.

P. MASSINGER.

SHAKESPEARE.

SHAKESPEARE

SHAKESPEARE.

SHAKESPEARE.

PERSONAL POEMS

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