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No chronicles but theirs shall tell
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.
b: - ebb, cub, tube, bib, glib, babe, bulb, barb, blue, imbibe, embark, imbue, disburse, unblessed.
THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods;
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean • roll!
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
The armaments which thunder-strike the walls
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou! Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playTime writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where th' Almighty's form
-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
And I have loved thee, ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
I wantoned with thy breakers - they to me
Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear,
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.
d:-bed, dead, did, made, grazed, hedged, judged, saved, writhed, charmed, paved, heard, ebbed, rigged, would, could, should, damaged, modest, deadly.
Marco Bozzaris.* F. G. HALLECK.
Ar midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
In dreams, through camp and court he bore
In dreams, his song of triumph heard;
At midnight in the forest-shades,
* Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of modern Greece. He fell in
a night attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platea, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were, "To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain."
True as the steel of their tried blades,
There had the Persian's thousands stood,
And now there breathed that haunted air,
An hour passed on -the Turk awoke -
He woke to hear his sentries shriek,
"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!" He woke to die 'midst flame, and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,
And death-shots, falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain cloud; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band:
"Strike till the last armed foe expires;
They fought like brave men-long and well;
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurrah,
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Come to the bridal chamber, Death!
With banquet-song, and dance, and wineAnd thou art terrible - the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Of sky and stars to prisoned men!
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
To the world-seeking Genoese,
When the land-wind, from woods of palm,