most said that they are now beginning to live; to live that life of unimpaired influence, of unclouded fame, of unmingled happiness, for which their talents and services were destined. Such men do not, can not die. To be cold and breathless; to feel not and speak not; this is not the end of existence to the men who have breathed their spirits into the institutions of their country, who have stamped their characters on the pillars of the age, who have poured their hearts' blood into the channels of the public prosperity.

Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon sacred hight, is Warren dead? Can you not still see him, not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with the rose of heaven upon his cheek, and the fire of liberty in his eye?

Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Washington indeed shut up in that cold and narrow house? That which made these men, and men like these, can not die. The hand that traced the charter of independence is, indeed, motionless. The eloquent lips that sustained it are hushed. But the lofty spirits that conceived, resolved, and maintained it, and which alone, to such men, "make it life to live," these can not expire.

"These shall resist the empire of decay,

When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away;
Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie,

But that which warmed it once, can never die."

FROM EVERETT.

CLIV.-I GATHER THEM IN.

NIGH to a grave that was newly made,
Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade:
His work was done, and he paused to wait
The funeral train through the open gate:
A relic of by-gone days was he,

And his locks were white as the foamy sea;

And these words came from his lips so thin,
"I gather them in! I gather them in!"

"I gather them in! for, man and boy,
Year after year of grief and joy,
I've builded the houses that lie around,
In every nook of this burial ground.
Mother and daughter, father and son,
Come to my solitude, one by one;

But come they strangers or come they kin,
I gather them in! I gather them in!

"Many are with me, but still I'm alone!

I am king of the dead, and I make my throne
On a monument slab of marble cold,

And my scepter of rule is the spade I hold.
Come they from cottage or come they from hall,
Mankind are my subjects; all, all, all!
Let them loiter in pleasure or toilfully spin;
I gather them in! I gather them in!

"I gather them in, and their final rest,

Is here, down here in the Earth's dark breast;"
And the sexton ceased, for the funeral train
Wound mutely over that solemn plain :
And I said to my heart, when time is told,
A mightier voice than that sexton's old,
Will sound o'er the last trump's dreadful din;
"I gather them in! I gather them in!"

CLV.-BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO, a celebrated Spanish warrior, having vainly endeavored to secure the release of his father, imprisoned by king Alphonso, at last, resorted to arms. The war proved so destructive, that the king, forced by his nobles, solemnly promised to restore to Bernardo his father, upon the surrender of his paternal castle of Carpio. The following ballad explains the rest.

THE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire; "I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord! O! break my father's chain!"

“Rise! rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man, this day! [way." Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

And, lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band,

With one that 'mid them stately rode, as a leader in the land: "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went;

He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent;

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took:
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold, a frozen thing; it dropped from his like lead!

He looked up to the face above, the face was of the dead!

A plume waved o'er the noble brow, the brow was fixed and white;

He met, at last, his father's eyes, but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed; but who could paint that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze : They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood;

[blood. For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the

"Father!" at length, he murmured low, and wept like childhood then:

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown; He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow; [now;

"No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for, My king is false! my hope betrayed! My father! O! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet;

I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met!

Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then; for thee my fields

were won;

And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!"

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein,

Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train;
And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face, the king before the dead:

“Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss? Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, give answer, where are they?

If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay.

"Into these glassy eyes put light: be still! keep down thine ire! Bid these white lips a blessing speak; this earth is not my sire: Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed!

Thou canst not? and a king! His dust be mountains on thy head!"

He loosed the steed: his slack hand fell; upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place.

His hope was crushed, his after fate, untold in martial strain : His banner led the spears no more, amid the hills of Spain. FROM MRS. HEMANS.

CLVI.-RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICANS.

THIS lovely land, this glorious liberty, these benign institutions, the dear purchase of our fathers, are ours; ours to enjoy, ours to preserve, ours to transmit. Generations past, and generations to come, hold us responsible for this sacred trust. Our fathers from behind admonish us with

their anxious paternal voices.

Posterity calls out to us, from the bosom of the future. The world turns hither its solicitous eyes. All, all conjure us to act wisely and faithfully in the relation which we sustain.

We can never, indeed, pay the debt which is upon us. But by virtue, by morality, by religion, by the cultivation of every good principle and every good habit, we may hope to enjoy the blessing, through our day, and to leave it unimpaired to our children. Let us feel deeply how much of what we are and of what we possess, we owe to this liberty, and these institutions of government.

Nature has, indeed, given us a soil which yields bounteously to the hands of industry. The mighty and fruitful ocean is before us, and the skies over our heads shed health and vigor. But what are lands, and seas, and skies, to civilized men without society, without knowledge, without morals, without religious culture. And how can these be enjoyed in all their extent, and all their excellence, but under the protection of wise institutions and a free government?

There is not one of us, there is not one of us here present, who does not at this moment, and at every moment, experience in his own condition, and in the condition of those most near and dear to him, the influence and the benefit of this liberty, and these institutions. Let us, then, acknowledge the blessing. Let us feel it deeply and powerfully. Let us cherish a strong affection for it, and resolve to maintain and perpetuate it. The blood of our fathers -let it not have been shed in vain. The great hope of posterity-let it not be blasted. FROM WEBSTER.

CLVII.-PUBLIC FAITH.

To expatiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men for declamation. To such men I have nothing to say. To others I will urge: can any circumstance mark upon a people more turpitude and debasement? Can any thing tend more to make men think themselves mean, or