Imatges de pÓgina

of other days ;-glorious Washington! break the long silence of that votive canvass ;*-speak, speak, marble lips;*_teach us





by Cowper. [The tones of reverence and of tenderness, pervade the following passage: their effect on the voice, is to produce a low or a high note, as either predominates,-to soften and subdue the utterance, and to render it slow in rate.)

No! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume
Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle muse,
My father! For thou never bad'st me tread
The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on
To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son
To the insipid clamours of the bar,
To laws voluminous and ill observed;
But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill
My mind with treasure, ledst me far away
From city din, to deep retreats, to banks
And streams Aonian, and, with free consent,
Didst place me happy at Apollo's side.
I speak not now, on more important themes
Intent, of common benefits, and such
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts,
My Father! who, when I had opened once
The stores of Roman rhetoric, and learned
The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks,
Whose lofty music graced the lips of Jove,
Thyself didst counsel me to add the flowers
That Gallia boasts; those, too, with which the smooth
Italian his degenerate speech adorns,
That witnesses his mixture with the Goth;
And Palestine's prophetic songs divine.
To sum the whole, whate'er the heaven contains,
The earth beneath it, and the air between,
The rivers and the restless deep, may all
Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish
Concurring with thy will; Science herself
All cloud removed, inclines her beauteous head,

Referring to the portrait of Washington, and the bust of Lafayette, which adorn the hall.

And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart,
I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon.

Go, now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds
That covet it; what could my Father more ?
More eligible gifts than these were not !
I therefore, although last and least, my place
Among the learned in the laurel grove
Will hold, and where the conqueror's ivy twines,
Henceforth exempt from the unlettered throng
Profane, nor even to be seen by such.
Away, then, sleepless Care, Complaint away,
And Envy, with thy jealous leer malign,'
Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth
Her venomed tongue at me.

Detested foes !
Ye all are impotent against my peace,
For I am privileged, and bear


Safe, and too high for your viperean wound.

But thou, my Father! since to render thanks
Equivalent, and to requite by deeds
Thy liberality, exceeds my power,
Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts,
And bear them treasured in a grateful mind!
Ye too, the favourite pastime of my youth,
My voluntary numbers ! if ye dare
To hope longevity, and to survive
Your master's funeral, not soon absorbed
In the oblivious Lethean gulf,
Shall to futurity perhaps convey
This theme, and by these praises of my sire
Improve the fathers of a distant age !


Brougham. [The prevailing tone of appeal in declamation, gives -as in the following instance, increased earnestness and vividness of utterance,-a more fervent tone, and a more forcible style of action, than in common declamatory harangues.]

I look upon all the growths of popular dissatisfaction, whether in the press, or in unions, in associations, or leagues against the exchequer, or secret societies,-as monstrous things bred out of the corruption of the present representation of the people. When it has been asked what has given birth to them, the answer is at hand. Trust me, it is no other power than that which called together the volunteers

of Ireland in 1782. Trust me, it is no other than that which engendered the Catholic Association. Trust me, it is justice withheld, rights refused, wrongs perpetrated; the folly of believing that men can be governed against their will ; the idiotcy of supposing that the inhabitants of England are to be treated like the savages of the South Sea islands, the frenzy of assuming that you can govern men like children or like savages.

These it is which have peopled the country with these noxious growths,--that have made the rank soil shoot up all these prodigious things, which scare and fright us from our propriety. These things have been seen; but our fears have made us take a wrong course; and instead of making us fling away

the parent, they have made us wage a futile, endless, and fatal war with her gigantic offspring. We have been going on, like those before us, in doing wrong; and our unholy husbandry it is that has induced us to sow injustice, and thence to

reap disaffection. My lords, I use no language of intimidation. We stand now on the brink of a great event. We are now on the eve of the decision of this great measure; and it behoves you to consider, when men tell you that you should not heed clamours, that there is no worse folly,that there is no meaner, baser, more despicable kind of fear, than for men of a frame of mind that allows the weight of reffection and the power of reason, to be afraid of being accused of fear.

