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Englishman, is still congenial with, and makes part of his
being—that feeling, which tells him, that man was never
made to be the property of man; but that when through
pride and insolence of power, one human creature dares
to tyrannize over another, it is a power usurped, and re-
sistance is a duty—that feeling, which tells him, that all
power is delegated for the good, not for the injury of the
people, and that when it is converted from the original
purpose, the compact is broken, and the right is to be
resumed—that principle, which tells him, that resistance
to power usurped, is not merely a duty which he owes to
himself and to his neighbour, but a duty which he owes
to his God, in asserting and maintaining the rank which
he
gave

him in the creation!-to that common God, who, where he gives the form of man, whatever may be the complexion, gives also the feelings and the rights of manthat principle, which neither the rudeness of ignorance can stifle, nor the enervation of refinement extinguish!--that principle, which makes it base for a man to suffer when he ought to act, which, tending to preserve to the species the original designations of providence, spurns at the arrogant distinctions of man, and vindicates the independent qualities of his race!

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LEONIDAS AT THERMOPYLÆ.

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Three hundred—and they stood
With freedom's flag unfurld
Their swords unsheathed, and unsubdued,
Against the banded world:
Their cities all were sack'd,
Destruction's flames had clasp'd them;
Their fearful blades were red and hack’d,
But still each strong arm grasp'd them.

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Their foot was on the hill
Which in happier moments bore them;
Around them were their homes—and still
Their country's sun shone o'er them:
The vale—the sky--the rock-
The breeze-- the mountain river-
Each element of glory spoke,
And bade them stain it never.

Hope's meteor gleam had set,
Fair freedom's shrine was riven,
And they were deeply wrong'd—but yet
Each wrong was unforgiven:
They've javelins that can smite,
And fame that still may flourish,
And blades that yet in blood can write
Their requiem when they perish.

Their latest stand sublime,
The mountains dark seem viewing,
And they are monuments that time
Can never lay in ruin:
Each blue and icy peak
That splits the far clouds floating,
From nature's page their fame will speak
When they and theirs are rotting.

Brush'd by the dancing air,
Like ocean heaves their plumage,
And Persia’s despot glitters there,
But who will do him homage?
In vain his battled line
Meets freedom, when she charges-
In vain his gather'd millions shine
Along the mountain gorges.

They came,—they little knew
The chief, whose falchion glitter'd
Like sunbeam ʼmid the gallant few,
Proud hearts, by wrongs embitter'd;
They tread the evening flowers,
Ere morning's dew has wet them,
Graves then will be their only dowers
When Sparta’s sons have met them!

Ay, strike! your fathers' ghosts
Are o'er your phalanx bending,
Hovering to see yon fearful hosts
Before your torrent rending;
Yes! let their banners fly,
Here are no lips to bless them;
And if they fall, what weeping eye,
Or broken heart, shall miss them?

'Tis eve -the sun's warm lip
Hath kiss'd the smiling waters;-
'Tis night—and the broad moon is up,
And all her laughing daughters.
Though Persia's hosts are nigh,
Let other minions serve them;
The men of Greece have learn’d to die,
Death cannot now unnerve them.

As floats the eagle, when
Some feather'd foe does find him,
The chief gazed wildly on the men
Of Persia come to bind him;
He shook the awful brand
Which oft, when hope was fading,
His sire had purpled for his land,
'Gainst hosts that were invading.

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Fierce as the bolts that fringe
The storm which o'er earth tramples-
A glory, death could only change,
Play'd round his swarthy temples;
He stood on freedom's range
Of
crags,

like one who knew her;
He stood, like spirit of revenge,
To smite the slaves that slew her.

The heralds came -the

power
Of empires were behind them;
They bade Greece yield her swords, and cower
When her heroes had resign’d them!
The Spartan chief exclaim'd-
“No! not while we can make them
Dig graves for Persia's proud and famed-
But let them come and take them!”

MARK ANTONY'S ORATION.

FRIENDS! Romans! countrymen! lend me your ears:
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do, lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar!—The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest
(For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all—all honourable men!)
Come I to speak at Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend; faithful and just to me:-
But Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man! -

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious ?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept-
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff;—
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious—
And Brutus is an honourable man!

You all did see, that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ?
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And sure he is an honourable man!

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke;
But here I am to speak what I do know:
You all did love him once-not without cause-
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts;
And men have lost their reason!

Bear with me:
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

But yesterday the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world: now lies he there;-
And none so poor to do him reverence!

O masters!—if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,

-I should do Brutus wrong; and Cassius wrong; Who, you all know, are honourable men! I will not do them wrong: I rather choose To

wrong the dead—to wrong myself—and you, Than I will wrong such honourable men.

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar: I found it in his closet: 'tis his will: Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,)

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