To mark he would return in haste, With that, straight up the hill there rode 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 armour did unlace, And, gazing on his ghastly face, Said, "By Saint George, he's gone! "That 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, "Where's Harry Blount, Fitz-Eustace, where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare? "Redeem my pennon, charge again! Cry, Marmion to the rescue! Vain! "Last of my race, on battle plain "That shout shall ne'er be heard again! ་་ "Or victory and England's lost. "Must I bid twice? Hence, varlets, fly! "Of all my halls have nursed, Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring O woman! in our hours of ease, By the light quivering aspen made; Scarce were the piteous accents said, Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; She stooped her by the runnel's side, Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave; 66 I would the fiend, to whom belongs The war, that for a space did fail, 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. SCOTT. 76 THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND. O SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile, Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed, " " O Heaven!" he cried, "my bleeding country save! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? "Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains, Rise, fellow-men, our country yet remains! 'By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, "And swear for her to live-with her to die!" He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed Revenge, or death"-the watch-word and reply; In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few, grasp Dropped from her nerveless the shattered spear, Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell! The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there; Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air: On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, Oh! righteous Heaven; ere Freedom found a grave, Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod, That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car Departed spirits of the mighty dead! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! CAMPBELL. THE FALL OF CORINTH. O'ER Corinth shines the glowing sun, As if the morn were a jocund one; And the neigh of the steed and the multitude's hum, Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, Strike your tents, and throng to the van; That the fugitive may flee in vain, When he breaks from the town; and none escape, The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls,— Up to the skies with that wild halloo ! ; There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale; "And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail? "He who plucks down the red cross may crave "His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!" Thus uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier ; The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire :- As the wolves that headlong go On the stately buffalo, Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, And hoofs that stamp and horns that gore, He tramples on earth or tosses on high The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die : Thus against the wall they bent, Thus the first were backward sent; Many a bosom, sheathed in brass, Shivered by the shot, that tore The ground whereon they moved no more: Like the mower's grass at the close of day, |