Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. Did ye not hear it? - No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet As if the clouds its echo would repeat, And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is it is the cannon's opening roar. Within a windowed niche of that high wall Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! they come! they come!" And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose, The war note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills With the fierce native daring which instills The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Over the unreturning brave,-alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall molder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, The morn the marshaling in arms, the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder clouds close o'er it, which when rent Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse - friend, foe - in one red burial blent! Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than mine; They reached no nobler breast than thine, young gallant Howard. There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were nothing, had I such to give; I turned from all she brought to those she could not bring. I turned to thee, to thousands, of whom each In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach The Archangel's trump, not glory's, must awake Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Fame May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake The fever of vain longing, and the name So honored but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn: The tree will wither long before it fall; The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn; The roof tree sinks, but molders on the hall In massy hoariness; the ruined wall Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; The day drags through, though storms keep out the sun; EDWARD EVERETT 1794-1865 EDWARD EVERETT is an example, and a remarkable one, of an almost universal culture. His literary productions consist chiefly of exceedingly elaborate speeches and addresses. He contributed a number of papers to the North American Review. This man, distinguished as orator, scholar, and statesman, was born in Dorchester, Mass. His father was a minister at one time, having charge of the New South Church in Boston. While preparing for college Everett had for teacher Ezekial Webster, brother of Daniel Webster, who had charge of the school for a short time, thus beginning what proved a life-long friendship. Everett graduated from Harvard with the highest honors of his class. He studied theology and became minister of the Brattle Street Church, Boston. In 1815 he was made Professor of Greek at Harvard. In 1824 he was elected member of Congress, and continued in that service ten years. In 1835 he was elected Governor of Massachusetts. He was Minister to England under General Wm. Henry Harrison. In 1845 he was made President of Harvard University. In 1852 he was Secretary of State under Fillmore. He also held the office of United States Senator. Few men have filled so many positions, and he filled them all with distinguished success. He died in 1865. TH DISCOVERIES OF GALILEO EDWARD EVERETT HERE are occasions in life in which a great mind lives years of rapt enjoyment in a moment. I can fancy the emotions of Galileo when, first raising the newly constructed telescope to the heavens, he saw fulfilled the grand prophecy of Copernicus, and beheld the planet Venus crescent like the moon. It was such another moment as that, when the immortal printers of Mentz and Strasburg received the first copy of the Bible into their hands, the work of their divine art; like * that, when Columbus, through the gray dawn of the 12th of October, 1492, beheld the shores of San Salvador; like that, when the law of gravitation first revealed itself to the intellect of Newton; like that, when Franklin saw, by the stiffening fibers of the hempen cord of his kite, that he had held the lightning in his grasp; like that, when Leverrier received back from Berlin the tidings that the predicted planet was found. Yes, noble Galileo, thou art right. "It does move." Bigots may make thee recant it, but it moves, nevertheless. Yes, the earth moves, and the planets move, and the mighty waters move, and the great sweeping tides of air move, and the empires of men move, and the world of thought moves, ever onward, and upward, to higher facts and bolder theories. The Inquisition may seal thy lips, but they can no more stop |