RIENZI'S ADDRESS

MARY RUSSELL MITFORD

Mary Russell Mitford was born in Hampshire, England, in 1786. She began to write to aid her father, who was pecuniarily embarrassed. Her best work is probably "Our Village,” a series of sketches of English country life. She died in 1855.

FRIE

RIENDS! I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thralldom. We are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beams
Fall on a slave; not such as swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror led
To crimson glory and undying fame, —
But base, ignoble slaves! Slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords
Rich in some dozen paltry villages;

Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great
In that strange spell, a name!

a name!

Each hour, dark fraud,

Or open rapine, or protected murder,

Cries out against them. But this very day,

An honest man, my neighbor, there he stands, —

Was struck, struck like a dog, by one who wore

The badge of Ursini! Because, forsooth,

He tossed not high his ready cap in air,

Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,

At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor? - Men, and wash not
The stain away in blood? Such shames are common.
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,

Full of gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy: there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance!
! Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored; and, if you dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world! Yet we are Romans.
Why, in that elder day to be a Roman

Was greater than a king. And once again, -
Hear me, ye walls that echoed to the tread

Of either Brutus! Once again I swear

The Eternal City shall be free!

Her sons shall walk with princes.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND

THOMAS CAMPBELL

Thomas Campbell was born in Glasgow in 1777. Among his poems most read are "The Pleasures of Hope," "Lochiel's Warning," "Hohenlinden," "Ye Mariners of England," and "Glenara." His whole life was devoted to literary work. He died in 1844.

YE Mariners of England !

Who guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again

To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow,

While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!—

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave:

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,

Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow,
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain waves,

Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak,

She quells the floods below,

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow,

When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.

Then, then, ye ocean warriors!

Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow,

When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

A

THE LAST MAN

THOMAS CAMPBELL

LL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,

The Sun himself must die,

Before this mortal shall assume

Its immortality!

I saw a vision in my sleep,

That gave my spirit strength to sweep

Adown the gulf of Time!

I saw the last of human mold,

That shall Creation's death behold,

As Adam saw her prime!

L

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare;
The Earth with age was wan;
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!

Some had expired in fight the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some.

Earth's cities had no sound or tread,
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb.

Yet, prophetlike, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,

That shook the sere leaves from the wood,
As if a storm passed by,

Saying "We are twins in death, proud Sun;
Thy face is cold, thy race is run ;

'Tis Mercy bids thee go;

For thou, ten thousand thousand years,
Hast seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.

"This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! It shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine.
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity,
Who robbed the grave of victory,

And took the sting from Death!