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Rome shall perish!-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt:
Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

Rome, for empire far renown'd,
Tramples on a thousand states;
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.*

Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land,

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,5
Shall a wider world command.

Regions Cæsar never knew

Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew
None invincible as they."

Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow;
Rush'd to battle, fought, and died,
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.

Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance due;

Empire is on us bestow'd,

Shame and ruin wait for you!

1. What other preposition might be used for of, here?

2. What is the meaning of the last two lines, ""Tis because," &c.? 3. Parse the word perish.

4. Explain the whole verse, stating


particularly who are meant by the "other Romans.'

5. What is referred to in this line? 6. Give historical proof of the truth of this verse.

7. Why bending?




Ir was near Hohenlinden, a village of Bavaria, on the 3rd of December, 1800, that one of the greatest battles took place, between the French and Bavarian army on the one side, and the Austrians on the other. The former, under the generalship of Moreau, gained a complete victory over the latter, under Archduke John. Besides killed and wounded, the Austrians lost 10,000 prisoners and 100 pieces of cannon. See Mc Culloch's Geographical Dictionary.

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Then shook the hills, with thunder riven;
Then rush'd the steed to battle driven;
And, volleying like the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.*

But redder still these fires shall glow,
On Linden's hills of purpled snow;
And bloodier still shall be the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

"Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-cloud rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout 'mid their sulphurous canopy.

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"It was in the pass of Thermopyla, as every body knows, that, anno 480 B.C., the Spartan king Leonidas, with about 4,000 Greeks, resisted for awhile the whole force of the Persian army, invading Greece under Xerxes. After the Persians had succeeded in opening a passage by another route across the mountains, Leonidas, having dismissed almost all the other Greeks, devoted himself with 300 Spartans, in obedience to the laws which forbade Spartans under whatever disadvantage to fly from an enemy, and, agreeably to the answer of the oracle, a sacrifice to insure the independence of his country. (Herodotus, lib. vii., cap. 210-228.) This event has given Thermopyla all its interest, and will make it be held in "everlasting remembrance." After the final defeat of the Persians, a magnificent monument, the ruins of which still remain, was erected in honour of Leonidas and his heroic companions. It had an inscription, said by Cicero, by whom it has been translated, to have been written by Simonides (Tuscul. i., cap. 42), and which has been rendered into English as follows:

"To Lacedæmon's sons, stranger, tell

That here, obedient to their laws, we fell!"

Mc Culloch's Geographical Dictionary.

'Twas an hour of fearful issues,

When the bold three hundred stood,
For their love of holy freedom,
By that old Thessalian flood:

When, lifting high each sword of flame,
They call'd on every sacred name,
And swore, beside those dashing waves,
They never, never would be slaves!


And O! that oath was nobly kept:
From morn to setting sun
Did desperation urge the fight
Which valour had begun;

Till, torrent-like, the stream of blood
Ran down and mingled with the flood,
And all, from mountain-cliff to wave,
Was Freedom's, Valour's, Glory's grave.

O, yes, that oath was nobly kept,
Which nobly had been sworn,
And proudly did each gallant heart
The foeman's fetters spurn;
And firmly was the fight maintain❜d,
And amply was the triumph gain'd:




"CANUTE, the greatest and most powerful monarch of his time, sovereign of Denmark and Norway, as well as of England, could not fail of meeting with adulation from his courtiers; a tribute which is liberally paid, even to the meanest and weakest princes. Some of his flatterers, breaking out one day in admiration of his grandeur, exclaimed, that everything was possible for him; upon which the monarch, it is said, ordered his chair to be set on the sea-shore, while the tide was rising; and as the waters approached he commanded them to retire, and to obey the voice of him who was lord of the ocean. He feigned to sit some time in expectation of their submission; but when the sea still advanced towards him, and began to wash him with its billows, he turned to his courtiers, and remarked to them, that every creature in the universe was feeble and impotent, and that power resided with one Being alone, in whose hands were all the elements of nature, who could say to the ocean, Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther; and who could level with his nod the most towering piles of human pride and ambition."-Hume's History of England.

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UPON his royal throne he sat,

In a monarch's thoughtful mood; Attendants on his regal state

His servile courtiers stood,

With foolish flatteries, false and vain,
To win his smile, his favour gain.

They told him e'en the mighty deep
His kingly sway confessed;
That he could bid its billows leap
Or still its stormy breast!

He smiled contemptuously, and cried,
"Be then my boasted empire tried!"

Down to the ocean's sounding shore
The proud procession came,
To see its billows' wild uproar

King Canute's power proclaim;2
Or, at his high and dread command,
In gentle murmurs kiss the strand.
Not so, thought he, their noble king,
As his course he seaward sped ;-
And each base slave like a guilty thing,
Hung down his conscious head;-
He knew the ocean's Lord on high!
They, that he scorned their senseless lie.
His throne was placed by ocean's side,
He lifted his sceptre there;

Bidding, with tones of kingly pride,

The waves their strife forbear :And, while he spoke his royal will, All but the winds and waves were still. Louder the stormy blast swept by, In scorn of his idle word; The briny deep its waves tossed high, By his mandate undeterred,* As threatening, in their angry play, Το sweep both king and court away. The monarch with upbraiding look, Turned to the courtly ring;

But none, the kindling eye could brook
Even of his earthly king;

For in that wrathful glance they see
A mightier monarch wronged than he!

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