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Is it the tender star of love?
The star of love and dreams?
The earnest thoughts within me rise,
Suspended in the evening skies,
O star of strength! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain;
Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, And I am strong again.
Within my breast there is no light,
The star of the unconquered will,
And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
O fear not, in a world like this,
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
THE Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, [gold; And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, [Galilee. When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, [seen;
'That host with their banners at sunset were Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, [strown. That host on the morrow, lay wither'd and
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
[pass'd; And breath'd on the face of the foe as he And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, [ever grew still! And their hearts but once heaved and for
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, [pride! But through it there rolled not the breath of his And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock beating surf.
And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his [alone, And the tents were were all silent, the banners The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown!
And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, [Lord! Hath melted like snow in the glance of the
MILTON ON HIS BLINDNESS.
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
WHEN on the fragrant sandal tree
And she who bloom'd so beauteously,
Peace to her foes, and love to all.
How hardly man this lesson learns!
To smile, and bless the hand that spurns ;
This spirit ne'er was given on earth;
SCENE FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Duke. Give me your hand: Came you old Bellario?
Portia. I did, my