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THE MARTYR OF THE ARENA.
BY EPES SARGENT. Narrated in Gibbon's Roman Empire. Honour'd be the hero evermore,
Who at mercy's call has nobly died ! Echoed be his name from shore to shore,
With immortal chronicles allied !
Verdant be the turf upon his dust,
Bright the sky above, and soft the air ! In the grove set up his marble bust,
And with garlands crown it, fresh and fair. In melodious numbers, that shall live
With the music of the rolling spheres, Let the minstrel's inspiration give
His eulogium to the future years ! Not the victor in his country's cause,
Not the chief who leaves a people free, Not the framer of a nation's laws
Shall deserve a greater fame than he !
Peal'd the shout of wrath on every side;
Every hand was eager to assail !
Wild with fury, but he did not quail!
Strains celestial, that the menace drown? Sees he angels, with their eyes of love,
Beckoning to him, with a martyr's crown? Fiercer swellid the people's frantic shout!
Launched against him flew the stones like rain! Death and terror circled him about
But he stood and perish'd—not in vain ! Not in vain the youthful martyr fell!
Then and there he crush'd a bloody creed ! And his high example shall impel
Future heroes to as great a deed ! Stony answers yet remain for those
Who would question and precede the time ! In their season may they meet their foes,
Like TELEMACHUS, with front sublime.
Hast thou heard, in Rome's declining day,
How a youth, by Christian zeal impellid, Swept the sanguinary games away,
Which the Coliseum once beheld ?
The Anniversary of Lovejoy's Martyrdom.
BY MARIA WESTON CHAPMAX.
Fill’d with gazing thousands were the tiers,
With the city's chivalry and pride, When two Gladiator's with their spears,
Forward sprang from the arena's side. Rang the dome with plaudits loud and long,
As, with shields advanced, the athletes stood, Was there no one in that eager throng
To denounce the spectacle of blood ? Ay, Telemachus, with swelling frame,
Saw the inhuman sport renew'd once more : Few among the crowd could tell his name
For a cross was all the badge he wore !
No tears to-day! a lofty joy should crown
A deed of lofty sacrifice like thine,
LOVEJOY! and bid thy name with honor shine, As to remotest time we hand it down. That seed of Liberty, so gladly sown,-
We will not water it with griefs and tears;
But, o'er its harvest in the future years Rejoice, as those before whose gaze hath shone A vision of the faithful, girt to die
'Mid hostile crowds, in darkness for the right; Yet may we mourn that, ringing through the
Tears for the blood of others shed by thee ;-
Yet with brow elate and God-like mien,
Stepped he forth upon the circling sand; And, while all were wondering at the scene,
Check'd the encounter with a daring hand.
«Romans !” cried he-Let this reeking sod
Never more with human blood be stained ! Let no image of the living God
In unhallowed combat be profaned ! Ah! too long has this colossal dome
Fail'd to sink and hide your brutal shows ! Here I call upon assembled Rome
Now to swear, they shall forever close !"
They pass me by like shadows, crowds on crowds,
Dim ghosts of men, that hover to and fro, Hugging their bodies round them, like thin shrouds
Wherein their souls were buried long ago; They trampled on their faith, and youth, and love
They cast their hope of humankind awayWith Heaven's clear messages they madly strove,
And conquered—and their spirits turned to clay : Lo! how they wander round the world, their grave,
Whose ever-gaping maw by such is fed, Gibbering at living men, and idly rave,
“ We only truly live, but Alas, poor fools! the anointed eye may trace A dead soul's epitaph in every face.
Parted thus, the combatants, with joy,
Mid the tumult, found the means to fly; In the arena stood the undaunted boy,
And, with looks adoring, gazed on high.
ye are dead."
THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
For long years thou hast been seeking
Some new idol found each day; All that dazzled, all that glittered,
Lured thee from the path away. On the outward world relying,
Earthly treasures thou wouldst heap ; Titled friends and lofty honors
Lull thy higher hopes to sleep. Thou art stored with worldly wisdom,
All the lore of books is thine : And within thy stately mansion,
Brightly sparkle wit and wine. Richly droop the silken curtains,
Round those high and mirrored halls; And on mossy Persian carpets,
Silently thy proud step falls.
