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collot D'HERbois. The tyrants threaten us, as when they turn'd The cannon's mouth on Brissot.

Enter another MEssenger.

second MEssenger. Vivier harangues the Jacobins—the club Espouse the cause of Robespierre.

Enter another MEssenger.

"third Messenger. All's lost—the tyrant triumphs. Henriot leads The soldiers to his aid. Already I hear The rattling cannon destined to surround This sacred hall.

TAL Lie N. Why, we will die like men then; The representatives of France dare death, When duty steels their bosoms. [Loud applauses.

TALLIEN (addressing the galleries). Citizens! France is insulted in her delegates— The majesty of the republic is insulted— Tyrants are up in arms. An armed force Threats the Convention. The Convention swears To die, or save the country! [Violent applauses from the galleries.

citizen (from above). We too swear To die, or save the country. Follow me. [All the men quit the galleries.

Enter another MEssenger.

Fourtti MESSENGER. Henriot is taken!— [Loud applauses. Henriot is taken. Three of your brave soldiers Swore they would seize the rebel slave of tyrants, Or perish in the attempt. As he patroll'd The streets of Paris, stirring up the mob, They seized him. [Applauses. Billaud WARENNFS. Let the names of these brave men Live to the future day.

Enter BourdoN L'Oise, sword in hand.

BourdoN L'oise. I have clear'd the Commune. [Applauses. Through the throng I rush'd, Brandishing my good sword to drench its blade Deep in the tyrant's heart. The timid rebels Gave way. I met the soldiery—I spake Of the dictator's crimes—of patriots chain'd In dark deep dungeons by his lawless rage— Of knaves secure beneath his fostering power. I spake of Liberty. Their honest hearts Caught the warm flame. The general shoutburst forth, “Live the Convention—Down with Robespierre." [Applauses. [Shouts from without—Down with the Tyrant? tallien. I hear, I hear the soul-inspiring sounds, France shall be saved' her generous sons, attached

To principles, not persons, spurn the idol
They worshipp'd once. Yes, Robespierre shall fall
As Capet fell! Oh! never let us deem
That France shall crouch beneath a tyrant's throne,
That the almighty people who have broke
On their oppressors' heads the oppressive chain,
Will court again their fetters! easier were it
To hurl the cloud-capt mountain from its base,
Than force the bonds of slavery upon men
Determined to be free!

[Applauses.

Enter LEGENDRE, a pistol in one hand, keys in the - other.

LEGENDRE (flinging down the keys). So–let the mutinous Jacobins meet now

In the open air.
[Loud applauses.
A factious turbulent party
Lording it o'er the state since Danton died,
And with him the Cordeliers—A hireling band
Of loud-tongued orators controll'd the club,
And bade them bow the knee to Robespierre.
Vivier has 'scaped me. Curse his coward heart—
This fate-fraught tube of Justice in my hand,
I rush'd into the hall. He mark'd mine eye
That beam'd its patriot anger, and flash'd full
With death-denouncing meaning. ‘Mid the throng
He mingled. I pursued—but staid my hand,
Lest haply I might shed the innocent blood.
[Applauses
FIR£RoN.
They took from me my ticket of admission—
Expell'd me from their sittings—Now, forsooth,
Humbled and trembling re-insert my name;
But Freron enters not the club again
Till it be purged of guilt—till, purified
Of tyrants and of traitors, honest men
May breathe the air in safety.
[Shouts from without

BARRERE. What means this uproar! is the tyrant band Should gain the people once again to rise— We are as dead :

TALLIEN. And wherefore fear we death? Did Brutus fear it 2 or the Grecian friends Who buried in Hipparchus' breast the sword, And died triumphant? Caesar should fear death: Brutus must scorn the bugbear. Shouts from without. Live the Convention–Down with the Tyrants! TALLIEN. Hark! again The sounds of honest Freedom!

Enter DEPUTIEs from the Sections.

CITIZEN.
Citizens! representatives of France!
Hold on your steady course. The men of Paris
Espouse your cause. The men of Paris swear
They will defend the delegates of Freedom.

TALLIEN. Hear ye this, Colleagues? hear ye this, my brethren? And does no thrill of joy pervade your breasts? My bosom bounds to rapture. I have seen

The sons of France shake off the tyrant yoke;
I have, as much as lies in mine own arm,
Hurl’d down the usurper.—Come death when it will,
I have lived long enough.
[Shouts without.
BARRenre.

Hark! how the noise increases! through the gloom
Of the still evening—harbinger of death,
Rings the tocsin' the dreadful generale
Thunders through Paris—

[Cry without—Down with the Tyrant!

