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and manifesting the inte'lligence-of-the-times/ in which you li've-you will do such an act of m'ercy, and bles'sing to m’an, as n'o-men, but yours'elves) are a'ble/ to gr’ant.


MR. SHERIDAN. (With particular reference to his splendid Address in the House of Lords, of which the two preceding Articles form a part.)

BURKE. He has this day/ surprised the tho'usands/ who hung with ra'pture on his a'ccents, by such an arr'ay of ta'lents, such an exhib'ition of capa city, such a display of powers, as are unpa'ralleled in the a'nnals of oratory ;-a display that reflected the highest hoʻnour on himse'lf—lu'stre upon letters-renow'n upon pa’rliament-glory upon the country. Of all spe'cies of rhetoric, of every kind of e’loquence/ that has been wi'tnessed or recor'ded, either in an'cient or modern times; whatever the ac'uteness of the ba'r, the dignity of the sen'ate, the solidity of the judgment-seat, and the sacred morality of the pu'lpit, have hitherto/ fu’rnished; nothing has e'qualled, what we have this day hea'rd/ in We’stminster-Hall

. No holy se'er of reli'gion, no statesman, no o'rator, no man of any literary descr'iption whate'ver, has com'e-up, (in the on'e-instance,) to the pure sen'timents of mo'rality, or/ in the other, to that var'iety of knowledge, for'ce of imagina'tion, propri'ety and viva'city of allus'ion, bea'uty and e'legance of dic'tion, streng'th and co'piousness of sty'le, pa'thos and sublim'ity of conce'ption, to which/

this day, lis'tened, with a'rdour and admira'tion. From poe'try up to e'loquence/, there is not a sp'ecies of composi'tion, of which a complete and perfect-specimen/ migh't-not (from that sinʼgle-speech) be cu'lled and collec'ted.



BURKE. It is now s'ixteen or se'venteen-years/ since I saw the Queen of Fraʼnce, then the daup'hiness, at Versai'lles ; and surely never ligh'ted on this o'rb (which sh'e hardly seemed to to’uch) a more delig'htful vission! I saw her just above the horsizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sph'ere she had just begun to move i'n,-glittering like the morning-sta'r; full of life, and sple'ndour, and joy.

Oh'! wha't a revolu'tion and what a heart must I hav'e, to contemplate (without em'otion,) that eleva'tion and that fa'll !

Little did I drea'm/ th'at, when she added titles of venera“tion/ to those of enthusia'stic, di'stant, respe'ctful lov'e, she should ever be obl'iged/ to carry the sharp a'ntidote/ against disgra'ce/ concea'led in that boʻsom ;-little did I drea'm, thʼat/ I should have li'ved to have see'n such disasters fallen-uponher/ in a na'tion of gallant-men,-in a n’ation of/ me'n-of-honour/ and of caval'iers. I thought ten thousand swo'rds/ must have le'aped/ from their scab'bards/ to have aven'ged/ even a loạok, that threatened he'r with i'nsult.-—But the age of c'hivalry is gon'e. That of so'phisters, econo'mists, and calcula'tors, has suc'ceeded; and the glory of Europe/ is exti'nguished for e'ver. Ne'ver, never mo're, shall we behoʻld/ that generous lo‘yalty to r’ank and se'x,--that prsoud submiss'ion--that di'gnified obe'dience,--that subordination of the he’art, which kept al'ive (even in ser'vitude itsoelf,) the spi'rit of an ex'alted freedom. The unbought gra'ce of life, the cheap def'ence of na'tions, the nu’rse of ma'nly-sentiment and hero'ic-enterprise, is go'ne : It is'-gone,--that sensib'ility of prin ciple--that cha's. tity of ho'nour, which felt a st’ain/ like a wou'nd,—which inspired coʻurage/ whilst it mitigated feroc'ity, which enno'bled whatever it touchoed; and under whic'h/ vice itself/ lost half its e'vil, by lo'sing all its gr‘ossness.


Once/ in the flight of ages pa'st,
There lived a ma'n;-

and wh'o was h'e?
M'ortal! how'e'er thy lot be ca'st,

Tha't-man/ resembled the'e.
Unknown the region of his bi’rth,

The la'nd/ in which he d'ied/ unkno'wn;

His name hath perished from the e'arth,

Thi's truth/ survives alon'e ;
That jo'y, and gr'ief, and hop'e, and fe’ar,

Alternate/ triumphed in his bre'ast;
His bli'ss and wo,-a smi'le, a te’ar ;

Obl’ivion/ hides the res't.
The bounding pulse, the languid lim'b,

The changing spir'its/ rise and fall;
We know that the

sel were felt by hiom,
For the se/ are felt by a‘ll !
He su'ffered—but his pan'gs/ are o'e'r ;

Enjo'yed—but his deli'ghts/ are fle'd;
Had friends his fri'ends) are no'w no m'ore;

And foes—his foeos/ are dea'd.
He love'd—but who'm he lo'ved, the gr'ave/

Hath lost in its unco'nscious wo'mb:
O! she was fa'ir ! but noug'ht could sa've/

Her be’auty/ from the tom'b.
He sa'w/ whatever thou hast se'en,

Enco’untered/ all' that troubles th’ee;
He wa's—whatever thou hast be'en ;