Not the gentlest wind of heaven
Dares too roughly fan thy brow, Nor the morning's blessed sunbeams
Tinge thy cheek with ruddy glow. Yet midst all these outward riches,
Has thy heart no void confessedWhispering, though each wish be granted,
Still, ob still I am not blessed ? And when happy, careless children,
Lured thee with their winning ways-Thou hast sighed in vain contrition,
Give me back those golden days. Hadst thou stooped to learn their lesson,
Truthful preachers—they had told Thou thy kingdom hast forsaken,
Thou hast thy own birthright sold.
The population of Lowell is constituted mainly of New Englanders, but there are representatives here of almost every part of the civilized world. The good-humored face of the Milesian meets one at al. most every turn,—the shrewdly solemn Scotchman, the trans-Atlantic Yankee, blending the crasty thrift of Bryce Snailsfoot with the stern religious heroism of Cameron,– the blue-eyed, fair-haired German, from the towered hills which overlook the Rhine, slow, heavy, and unpromising in his exterior, yet of the same mould and mettle of the men who rallied for « Father-Land” at the Tyrtean call of Korner, and beat back the chivalry of France from the banks of the Katzbach-the countryman of Ritcher, and Goethe, and our sainted Follen. Here, too, are pedlars from Hamburgh, and Bavaria, and Poland, with their sharp Jewish faces and black keen eyes. At this moment, beneath my window, are two sturdy, sun-browned Swiss maidens, grinding music for a livelihood, rehearsing in a strange Yankee land the simple songs of their old mountain home, reminding me by their foreign garb and language, of
“Lauterbrunnen's peasant girl.” Poor wanderers!- I love not their music; but now as the notes die away, and, to use the words of Dr. Holmes, « silence comes like a poultice to heal the wounded ear,” I feel grateful for their visitation.Away from the crowded thoroughfare, from brick walls and dusty avenues, at the sight of these poor peasants I have gone in thought to the vale of Chau. mony, and seen, with Coleridge, the Morning Star pausing on the « bald awful head of Sovran Blanc,” and the sunrise and the sunset glorious upon snowycrested mountains, down in whose vallies the night still lingers--and following in the track of Byron and Rousseau, have watched the lengthening shadows
Thou art heir to vast possessions,
Up, and boldly claim thine own: Seize the crown-that waits thy wearingLeap at once into thy throne.
of the hills on the beautiful waters of the Genevan, ple of England as my enemies, nor sympathize with lake. Blessings, then, upon these young wayfarers, that blustering sham-patriotism, which is ever exfor they have < blessed me unawares." In an hour claiming, like the giant of the nursery tale : of sickness and lassitude, they have wrought for me
« Fee.faw.fum ! the miracle of Lorretto's chapel, and borne me away
I smell the blood of an Englishman,
Dead or alive, I will have some. from the scenes around me and the sense of personal suffering, to that wonderful land where Nature seems I remember that the same sun which shines upon still uttering, from lake and valley and mountains England's royalty and priestcraft, streams also into whose eternal snows lean on the hard blue heaven, the dusty workshop of Ebenezer Elliot-rests on the the echoes of that mighty hymn of a new-created drab coat of the Birmingham Quaker Reformerworld, when the morning stars sang together, and greets O Connell through the grates of his prison all the sons of God shouted for joy !"
