I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. You all did love him once, not without cause; And I must pause till it come back to me. Have stood against the world; now lies he there, O masters! if I were disposed to stir And, dying, mention it within their wills, Unto their issue. If * * you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle; I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on ; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent; That day he overcame the Nervii. * Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through; See, what a rent the envious Casca made; Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, For, when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Even at the base of Pompey's statua, * * * * * Good Friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up They, that have done this deed, are honourable; That made them do it; they are wise and honourable, I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, . And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, SHAKESPEARE. Mark Antony's Oration.-This speech, one of the greatest of Shakespeare's creations, is supposed to be delivered over the dead body of Julius Cæsar, who had been assassinated by several conspirators, the principal of whom were Cassius, Brutus, and Casca. The marvellous skill with which Antony turns popular fury against the conspirators has been much admired. Lupercal.-A yearly festival observed at Rome, in honour of Pan. Nervii.-A tribe in ancient Gaul. Cæsar gives an account of his conquest of them in the second book of his Commentaries. The battle, in which they were defeated, was one of the most obstinately contested that Cæsar ever fought. Statua statue. THE RAVEN. [EDGAR ALLAN POE, an American poet, born January 1811, died 7th October 1849.] 1. ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my cham ber door. ""Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber door Only this, and nothing more." 2. Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ;-vainly had I sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore. 3. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrill'd me-f e-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is, and nothing more. 4. Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, " or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you;" here I open'd wide the door ; Darkness there, and nothing more. 5. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word "Lenore ! " This I whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back the word "Lenore " Merely this, and nothing more. 6. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery explore Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore ; 'Tis the wind, and nothing more! 7. Open here I flung a shutter, when with many a flirt and flutter In there stepp'd a stately raven of the saintly days of yore ; Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopp'd or stay'd he; But with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my chamber door— Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door Perch'd and sat, and nothing more. 8. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore, |