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Long years of havoc urge their destined course

And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,

With many a foul and midnight murder fed,
Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,
And spare the meek usurper's holy head.

Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:

The bristled boar in infant-gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom,
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.

“Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.)

Half of thy heart we consecrate.
(The web is wove. The work is done.)

Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn :
In yon bright track that fires the western skies,

They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height

Decending slow their glittering skirts unroll ?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail.
All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, hail I

"Girt with many a baron bold,
Sublime their starry fronts they rear;

And gorgeous dames and statesmen old
In bearded majesty appear.

In the midst a form divine !
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line;
Her lion port, her awe-commanding face,

Attempered sweet to virgin grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air;

What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear !

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings,
Waves in the eye of heaven her many colored-wings.

“ The verse adorn again

Fierce war, and faithful love, And truth, severe, by fairy fiction drest.

In buskined measures move,

Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.

A voice, as of the cherub choir,

Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on my ear,

That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, thinkest thou yon sanguine cloud,

Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me; with joy I see

The different doom our fates assign;
Be thine despair, and sceptred care;

To triumph and to die are mine."
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

(From “Hymn to Adversity.") DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power,

Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour

The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adaınantine chain

The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, un pitied and alone.

When first thy sire to send on earth

Virtue — his darling child - designed, To thee he gave the heavenly birth,

And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern, rugged nurse! thy rigid lore

With patience many a year she bore:
What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know,
And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe.

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave no leisure to be good.
Light they disperse, and with them go

The suminer friend, the flattering foe.
By vain Prosperity received,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.

HORACE GREELEY.

GREELEY, HORACE, an American journalist and historian; born at Amherst, N. H., February 3, 1811; died at Pleasantville, Westchester County, N. Y., November 29, 1872. He was the son of a farmer. When fourteen years of age he was apprenticed as a printer in the office of the Northern Spectator," Poultney, Vt. In 1831 he made his way to New York, worked for ten years as a journeyman printer, became a contributor to the papers on which he was a compositor, the “Spirit of the Times” and “The Constitutionalist.” In 1834 he assisted in establishing the “New Yorker.” He also wrote for the “ Jeffersonian” and “The LogCabin," campaign papers. In 1841 he established “The Tribune," in which the “New Yorker” and “The Log-Cabin” were soon merged. To this paper he gave the best efforts of his life. In 1848 he was elected to Congress. In 1871 he was the Democratic candidate for the Presidency of the United States. The excitement of the political campaign and a long illness induced inflammation of the brain, of which he died in November, 1872. Besides a great number of editorials and other articles he published “Hints Toward Reforms" (1850); "Glances at Europe" (1851); "History of the Struggle for Slavery Extension” (1856); “Overland Journey to San Francisco" (1860); “The American Conflict" (1864–66); “Recollections of a Busy Life" (1868); “Essays on Political Economy” (1870); and "What I Know of Farming" (1871).

THE PRESS.

Long slumbered the world in the darkness of error,

And ignorance brooded o'er earth like a pall;
To the sceptre and crown men abased them in terror,

Though galling the bondage, and bitter the thrall;
When a voice, like the earthquake's, revealed the dishonor -

A flash, like the lightning's, unsealed every eye,
And o'er hill-top and glen floated liberty's banner,

While round it men gathered to conquer or die !
'T was the voice of the Press, on the startled ear breaking,

In giant-born prowess, like Pallas of old;

'Twas the flash of intelligence, gloriously waking

A glow on the cheek of the noble and bold; And tyranny's minions, o'erawed and affrighted,

Sought a lasting retreat from its powerful control, And tbe chains which bound nations in ages benighted,

Were cast to the haunts of the bat and the mole.

Then hail to the Press! chosen guardian of Freedom!

Strong sword-arm of justice! bright sunbeam of truth; We pledge to her cause (and she has but to need them)

The strength of our manhood, the fire of our youth;
Should despots e'er dare to impede her free soaring,

Or bigot to fetter her flight with his chain,
We pledge that the earth shall close o'er our deploring,

Or view her in gladness and freedom again.

But no! — to the day-dawn of knowledge and glory,

A far brighter noontide-refulgence succeeds;
And our art shall embalm, through all ages, in story,

Her champion who triumphs - her martyr who bleeds; And proudly her sons shall recall their devotion,

While millions shall listen to honor and bless, Till there bursts a response from the heart's strong emotion,

And the earth echoes deep with "Long Life to the Press ! ” JOHN RICHARD GREEN.

GREEN, JOHN RICHARD, an English historian; born at Oxford, December 12 (?), 1837; died at Mentone, France, March 9, 1883. He studied mainly under private tutors until the age of eighteen, when he obtained a scholarship at Jesus College, Oxford. While an undergraduate, he contributed to the “Oxford Chronicle" a series of papers upon “Oxford in the Eighteenth Century." Mr. Green took Holy Orders in 1860, and was appointed curate of St. Barnabas's, a populous but poor parish in London. In 1866 he was presented to the vicarage of Stepney, a position which he held until 1869, when he resigned, and was appointed Librarian at Lambeth, where he had ample opportunity for prosecuting historical labors. His first work was a “Short History of the English People" (1874), which was expanded into the “History of the English People" (1877–80.) This work, completed before the author had passed his forty-second year, is in many respects the best complete history which has been produced of England, from the earliest times to the battle of Waterloo. He then began the composition of historical works involving more minute details. These are “The Making of England," being the history of the period of the Saxon Heptarchy (1881), and “The Conquest of England” by the Normans (1883), the last pages of which were written while he was in daily expectation of death, which occurred before the work was published. Besides the important historical works already enumerated, Mr. Green put forth “Readings from English History(1876); “Stray Studies from England and Italy” (1876); and edited a series of “History and Literature Primers," written by several eminent English scholars.

THE ENGLAND OF ELIZABETH.

(From "The History of the English People.") “I HAVE desired," Elizabeth said proudly to her Parliament, “ to have the obedience of my subjects by love, and not by compulsion.” It was a love fairly won by justice and good gove ernment. Buried as she seemed in foreign negotiations and

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