-glorifies the grey locks of Clarkson, and gladdens But of all classes of foreigners the Irish are by far the heroic-hearted Harriet Martineau, in her sick the most numerous. They constitute a quiet and in- chamber at the mouth of the Tyne. With heart and dustrious portion of the population; and are conse- soul I respond to the sentiments of Channing, when quently respected by their Yankee neighbors. For speaking of a foreign nation : «That nation is not myself, I confess I feel a sympathy for the Irishman. an abstraction to me; it is no longer a vague mass; I see him as the representative of a generous, warm- it spreads out before me into individuals, in a thouhearted and cruelly oppressed people. That he loves sand interesting forms and relations; it consists of his native land—that his patriotism is divided—that husbands and wives, parents and children, who love he cannot forget the claims of his mother island – one another as I love my own home; it consists of that his religion, with all its abuses, is dear to him, affectionate women and sweet children ; it consists does not decrease my estimation of him. A stran- of Christiaus, united with me to the common Savior, ger in a stange land, he is to me always an object and in whose spirit I reverence the likeness of his of interest. The poorest and rudest has a romance divine virtue; it consists of a vast multitude of labor. in his history. Amidst all his apparent gayety ofers at the plough and in the workshop, whose toils I heart, and national drollery and wit, the poor emi- sympathize with, whose burden I should rejoice to grant has sad thoughts of the could mother of him," lighten, and for whose elevation I have pleaded ; it sitting lonely in her solitary cabin by the bog-side- consists of men of science, taste, genius, whose writrecollections of a father's blessing, and a sister's ings have beguiled my solitary hours, and given life farewell are haunting him-a grave-mound in a dis- to my intellect and best affections. I love this natant churchyard, far beyond the wide wathers,” has tion : its men and women are my brothers and sisan eternal greenness in his memory-for there perhaps lies a «s darlint child," or a viswate crather" who once loved him,—the New World is forgotten for the moment-blue Killarney and the Liffy sparkle be
THE STRUGGLE FOR FAME. fore him-Glendalough stretches beneath him its dark still mirror-he sees the same evening sunshine rest upon and hallow alike with Nature's blessing If thou wouldst win a lasting fame; the ruins of the Seven Churches of Ireland's apos If thou th' immortal wreath wouldst claim, tolic age, the broken mound of the Druids, and the And make the Future bless thy name; Round Towers of the Phenician sun-worshippers,—
Begin thy perilous career, beautiful and mournful recollections of his home waken within him—and the rough and seemingly
Keep high thy heart, thy conscience clear, careless and light-hearted laborer melts into tears.
And walk thy way without a fear. It is no light thing to abandon one's own country And if thou hast a voice within and household gods. Touching and beautiful was That ever whispers, “Work and win, the injunction of the Prophet of the Hebrews : “ Ye And keep thy soul from sloth and sin: shall not oppress the stranger, for ye know the heart of the stranger, seeing that ye were strangers in the
If thou canst plan a noble deed, land of Egypt.”
And never flag till it succeed, I love my own country-I have a strong New
Though in the strife thy heart should bleed: England feeling: but I am no friend of that narrow
If thou canst struggle Jay and night, spirit of mingled national vanity and religious intol.
And, in the envious world's despite, erance, which, under the name of " Native Ameri
Still keep thy cynosure in sight: canism,” has made its appearance among us. erence man, as man. be he Irish or Spanish, black If thou canst bear the rich man's scorn: or white, he is my brother man. I have no prejudi. Nor curse the day that thou wert born, ces against other nations—I cannot regard the peo To feed on chaff, and he on corn:
BY CHARLES MACKAY.
If failure might thy soul oppress,
Thy fame might rivalry forestal,
Poet! who sittest in thy pleasant room,
Warming thy heart with idle thoughts of love, And of a holy life that leads above, Striving to keep life's spring flowers still in bloom, And lingering to snuff their fresh perfume,
0, there were other duties meant for thee
Than to sit down in peacefulness and Be! 0, there are brother hearts that dwell in gloom, Souls loathsome, foul, and black with daily sin,
So crusted o'er with baseness, that no ray Of Heaven's blessed light may enter in!
Come down then to the hot and dusky way, And lead them back to hope and peace again,For, save in act, thy love is all in vain.
Pause ere thou tempt the hard career,
Content thee with a meaner lot;
The man of the moon
THE MAN OUT OF THE MOON:
tesy they received unquestioned the remarkable stranger, and invited him to their princely home.
