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-and manifesting the inte'lligence-of-the-times/ in which you

will do such an act of m'ercy, and bles'sing to m’an, as n'o-men, but yours'elves/ are able to grant.


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 displa'y of p'owers, as are unpa'ralleled in the a’nnals of or'atory ;-a displays that reflected the highest ho'nour on himse'lf-lu'stre upon letters-renow'n upon pa'rliament-gl'ory upon the cou'ntry. Of all spe'cies of rh'etoric, of

every kind of e’loquence/ that has been wi'tnessed or recor'ded, either in an'cient or mo'dern times; whatever the ac'uteness of the ba'r, the di'gnity of the sen'ate, the soli'dity of the judgment-seat, and the sacred morality of the pu'lpit, have/ hitherto/ fu’rnished ; nothing has esqualled/ what we have this day hea'rd/ in We’stminster-Hall. No holy se'er of reli'gion, no sta'tesman, 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 moʻrality, or/ in the oʻther, to that var'iety of know'ledge, for'ce of imagina'tion, propri'ety and viva'city of allus'ion, bea'uty and e'legance of dic'tion, strength and co'piousness of sty'le, pa'thos and sublim'ity of conce'ption, to whi'ch/ we, this day, lis'tened, with a'rdour and admira'tion. From poe'try up to e'loquence/, there is not a species of composi'tion, of which a complete and perfect-specimen/ migh't-not (from that sin'gle-speech) be cu'lled and collected.


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 toʻuch) a more delightful vission! I saw her just above the hor'izon, de corating and cheering the elevated sph'ere/ she had just begun to move i'n,-glittering like the morning-sta'r ; full of lif'e, and sple'ndour, and joy.

Oh'! what a revolu'tion and what a heart must I hav'e, to conte'mplate (without em'otion) that eleva'tion and that fa’ll !

Little did I drea'm/ thʼat, when she added titles of venera-tion/ to those of enthusia'stic, distant, respectful 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, th’at/ 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 her 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 glo‘ry of Europe/ is exti'nguished for e'ver. Ne'ver, never mo're, shall we behoʻld/ that generous loyalty 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 exalted fre'edom. The unbought gra'ce of li'fe, 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 principle,--that cha's. tity of ho'nour, which felt a stain/ like a wou'nd,—which inspired co'urage/ whilst it mitigated feroc'ity, which enno'bied whatever it touchoed; and under whic'h/ vice itself/ lost half its e'vil, by lo'sing all its grossness.


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 thee.
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 w'0,-

-a smi'le, a te'ar ;
Obl'ivion/ hides the rest.
The bounding pulse, the languid lim'b,

The changing spir'its/ rise' and fall ;
We know that the se) were felt by hiom,

For the se/ are felt by a^ll.!
He su'ffered—but his pan'gs/ are o'e'r ;

Enjoyed—but his deli'ghts/ are fled;
Had friends his fri'ends) are no'w no m'ore;

And foe-s—his foeos/ are dead.
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 beauty/ 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 night,

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

To hi°m/ 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 veľstige/ where they fle'w.
The annals of the human rac'e,

Their rui'n/ since the world beg'an,
Of hi'm/ afford no other tra'ce

Than thi's—THERE LIVED A MA‘N !

Lower voice.

Lower still.


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

Go to'-I will not hear 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, hofpes, and prom'ises, The cur'rency of idiots—injurious bankrupt, That gu'lls the easy

creditor !—To-moorrow ! It is a period/ no'-where to be fou'nd (In all the hoary registers of Ti'me,) Unless (perchan'ce) in the fooʻl’s-calendar ! Wi’sdom/ disclai'ms the word, nor holds soci'ety With tho'se/ who ow'n it. No', my Hor'atio, 'Tis Faîncy's chi'ld, and Folly is its father ; Wrought of such stu'ff/ as dreaľms are, and ba'seless 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 i'ell-tales ;
An'd, (though their fi'ght be si'lent, and their pa'th/
Trackless, 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,
Thoʻu, (like a sle'eping, fai“thless sen’tinel,)
Didst let them pa'ss, unnooticed, unimproved.
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 thuos/
Shalt stand impl’eaded at the high tribu'nal
Of hood-winked Ju'stice, who shall te'll thy au dit!

Then sta'y the present ionstant, deủar-Horatio ;
Imprint the marks of wi'sdom/ on its wings.
'Tis of more worth than kiongdoms ! far more precious
Than all the cri^mson treasures of li'fe's foun'tain !-
O’! let it not elu'de thy gróasp ; b'ut, (like
The good old patriarch upon recoʻrd,)*
Hold the fleet angel fa'st, until he bless 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,


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

And m'ortals the sweets of forge'tfulness pr'ove;
When nou'ght/ but the to‘rrent/ 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 war,

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

“Wh'y, (lone Philom'ela), that languishing fall! For/ Spʻring shall retu'rn, 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,

“ Mo'urn, (sweetest compl’ainer), ma`n/ calls thee to mo'um ; “O sooth him, whose pleasures/ 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 marked/ when majestic on hi'gh

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

“ The path/ that conducts thee to splendour agʻain : “But maîn's faded glory, whaît change shall rene'w !

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

“I moʻurn, but ye woodlands, I mou'rn not for yoou ; “For m'orn is approaching, your charms to restore,

“ Perfum'ed with fresh fra'grance, and glittering 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 urn!

O/ wheʼn shall day da'wn on the nig'ht of the gra’ve !


* 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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