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will he be able to turn the current of compassion backward, and to look with pity on those who have been his judges. If you are about to visit this respondent with a judgment which shall blast this house; if the bosoms of the innocent and the amiable are to be made to bleed under your infliction, I beseech you to be able to state clear and strong grounds for your proceedings.
Prejudice and excitement are transitory, and will pass away. Political expediency, in matters of judicature, is a false and hollow principle, and will never satisfy the conscience of him, who is fearful that he may have given a hasty judgment. I earnestly entreat you, for your own sakes, to possess yourselves of solid reasons, founded in truth and justice, for the judgment you pronounce, which you can carry with you, till you go down into your graves; reasons, which it will require no argument to revive, no sophistry, no excitement, no regard to popular favour, to render satisfactory to your consciences; reasons which you can appeal to, in every crisis of your lives, and which shall be able to assure you, in your own great extremity, that you have not judged a fellow-creature without mercy.
Sir, I have done with the case of this individual, and now leave him in your hands. I hold up before him the broad shield of the constitution; if through that he be pierced and fall, he will be but one sufferer, in a conmon catastrophe.
Shout for the mighty men,
Who died along this shore—
Who died within this mountain's glen!
For never nobler chieftain's head
Was laid on Valour's crimson bed,
Sprang forth, than their's who won the day
Upon thy strand, Thermopylae!
Shout for the mighty men,
Who, on the Persian tents,
Rushed—a storm of sword and spear ;—
Like the roused elements, Let loose from an immortal hand, To chasten or to crush a land!
But there are none to hear;
Greece is a hopeless slave.
Upon thy sea-washed grave.
And it is given!—the surge—
The tree—the rock—the sand—
The vision of thy band
And is thy grandeur done?
Mother of men like these!
Till in thy crimsoned seas
TYROLESE WAR SONG.
There's a cloud in the sky,
We have sworn by the blood
We have sworn by that God,
We have sworn by our love,
By that spell which hath bound us,
To fight for the maids
And the mountains around us.
We have ta'en our last look—
Down, down with the rocks
Cut away—cut away,
And wo be to him,
There's a spell in his eye,
Now, now is the time,
DUKE OF MILAN PLEADING HIS CAUSE BEFORE CHARLES V.
I Come not, Emperor, t'invade thy mercy,
I profess I was thine enemy:
Now, give me leave
If that, then, to be grateful
Falling before thy feet, kneeling and howling,
For a forestalled remission: that were poor,
And would but shame thy victory; for conquest
Over base foes, is a captivity,
And not a triumph. I ne'er feared to die,
More than I wished to live. When I had reached
My ends in being a duke, I wore these robes,
This crown upon my head, and to my side
This sword was girt: and witness, truth, that now
'T is in another's power, when I shall part
With them and life together, I'm the same:
My veins did not then swell with pride; nor now
They shrink with fear.—Know, sir, that Sforza stands
Prepared for either fortune.
CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON.
He is fallen! We may now pause before that splendid prodigy, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin, whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted.
Grand, gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptred hermit, wrapt in the solitude of his own originality.
A mind bold, independent, and decisive-^a will, despotic in its dictates—an energy that distanced expedition, and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary character—the most extraordinary, perhaps, that, in the annals of this world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell.
Flung into life, in the midst of a Revolution, that quick• ened every energy of a people who acknowledged no superior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity!
With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he rushed into the lists where rank, and wealth, atid genius had arrayed themselves, and competition fled from him as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest—he acknowledged no criterion but success— he worshipped no God but ambition, and with an eastern devotion he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry. Subsidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not profess, there was no opinion that he did not prom'ulgate; in the hope of a djnasty, he upheld the crescent; for the sake of a divorce,