Their spirits are hovering o'er us, And the sword shall to glory restore us' 2. Ah! what though no succor advances, Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances For we've sworn, by our country's assaulters, Or, that dying, our deaths shall be glorious. 3. A breath of submission we breathe not: The sword that we've drawn we will sheathe not; If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves; To the charge! Heaven's banner is o'er us. 4. This day shall ye blush for its story? Or brighten your lives with its glory? Our women; O, say, shall they shrink in despair, If a coward there be that would slacken, Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth Being sprung from, and named for, the godlike of earth. Strike home! and the world shall revere us As heroes descended from heroes. Christendom; the regions inhabited by Christians. 5 Old Greece lightens up with emotion, Her inlands, her isles of the ocean: Fanes rebuilt and fair towns shall with jubilee ring, And the Nine shall new hallow their Helicon's spring. Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness, That were cold, and extinguished in sadness; [arms Whilst our maidens shall dance, with their white waving Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms, When the blood of young Mussulman cravens Shall have crimsoned the beaks of our ravens. LESSON CXVI. LOCHIEL'S WARNING. CAMPBELL. Wizard. LOCHIEL! Lochiel, beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden" are scattered in fight; They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland" prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning; no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led! O, weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead; The Ni. e; the nine muses, Calli'ope, Clio, Melpom'ene, Euter'pe, Er'ato, Terpsi hore, Ura'n, Thali'a, and Polyhym'nia. b Helicon (now Sagara;) a celebrated moun ain of Greece, the seat of the muses, and famed for its pure waters. c Mus'sulmans; the followers of Mahomet d Culloden Muir; a heath in Scotland, celebrated by the victory of the Duke of Cumberland over the partisans of the house of Stuart, in 1746. This battle terminated the attempts of the Stuart family to recover the throne of Eng land. • The Duke of Cumberland, son of George II., King of England. For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave. Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. Wizard. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? From his home in the dark rolling clouds of the north? But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshaled my clan, Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath And, like reapers, descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array – Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight! "T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors; Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. But where is the iron bound prisoner? Where? Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! - Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale: Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall, victor, exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe. Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame LESSON CXVII. EXORDIUM OF A SPEECH. WEBSTER. [The learner may note the most emphatic words in this piece, and tell why they are emphatic. See Rules for emphasis, p. 18, &c.] 1. AGAINST the prisoner at the bar, as an individual, I cannot have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him the smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect to be indifferent to the discovery and the punishment of this deep guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how much soever it may be, which is cast on those who feel and manifest an anxious concern, that all who had a part in planning, or a hand in executing this deed of midnight assassination, may be brought to answer for their enormous crime at the bar of public justice. 2. Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. In some respects, it has hardly a precedent anywhere; certainly none in our New England history. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for mere pay. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to whom sleep was sweet, the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong embrace. 3. The assassin enters through the window, already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall half-lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this he moves the lock, by soft and continual pressure, till it turns on its hinges; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. 4. The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and the beams of the moon, resting on the gray ocks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. The T |