is

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne 'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

13. MARMION TAKING LEAVE OF DOUGLAS. — Sir Walter Scott. THE train from out the castle drew;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :

"Though something I might 'plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your King's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, -
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand.”
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :

My manors, halls and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my King's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone; -
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp!"
Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,

And shook his very frame for ire,

And "This to me!" he said;

"An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And first I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near
(Nay, never look upon your Lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword!),
I tell thee, thou 'rt defied!
And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age;

い

Fierce he broke forth:

"And darest thou, then,

To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?

And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!
Up drawbridge, grooms!-what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."

Lord Marmion turned, well was his need,
And dashed the rowels in his steed;
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous gate behind him rung:
To pass, there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise:

lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim:

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenchéd hand,
A shout of loud defiance pours,

And shakes his gauntlet at the towers!

AND

14. THE DEATH OF MARMION.-Scott.

soon straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen, drenched with gore, And in their arms, a helpless load,

A wounded knight they bore.

His hand still strained the broken brand,
His arms were smeared with blood and sand;
Dragged from among the horses' feet,
With dinted shield and helmet beat,
The falcon-crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion?
Young Blount his armor did unlace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,

Said - 66

'By Saint George, he 's gone The spear-wound has our master sped: And see the deep cut on his head!

Good-night to Marmion!"

"Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling cease;

He opes his eyes," said Eustace; "

peace!"

When, doffed his casque, he felt free air,

Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare;

!

"Where's Harry Blount? Fitz Eustace, where?

Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare?

Redeem my pennon!

-

charge again!

Vain!

Cry, 'Marmion to the rescue!'

27

Last of my race, on battle-plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard again!
Must I bid twice?- hence, varlets! fly!
Leave Marmion here alone to die."

With fruitless labor, Clara bound,
And strove to stanch the gushing wound.
The war, that for a space did fail,
Now, trebly thundering, swelled the gale,
And "Stanley! was the cry;

A light on Marmion's visage spread,
And fired his glazing eye;

With dying hand, above his head
He shook the fragment of his blade,
And shouted, "Victory!"

Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!"
Were the last words of Marmion.

THE outmost crowd have heard a sound,
Like horse's hoof on hardened ground;
Nearer it came, and yet more near,
The very death's-men paused to hear.
"T is in the churchyard now -the tread
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead!
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone,
Return the tramp in varied tone.
All eyes upon the gateway hung,

When through the Gothic arch there sprung
A horseman armed, at headlong speed
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed.
Fire from the flinty floor was spurned,
The vaults unwonted clang returned !
One instant's glance around he threw,
From saddle-bow his pistol drew.
Grimly determined was his look!
His charger with the spurs he strook, -
All scattered backward as he came,
For all knew Bertram Risingham!
Three bounds that noble courser gave;
The first has reached the central nave,
The second cleared the chancel wide,
The third he was at Wycliffe's side!
Full levelled at the Baron's head,
Rang the report, the bullet sped,
And to his long account, and last,
Without a groan, dark Oswald past.

--

All was so quick, that it might seem
A flash of lightning, or a dream.

While yet the smoke the deed conceals,
Bertram his ready charger wheels;
But floundered on the pavement floor
The steed, and down the rider bore,
And bursting in the headlong sway,
The faithless saddle-girths gave way.
'T was while he toiled him to be freed,
And with the rein to raise the steed,
That from amazement's iron trance
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once.
Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose;
A score of pikes, with each a wound,
Bore down and pinned him to the ground;
But still his struggling force he rears,
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears;
Thrice from assailants shook him free,
Once gained his feet, and twice his knee.
By ten-fold odds oppressed, at length,
Despite his struggles and his strength,
He took a hundred mortal wounds,
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds;
And when he died, his parting groan
Had more of laughter than of moan!
They gazed, as when a lion dies,
And hunters scarcely trust their
But bend their weapons on the slain,
Lest the grim king should rouse again!
Then blow and insult some renewed,
And from the trunk the head had hewed,
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ;
A mantle o'er the corse he laid :-
"Fell as he was in act and mind,
He left no bolder heart behind :
Then give him, for a soldier meet,
A soldier's cloak for winding-sheet."

eyes,

16. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY.-Sir Walter Scott.

BREATHES there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land"?
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand ?

If such there breathe, go, mark him well:
For him no minstrel raptures swell!
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

17. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.—Albert G. Greene.

O'ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray,
Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay,
The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.

They come around me here, and say my days of life are o’er,
That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more;
They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I,
Their own liege lord and master born, that I-ha! ha! - must die.

"And what is death? I've dared him oft, before the Paynim spear; Think he 's entered at my gate has come to seek me here? ye I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging

hot;

I'll try his might, I'll brave his power! - defy, and fear him not!

"Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin; Bid each retainer arm with speed; call every vassal in.

Up with my banner on the wall, the banquet-board prepare,
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

An hundred hands were busy then: the banquet forth was spread,
And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread ;
While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall,

Lights gleamed on harness, plume and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured, On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board; While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state, Armed cap-à-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate.

-

"Fill every beaker up, my men! pour forth the cheering wine! There's life and strength in every drop, thanksgiving to the vine! Are ye all there, my vassals true? - mine eyes are waxing dim. Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim '