Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;

A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company;

I gazed and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie,
In vacant, or in pensive, mood,
They flash upon that inward eye,
Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils. - Wordsworth.

FROM THE BROOK

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,

And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve, my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,

And many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling.

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me as I travel,

With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever. — Tennyson.

CONCORD HYMN

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;

And Time the ruined bridge has swept

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,

We set to-day a votive stone;

That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare

To die, or leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare

The shaft we raise to them and thee.

POLONIUS TO LAERTES

- Emerson.

Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard for shame;
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,

And you are stay'd for. There, my blessing with you!
And these few precepts in thy memory

See thou charácter. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatched, unfledged comráde. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,

Bear't, that the opposèd may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy:

For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France, of the best rank and station,

Are most select and generous, chief in that.

Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Farewell; my blessing season this in thee! — Shakespeare.

THE BUNKER HILL ORATION

The uncounted multitude before me and around me proves the feeling which the occasion has excited. These thousands of human faces glowing with sympathy and joy, and from the impulses of a common gratitude turned reverently to heaven in this spacious temple of the firmament, proclaim that the day, the place, and the purpose of our assembling have made a deep impression on our hearts. We are among the sepulchers of our fathers. We live in what may be called the early age of this great continent; and we know that our posterity through all time are here to suffer and enjoy the allotments of humanity. But the great event in the history of the continent which we are now here to commemorate, that prodigy of modern times, at once the wonder and blessing of the world, is the American Revolution. In a day of extraordinary prosperity and happiness, of high national honor, distinction, and power, we are brought together in this place, by our love of country, by our admiration of exalted character, by our gratitude for signal service and patriotic devotion. We come as Americans to mark a spot which must forever be dear to us and our posterity. We wish that this structure may proclaim the magnitude and importance of that event, to every class and every age. We wish that labor may look up here and be proud in the midst of its toil. We wish that this column rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God may contribute also to produce in all minds a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish finally that the last object on the sight of him who leaves his native shore and the first to gladden him who revisits it may be something which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise till it meet the sun in his coming; let the earliest light of the morning gild it; and parting day linger and play on its summit. - Webster.

FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE

The quality of mercy is not strained;

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven,
Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,

It is an attribute to God himself;

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And earthly power doth then show likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice. - Shakespeare.

SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumphed — His people are free!
Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken,

His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave How vain was their boast, for the Lord hath but spoken And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumphed — His people are free!

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord:
His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword.
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story

For those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory, And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!

Jehovah has conquered, His people are free! — Moore.