My lords, I am now speaking in the same hall where your lordships sat in the year 1828; and in that hall, though not quite in so regular manner as this, I heard the same argument urged for the purpose of preventing your lordships from liberating the Catholics." That argument did prevent that liberation. It was said that it was a troublous time,—that there was much clamour abroad ;--and for fear of being thought to yield to intimidation you shut your ears to the voice of reason. The summer passed over. Autumn came on, with her fruits and her abundance; but she brought not the precious gift of domestic peace. The rage of popular feeling went on; and the election of a Catholic member to sit in a protestant House of Commons took place. Winter bound the earth in its chains, but it bound not the sea of Irish agitation ; for its surge dashed more furiously than ever against the Constitution. Then spring opened its season, but unaccompanied by its wonted harmony; for it had no ethereal mildness, there being at that moment in Ireland much fiercer agitation than before, and ten thousand times more reason for fear, than in the preceding July.

And what did your lordships do, when the only change that had taken place in those seven or eight months, was increase of tumult

, augmentation of danger, and great em. barrassment of all contingent circumstances? What did your lordships do? Wisely, patriotically, firmly, you saved your country ;—you refused any longer to listen to the senseless cuckoo-note of those who said, "Do not emancipate them; for, if you do, it will be through intimidation.' But, at the same time, I am bound to say, that if you

had not listened to these reasons, year after year, for about the twenty preceding years, that measure would have been attended with a tenfold more beneficial effect than when, blessed be God! it did pass, through the instrumentality of the noble Duke, of whom I will say, that however highly I hold his military achievements, still more highly do I think of his achievements in favour of the Catholics.

And now, my lords, to apply this branch of history,—for history it has become,—to the present time. My are now placed in this dilemma. If you refuse reform now, under the foolish notion of being afraid, you may live to see something of which wise men will really be afraid. You may have to live among the hearts of an alienated people, you may have to live among tens of thousands who hate your-you may have to live when all men shall be leagued against you; for it is you alone that stand between them and their wishes.

ds, you


Knowles. Speakers,—Ruphino, Alasco, Velasquez, Almagro and other Peasants. [See remarks on previous dialogues, of serious character.]

Ruph. Where loitered you upon your journey home? Six weeks you have been gone;

ere one was past, Your sister was proclaimed the Prince's wife.

Alas. I took a circuit home to see my friends,
And tell what I had done.

You 're a great man
In Arragon!

I number


friends! No word yet from my sister ?

Word by Velasquez-who is he comes yonder ?
I see but dimly!
Is it Velasquez ?

I expect

Alas. Yes, Velasquez 'tis,
And looks like one who has a tale to tell.
(Velasquez enters hastily,-stops short on seeing Alasco.]
How now, Velasquez ?

Are you there, Alasco ?
Alas. Yes, I am here the matter ?

Nothing !

Your steps were hasty ;-did you speed for nothing?
Your breath is scanty ;-was it spent for nothing?
Your looks imply concern ;-concern for nothing ?
Your road lay to my father ;-seeing me
You stopped, as bound to any other door!
Was that for nothing? Ay,—and now you stand
Like one that's balked about to take a leap
Which he felt sure to make,—with bated crest,
With vigour chilled, wan cheek, and sparkless eye!
Do all these things mean nothing ?-if they do,
Then means commotion nothing !

I would be
Alone with your father,

So I told you ! well,
You are alone with him. [Goes out.]

What is 't, Velasquez?
Thou comest from the capital; and thence,
Or I mistake, thou bringest news for me.

Velas. I do; and therefore wished thy son away;
For he is rash; and galled, will take no road,
Save that his fury likes.

Bring'st thou me news Would rouse the fury of my son, Velasquez ? Thou mak’st me tremble :

O Heaven My daughter!
I knew no good could come of this avowal !
The Prince has used her ill! and, if he has,
Let him look to it! Let him!

I thank thee, Nature !
To have left me strength! I yet am worth a blow!

Velas. The Prince has done no wrong.

God bless the Prince !
And pardon me that I did wrong to him,
In thinking that he had! the gracious Prince,
That ever honourably loved my child !
How could I think that he could do her wrong!
Don't say I did so.-What's amiss, Velasquez?

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