" How beautiful is Earth," said the man, as a few days afterwards he rambled to the spot where he
first pressed its soil, « and how happy are her childPerhaps these lines occurred to some of the indi- dren. Before I came here I thought that peace was viduals who witnessed the disappearance of the man
inore common than bliss, that quiet was more frefrom the moon one balmy summer evening. There qent than joy; but hitherto I have investigated at a must have been at least one astronomer, poet, luna- disadvantageous distance, and here I find that my tic, and pair of lovers; and how many more may
ignorance was proverbial. Nevertheless, I have the not easily be ascertained. But the moonshine still will and capacity to learn, and the duke himself came down so gently, and the space vacated by that shall not know more of his neighbors than I will asancient man was filled with such calm brightness,
certain." that little was said and no commotion caused by his
He bounded over a sweet-briar hedge, and wended withdrawal from that place where he had been an
his way to a little hamlet, which nestled between admired fixture. Had he dropped down among any
the grove and upland at a short distance. He enterof the evening watchers, doubtless there would have ed the nearest cot, and the first sound which reached been a great excitement—especially among children his ears was a cry for bread. and nurses, with whom this man had been an object
Bread-BREAD!" repeated he, « I saw it given of greater interest than any other class. And, as
to the dogs this morning. Bread! there is enough every body was once a boy or girl, there might have at the castle. Go to the duchess, my child, she will been a revival of affection which would have mani- give you enough of bread.” The child ceased her fested itself in waving of handkerchiefs, loud huzzas, cry, but looked at him wonderingly, and an elderly and clapping of hands, perhaps in ringing of bells, sister shook her head. yet said nothing. Then the and tiring of cannon; and who knows what fine din man heard a moan from a low pallet, and lookners might have been given him, and concerts, also, ing into the dark recess, he saw stretched upon it the in which a few particular nursery rhymes might have emaciated form of a woman. She called the girl to been set to music by Vieux Temps, or Ole Bull, and
her side. the stranger almost paralysed by the excess of joy.
- Is there not a little more wine in the phial?” ous sensibility. But those, who knew that he was
she asked. gone, could not of course tell whether he had started
Not one drop,” was the reply. The woman upon a journey to the Sun, or to Venus, or to Hers
moaned more faintly. chel, or to some other place among the stars; and
Wine! wine!" repeated the man; “ we drank perhaps a few of them dreamed that he had come on last night at the castle until our heads ached, and a pilgrimage of love to the Moon's great satellite,
some of the company were carried away drowned by Earth. But, upon the same principle that little it
. Wine and bread;" he repeated, as he turned upon boats should keep near the shore," the inexperienced his heel, and flew towards the castle.--He entered traveller had wisely resolved that his first voyage the drawing room, and a servant passed him with a should terminate at the first landing place. Whether silver salver, upon which were refreshments for the those were moonstruck who first saw him
ladies, and the sideboard was covered with various
wines. He grasped a bottle, and snatching the salver “Flying between the cold moon and the earth, from the waiter, he turned to go. But the astonished Where a fair lady throned by the west,"
domestic made such an outcry, and vociferated, held state upon a little island—whether they were " Thief! Robber!” so lustily that he was soon overmoonstruck or not, matters little; but certainly no taken. The duke came to learn the cause of the skylark ever fluttered into nest more unregarded, no tumult. eagle ever descended into its nest more untroubled, " He was stealing your silver.” repeated the serno snow-flake ever fell into its deep dingle more un- vant, i after all your kindness to him.” noticed, and no leaflet ever nestled under its shadow The duke looked at his mysterious guest with a ing rock more quietly, than the man from the moon penetrating eye. came down, when he alighted under the broad sha. 56 I saw a child almost within a stone's throw of dow of a noble elm, in a ducal park.
your mansion,” replied the man, “who cried for The deer turned upon him their large lustrous bread. I saw also a woman fainting for a cordial, eyes, and darted away to their leafy converts ; the and here I knew that there was enough of bread and rooks slowly wheeled around above his head, and wine. I ran that they might the sooner be relieved sailed upon the breezes of their leafy homes; and from their misery." the watch.dog met him at the portal with a fawn of The duke blushed as he heard the simple reply of affection. At the porter's lodge had gathered some the man, and almost doubted for the moment wheof the juvenile nobility, and with the utmost cour-ther he himself were a man, Bread and wine were