Enter LEcolNTRE.
Lecoint Re.

So may eternal justice blast the foes
Of France! so perish all the tyrant brood,
As Robespierre has perish'd : Citizens,

Cesar is taken. [Loud and repeated applauses. 1 marvel not, that with such fearless front, He braved our vengeance, and with angry eye Scowl'd round the hall defiance. He relied On Henriot's aid—the Commune's villain friendship, And Henriot's boughten succors. Ye have heard How Henriot rescued him—how with open arms The Commune welcomed in the rebel tyrant— How Fleurot aided, and seditious Vivier Surr'd up the Jacobins. All had been lost— The representatives of France had perish’d— Freedom had sunk beneath the tyrant arm Of this foul parricide, but that her spirit Inspired the men of Paris. Henriot call'd "To arms" in vain, whilst Bourdon's patriot voice Beathed eloquence, and o'er the Jacobins Legendre frown'd dismay. The tyrants fled— They reach'd the Hotel. We gather'd round—we call’d For vengeance! Long time, obstinate in despair, With knives they hack'd around them. Till foreboding The sentence of the law, the clamorous cry Of joyful thousands hailing their destruction, Each sought by suicide to escape the dread 0 death. Lebas succeeded. From the window Leapt the younger Robespierre, but his fractured limb Fortade to escape. The self-will'd dictator Plunged often the keen knife in his dark breast, Yet impotent to die. He lives all mangled By his own tremulous hand! All gash'd and gored, He lives to taste the bitterness of Death. Even now they meet their doom. The bloody Couthon, The fierce St-Just, even now attend their tyrant To fall beneath the ax. I saw the torches olish on their visages a dreadful light— low them whilst the black blood roll'd adown *ch stern face, even then with dauntless eye $owl round contemptuous, dying as they lived, Fearless of fate:

BARRERE (mounts the Tribune). For ever hallow'd be this glorious day, When Freedom, bursting her oppressive chain, Tramples on the oppressor. When the tyrant, Hurl’d from his blood-cemented throne by the arm Of the almighty people, meets the death He plann'd for thousands. Oh! my sickening heart Has sunk within me, when the various woes Of my brave country crowded o'er my brain In ghastly numbers—when assembled hordes, Dragg'd from their hovels by despotic power, Rush'd o'er her frontiers, plunder'd her fair hamlets, And sack'd her populous towns, and drench'd with

blood
The reeking fields of Flanders—When within,
Upon her vitals prey'd the rankling tooth
Of treason; and oppression, giant form,
Trampling on freedom, left the alternative
Of slavery, or of death. Even from that day,
When, on the guilty Capet, I pronounced
The doom of injured France, has Faction rear'd
Her hated head amongst us. Roland preach'd
Of mercy—the uxorious dotard Roland,
The woman-govern'd Roland durst aspire
To govern France; and Petion talk'd of virtue,
And Vergniaud's eloquence, like the honey'd tongue
Of some soft Syren, wooed us to destruction.
We triumph'd over these. On the same scaffold
Where the last Louis pour'd his guilty blood,
Fell Brissot's head, the womb of darksome treasons,
And Orleans, villain kinsman of the Capet,
And Hebert's atheist crew, whose maddening hand
Hurl’d down the altars of the living God,
With all the infidel's intolerance.
The last worst traitor triumph'd—triumph'd long,
Secured by matchless villany. By turns
Defending and deserting each accomplice,
As interest prompted. In the goodly soil
Of Freedom, the soul tree of treason struck
Its deep-fix’d roots, and dropt the dews of death
On all who slumber'd in its specious shade.
He wove the web of treachery. He caught
The listening crowd by his wild eloquence,
His cool ferocity, that persuaded murder,
Even whilst it spake of mercy!—Never, never
Shall this regenerated country wear
The despot yoke. Though myriads round assail,
And with worse fury urge this new crusade
Than savages have known; though the leagued

despots
Depopulate all Europe, so to pour
The accumulated mass upon our coasts,
Sublime amid the storm shall France arise,
And like the rock amid surrounding waves
Repel the rushing ocean.—She shall wield
The thunderbolt of vengeance—she shall blast
The despot's pride, and liberate the world!

[Loud and repeated applauses.

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Unch ANGED within to see all changed without,
Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt.
Yet why at others' warnings shouldst thou fret?
Then only mightst thou feel a just regret,
Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light
In selfish forethought of neglect and slight.
0 wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed,
While, and on whom, thou mayest—shine on! nor heed
Whether the object by reflected light
Return thy radiance or absorb it quite;
And though thou notest from thy safe recess
Old Friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air,
Love them for what they are: nor love them less,
Because to thee they are not what they were.

