But when, beneath the mountain tide,
Ye've laid your monarch down to rot
Ye shall not rear upon its side

Pillar or mound to mark the spot;
For long enough the world has shook
Beneath the terrors of my look;
And now that I have run my race,
The astonished realms shall rest a space,

My course was like a river deep,
And from the northern hills I burst,
Across the world in wrath to sweep,

And where I went the spot was cursed,
Nor blade of grass again was seen
Where Alaric and his hosts had been,

See how their haughty barriers fail
Beneath the terror of the Goth!
Their iron-breasted legions quail
Before my ruthless sabaoth,
And low the queen of empires kneels,
And grovels at my chariot-wheels!

Not for myself did I ascend

In judgment my triumphal car;
'T was God alone on high did send
The avenging Scythian to the war,
To shake abroad, with iron hand,
The appointed scourge of his command

With iron hand that scourge I reared
O'er guilty king and guilty realm; ́
Destruction was the ship I steered,
And vengeance sat upon the helm,
When, launched in fury on the flood,

I ploughed my way through seas of blood, And, in the stream their hearts had spilt, Washed out the long arrears of guilt.

Across the everlasting Alp

I poured the torrent of my powers, And feeble Cæsars shrieked for help

In vain within their seven-hilled towers.

I cuenched in blood the brightest gem
That glittered in their diadem,
And struck a darker, deeper dye
In the purple of their majesty,
And bade my northern banners shine
Upon the conquered Palatine.

My course is run, my errand done :
I go to him from whom I came.
But never yet shall set the sun

Of glory that adorns my name,
And Roman hearts shall long be sick,
When men shall think of Alaric.

My course is run, my errand done
But darker ministers of fate,
Impatient round the eternal throne,

And in the caves of vengeance, wait;
And soon mankind shall blench away
Before the name of Attila.

EXERCISE LVIII.

THE FARMER'S SONG.

I ENVY not the mighty king
Upon his splendid throne

Nor crave his glittering diadem,

Nor wish his power my own;

For though his power and wealth be great,

And thousands round him bow,

In reverence in my low state

My wants are few and well supplied
By my productive fields;
I court no luxuries beside,

Save what contentment yields.
More pure enjoyment labor gives
Than wealth or fame can bring,
And he is happier who lives
A farmer, than a king.

EXERCISE LIX

EPILOGUE.

OUR parts are performed, and our speeches are ended,
We are monarchs, and courtiers, and heroes no more;
To a much humbler station again we 've descended,

And are now but the schoolboys you 've known us before

Farewell, then, our greatness!—'t is gone like a dream; 'Tis gone but remembrance will often retrace

The indulgent applause which rewarded each theme,
And the heart-cheering smiles that enlivened each face.

We thank you!
But deeply we feel it

to you it belongs;

With heartfelt emotion we bid you farewell,

And our feelings now thank you much more than ou tongues.

We will strive to improve, since applauses thus cheer us, That our juvenile efforts may gain your kind looks; And we hope to convince you, the next time you hear us, That praise has but sharpened our relish for books.

The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,-
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighborhood to please
With manner wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways,
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her
pew,
But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux, and more;
The king himself has followed her, -
When she has walked before.

But

now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all,

Her doctors found, when she was dead,

Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore;

For Kent-street well may say,

That had she lived a twelvemonth more.-
She had not died to-day.

EXERCISE LXI.

THE LIFE-BOAT; OR, THE WRECK ON THE BLACK MIDDENS.

QUICK! man the life-boat! see yon bark!
She drives before the wind-

The rock's ahead and, loud and dark,
The raging storm behind!

No human power, in such an hour,

Can avert the doom that's o'er her:

See! the main-mast 's gone, and she still drives on,

To the yawning gulf before her:

The life-boat! man the life-boat!

Quick! man the life-boat! hark!—the gun,
That thunders through the air!
And see the signal flag flies on,
The emblem of despair!

The forked flash, that pealing crash,
Seemed from the wave to sweep her;
Ha! the ship has struck!—she's on the rock!-
And the wail comes louder and deeper:
The life-boat! man the life-boat!

Quick! man the life-boat! see the crew
Gaze on their watery grave:
Already some-a gallant few
Are battling with the wave;

And one there stands and wrings his hands,
As thoughts of home come o'er him:
For his wife and child, through the tempest wild,
He sees on the heights before him.
The life-boat! man the life-boat!

Speed, speed the life-boat!-off she goes!
And as they pulled the oar,
From shore and ship a shout arose,
That startled ship and shore:
Life-saving ark! yon doomed bark

Has immortal souls within her;

More than gems or gold is the wealth untold
Thou 'lt save, if thou canst but win her:
The life-boat! speed the life-boat!

Hurrah! the life-boat dashes on!

The Middens darkly frown;

The rock is there -the ship is gone

Full twenty fathoms down;

But desperate men were battling then,
With the billows, single-handed;-

They are all in the boat!-hurrah! they're afloat!—
And now they are safely landed:

Hurrah! hurrah for the life-boat!