How blue the far mountains! how glad the green isles!
And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles!
"Joy! joy!" cries Columbus, this region is mine!
Ah! not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer, is thine!

But, lo! his dream changes;- a vision less bright
Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight.
The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band,
Assail the meek natives and ravage the land.

He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire,

And the peaceful Cazique 'mid their ashes expire;
He sees, too,-Oh, saddest! Oh, mournfullest sight!—
The crucifix gleam in the thick of the fight.

More terrible far than the merciless steel

Is the up-lifted cross in the red hand of Zeal!

Again the dream changes. Columbus looks forth,
And a bright constellation beholds in the North.
'Tis the herald of empire! A People appear,
Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear!
They level the forest,— they ransack the seas,-
Each zone finds their canvas unfurled to the breeze.
"Hold!" Tyranny cries; but their resolute breath
Sends back the reply, "Independence or death!"
The ploughshare they turn to a weapon of might,
And, defying all odds, they go forth to the fight.

They have conquered! The People, with grateful acclaim,
Look to Washington's guidance, from Washington's fame; -
Behold Cincinnatus and Cato combined

In his patriot heart and republican mind.

Oh, type of true manhood! What sceptre or crown
But fades in the light of thy simple renown?

And lo! by the side of the Hero, a Sage,

In Freedom's behalf, sets his mark on the age;
Whom Science adoringly hails, while he wrings
The lightning from heaven, the sceptre from kings!

At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks;

"Land! land!" cry the sailors; "land! land!"-he awakes,He runs, yes! behold it! — it blesseth his sight,— The land! Oh, dear spectacle! transport! delight!

Oh, generous sobs, which he cannot restrain!

What will Ferdinand say? and the Future? and Spain?
He will lay this fair land at the foot of the throne,—
His king will repay all the ills he has known,—

In exchange for a world what are honors and gains?
Or a crown? But how is he rewarded?— with chains!

225. Moderately Slow Movement.

85. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.-A. G. Greene.

All kinds of force, O., moderately low pitch.

O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray,
Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay,-
The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.

"They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er;
That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more;
They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I,
Their own liege lord and master born, that I,—ha! ha!—must die.
"And what is death? I've dared him oft before the Paynim spear;
Think ye he's entered at my gate,- has come to seek me here?
I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot;
I'll try his might, I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not.

"Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin,
Bid each retainer arm with speed; call every vassal in;
Up with my banner on the wall; the banquet board prepare;
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!'

An hundred hands were busy then: the banquet forth was spread,
And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread;
While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall,

Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old
Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured, On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board;

While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate.

"Fill every beaker up, my men; pour forth the cheering wine;
There's life and strength in every drop; — thanksgiving to the vine!
Are ye all there, my vassals true? mine eyes are waxing dim;
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim.

"Ye're there, but yet I see you not; draw forth each trusty sword,
And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board;-
I hear it faintly;-louder yet! What clogs my heavy breath?
Up, all! and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance unto death!'"'

Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry,
That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high.
"Ho! cravens! do ye fear him? Slaves, traitors! have ye flown?
Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone?

"But I defy him; let him come!" Down rang the massy cup,
While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up;
And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head,
There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat,— dead!

86. HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.-Thomas B. Macaulay. Idem.

The Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was low,

And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe.

"Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down;

And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?"

Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the gate:
"To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late.
Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe at bay.

66 In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?"
Then out spake Spurius Lartius,—a Ramnian proud was he,—
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee?"

66

And out spake strong Herminius,― of Titian blood was he,— "I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee.' "Horatius," quoth the Consul, as thou sayest, so let it be.' And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless Three.

Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see

On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless Three. And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood, The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood.

But meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied,
And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide.
"Come back, come back, Horatius!" loud cried the Fathers all:
Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!"

Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back;

And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack;
But when they turned their faces, and on the further shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once more.

But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam,
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream;
And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam.

And, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein,
The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane,
And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free,

And battlement, and plank, and pier, whirled headlong to the sea.

Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind;

Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind, "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face, "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsěna, now yield thee to our grace.

66

Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see;
Naught spake he to Lars Porsěna, to Sextus naught spake he;
But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home,

And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome.

66

"O Tiber! father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray,

A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!
So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side,
And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank;
But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he sank;
And when above the surges they saw his crest appear,

Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer.

But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows:
And oft they thought him sinking,- but still again he rose.

Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing-place:
But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin.

"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town!" 'Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsěna, "and bring him safe to

66

shore;

For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before."

And now he feels the bottom;-now on dry earth he stands;
Now round him throng the Fathers to press his gory hands.
And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River Gate, borne by the joyous crowd.

87. THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.-Dimond.

Effusive O., poetic monotone.

In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;
But, watch-worn and weary,
his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While memory stood side-wise, half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall.
All trembling with transport he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight,—
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.