PART THIRD. DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. SELECTION I. THE CHAMBER OF SICKNESS. FIRST VOICE-SECOND VOICE. Colton. First Voice. How awful the place-how gloomy-how chill! Second Voice. How delightful the place-how peaceful-how bright! First Voice. There the angel of death on the vitals is preying, Second Voice. There the spirits of mercy round the pillow are flying, First Voice. How the spirit is pained, e'en when loved ones are near, Second Voice. How the holiest endearments that kindred souls cherish, First Voice. How ghastly the visage of death doth appear, Second Voice. How friendly the hand that faith is now lending, First Voice. There, in triumph, the death-knell is fitfully pealing, While the shivering chill to the cold heart is stealing, And the life-current warms-no-never Second Voice. Hear the joy-speaking voice of some angel callingAs the visions of heaven, on the rapt soul are falling, And hope-is fruition for ever. SELECTION II. THE GREEK ORPHAN. PASPATI-EPAMINONDAS.- -Colton. Paspati. Child of the brave! hear the echo of glory, That breaks from the hills of our country now free; And the voice of our fathers-immortal in story, Which speaks in the lessons of heroes to thee. Epaminondas. The sound of the battle I heard on the mountain ; The foemen I saw,-Oh, my father was there! I saw his red blood as it gushed like a fountain: But what is the echo of glory!—and where? Paspati. 'Tis the sound of the war-song we learned from cur mother The war-song of heroes who bled to be free : "Tis the echo we heard on the hills, with our brothers, That speaks as the voice of the thunder to thee. Epaminondas. 'Tis the great and good God who talks in the thunder, Paspati. Thinkest thou it was God, who our green hills defended, Epaminondas. All bloody and pale, with his war-clothes around him, Cold and dead was my brother-at evening I found him, Paspati. And where is thy mother, boy? lives she to bless thee? Thou livest in the stranger-land, strangers caress thee, Oh! my Epaminondas. mother is dead-three long summers have ended Since her kind and last kiss on my cheek she impressedAn orphan she left me-alone, unbefriended, But the God of the orphan-the Greek orphan blessed,For here, in the stranger-land green hills are round me,Home, father, and mother, and brothers have found me! SELECTION III. -Karamsin. THE CHURCHYARD. FIRST VOICE-SECOND VOICE.-. First Voice. How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear! Second Voice. How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep: First Voice. There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, Second Voice. How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb: No tempests are there :—but the nightingales come And sing their sweet chorus of bliss. First Voice. The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave: There the rabbit at evening disports with his love, First Voice. There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath Second Voice. Oh, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, First Voice. The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears, Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears, He is lanched on the wreck-covered river! Second Voice. The traveler, outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary, Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, And sweetly reposes for ever. SELECTION IV. STRANGER-CHILD.-Hemans. Stranger. Why wouldst thou leave me, oh! gentle child? Where many an image of marble gleans, Child. Oh! green is the turf where my brothers play, And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know— Stranger. Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell, Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well; Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, Harps which the wandering breezes tune; Child. Oh! my mother sings at the twilight's fall, Stranger. Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest, Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, Child. Is my mother gone from her home away?— Or they lanch their boats where the bright streams flow,— Stranger. Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now, They have left the fern by the spring's green side, |