PhantOM OR FACT? A DIALOGUE in VERSE.

Author. A Lovely form there sate beside my bed, And such a feeding calm its presence shed, A tender love so pure from earthly leaven That I unnethe the fancy might control, Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven Wooing its gentle way into my soul! out ah! the change—It had not stirr'd, and yet— Alas! that change how sain would I forget: That shrinking back, like one that had mistook! That weary, wandering, disavowing Look! Twas all another, feature, look, and frame, And still, methought, I knew it was the same!

- FRIEND. This fiddling tale, to what does it belong **history? vision? or an idle song?

Or rather say at once, within what space
Of time this wild disastrous change took place?

Author. Call it a moment's work (and such it seems), This tale's a fragment from the life of dreams; But say, that years matured the silent strife, And 'tis a record from the dream of Life.

WORK WITHOUT HOPE. LiNEs composed 21st FEBRUARY, 1827.

ALL Nature seems at work. Stags leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—Birds are on the wing—
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the sount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And hope without an object cannot live.

YOUTH AND AGE.

VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee–
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young —Ah, woful when t
Ah for the change 'twixt now and then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flash'd along:—
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide:
Nought cared this body for wind or weather,
When Youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old :
Ere I was old Ah woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
"Tis known, that thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit–
It cannot be, that thou art gone !
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd :-
And thou wert aye a masker bold !
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,

This drooping gait, this alter'd size:

But springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That youth and I are house-mates still.

A DAY DREAM.

My eyes make pictures, when they are shut — I see a fountain, large and fair, A willow and a ruin'd hut, And thee, and me, and Mary there. O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!

A wild-rose roofs the ruin'd shed, And that and summer well agree: And lo! where Mary leans her head, Two dear names carved upon the tree! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow: Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.

"Twas day! But now sew, large, and bright, The stars are round the crescent moon! And now it is a dark warm night, The balmiest of the month of June ! A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.

O ever—ever be thou blest : For dearly, Asra! love I thee! This brooding warmth across my breast, This depth of tranquil bliss—ah me! Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither, But in one quiet room we three are still together.

The shadows dance upon the wall, By the still dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber, moveless all! And now they melt to one deep shade! But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee: I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee!"

Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play— "Tis Mary's hand upon my brow! Butlet me check this tender lay, Which none may hear but she and thou! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming, Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!

TO A LADY,

of FENDED BY A sportive observation that Women HAVE No souls.

Nay, dearest Anna! why so grave?
I said, you had no soul, 'tis true!

For what you are you cannot have:
"Tis I, that have one since I first had you!

I have heard of reasons manifold Why Love must needs be blind, But this the best of all I hold–

His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are
He guesseth but in part;

But what within is good and fair
He seeth with the heart.

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS
OF BERENGARIUS.
op. ANNo Dom. 1088.
No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope,
Soon shall I now before my God appear,
By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
By him to be condemned, as I fear,

REFLECtions on The Above.

Lynx amid moles' had I stood by thy bed,
Be of good cheer, meek soul! I would have said.
I see a hope spring from that humble fear.
All are not strong alike through storms to steer
Right onward. What though dread of threatend

death
And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath
Inconstant to the truth within thy heart?
That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice

didst start, Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife, Or not so vital as to claim thy life: And myriads had reach'd Heaven, who never knew Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true!

Ye who, secure 'mid trophies not your own,
Judge him who won them when he stood alone,
And proudly talk of recreant BERENGARE-
O first the age, and then the man compare!
That age how dark' congenial minds how rare!
No host of friends with kindred zeal did burn!
No throbbing hearts awaited his return!
Prostrate alike when prince and peasant fell,
He only disenchanted from the spell,
Like the weak worm that gems the starless night.
Moved in the scanty circlet of his light:
And was it strange if he withdrew the ray
That did but guide the night-birds to their prey?

The ascending Day-star with a bolder eye
Hath lit each dew-drop on our trimmer lawn!
Yet not for this, if wise, will we decry
The spots and struggles of the timid Daws!
Lest so we tempt th' approaching Noon to scom
The mists and painted vapors of our MoRN.

The DEVIL’S THOUGHTS.

From his brimstone bed at break of day A-walking the Devil is gone,

To visit his little snug farm of the earth, And see how his stock went on.

Over the hill and over the dale,
And he went over the plain,

And backwards and forwards he swish'd his long to
As a gentleman swishes his cane.

And how then was the Devil drest?
Oh! he was in his Sunday's best:
His jacket was red and his breeches were blue,
And there was a hole where the tail came through

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