He is what thou shalt be'.
The rolling sea'sons, day and ni'ght,

(Su'n, moʻon, and stars, the earth and m'ain,)
Ere while his portion, lif'e and ligʻht,

To hiom/ exist in vain'.
The clo'uds and su'n-beams, o'er his ey'e,

That once their sha’des and glo‘ry thr'ew,
Have lef't, (in yonder silent sk'y,)

No ve'stige/ where they fle'w.
The annals of the human rac'e,
Their rui'n/ since the world beg'an,

Lower still.
Of hi'm/ afford no other trasce

Than thios—THERE LIVED A MA‘N !

Lower voice.


To-MOʻRROW, didst thou sa'y?
Methought I heard Horatio sa'y, To-moʻrrow.

Go to'- I will not he ar of it-To-moorrow !
'Tis a shar per, who stakes his p'enury
Against thy plenty—who takes thy ready ca'sh,

pays thee nou`ght/ but wis'hes, ho'pes, and prom`ises, The currency of idiots-injurious ban krupt, That gu'lls the easy creditor !—To-moorrow ! It is a period/ no'-where to be fou'nd (In all the hoary registers of Time,) Unl'ess (perchan'ce) in the fooʻl’s-calendar ! Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds soci'ety With thoʻse/ who ow'n it. No', my Hor'atio, 'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father ; Wrought of such stu'ff/ as drea°ms are, and baseless As the fantastic vi'sions of the e'vening.

But s'oft, my fri'end-arrest the pre-sent moments; For, be assured, they all are arrant t'ell-tales ; An'd, (though their flight be si'lent, and their pa'th/ Trac'kless, as the winged couriers of the air,) They post to hea'ven, and th'ere/ record thy folly. Because', though stationed on the important watch, Tho'u, (like a sle'eping, fai thless sen’tinel,) Didst let them pa'ss, unnoticed, unimproʻved. And kno'w, for that thou slumberedst on the gua'rd, Thou shalt be made to answer at the ba'r For e‘very-fugitive ; an'd, when thou thu's/ Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribu'nal Of hood-winked Ju'stice, whoo/ shall te^ll thy au'dit !

Then sta'y the present i°nstant, de^ar-Horatio ; Imprint the marks of wi'sdom/ on its wings. 'Tis of more worth than kiongdoms ! far moore precious Than all the crimson treasures of li'fe's foun'tain !O'! let it not elu'de thy gr'asp ; b'ut, (like The good old patriarch upon recoʻrd,)* Hold the fleet angel faʼst, unti'l he ble^ss thee !

* We have here another instance of the sovereign power of “ Rhythmus," which changes the accent of the noun (as in the previous example) into that of the verb,

.. A


At the close of the da'y, when the ha'mlet is st‘ill,

And m'ortals the swee'ts of forge'tfulness pr'ove ;
When nou'ght/ but the toʻrrent/ is heard on the h’ill,

And noug'ht/ but the nightingale's song in the gr'ove; 'Twas th’us, by the cave of the mountain af'ar,

While his harp rung sympho'nious, a Hermit be'gan; No more with himse'lf or with naîture at w'ar,

He thoʻught/ as a saoge, though he fe°lt/ as a ma‘n. “ Ah! why all abandoned to dark'ness and w'o ;

“ Wh'y, (lone Philom'ela), that languishing fall ! “ For/ Sp'ring shall retu'r, and a lo'ver best'ow,

“ And soʻrrow/ no longer thy bo'som inth'ral. “ But, if pity inspi're thee, rene'w the sad la'y,

“ Moʻurn, (swe'etest complainer), ma^n/ calls thee to mo'um ; “O sooth hi`m, whose ple'asures, like thi`ne pass aw'ay:

“ Full quickly they pa'ss—but they n'ever ret'urn. “ Now gliding rem'ote, (on the verge of the sk'y),

“ The mo'on (half extin'guished) her crescent displays : “ But lately I mar'ked/ when majestic on hi ́gh

“ She shone, and the plaʼnets were lost in her blaz'e. “Roll o'n, (thou fair o'rb), and with gladness pur'sue

“ The pa'th/ that conducts thee to splendour agʻain : “But ma`n's faded glory, whaît change shall rene'w!

“ Ah, fool! to exult in a glo'ry so vai?n ! “ 'Tis nigʻht, and the landscape is lovely no moʻre :

“I mo'urn, but ye woodlands, I mou'm not for yoou; “For m'orn is approaching, yoʻur charms to restore,

“ Perfum'ed with fresh fra'grance, and gli'ttering with dew'. “ Nor yet for the ravage of Wi^nter I mo'urn;

“ Kind na'ture the embryo blo'ssom will sa've: But/ when shall Spring vi`sit the mouldering uorn ! O/ when shall day da'wn) on the nig'ht of the graove!


These four lines should be read in a lower key, because our voice, in reading or speaking, naturally and properly assumes a lower pitch in the first and second, than in the third person.

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