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

Are stretched in our aid? Be the combat our own!
And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone.

For we've sworn, by our country's assaulters,
By the virgins they've dragged from our altars,
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains,
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,
That living we will be victorious,

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;
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid,
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.

Earth may hide, waves engulf, fire consume us,
But they shall not to slavery doom us;

If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves;
But we've smote them already with fire on the waves,
And new triumphs on land are before us.

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,
Or embrace us from conquest, with wreaths in their hair?
Accursed, may his memory blacken,

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, Cli'o, Melpom'ene, Euter'pe, Er'ato, Terpsi' hore, Ura/na, 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 ?
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn.
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth,

From his home in the dark rolling clouds of the north?
Lo! the death-shot of foeman outspeeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad :

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high!
Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh.

Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin all dreadfully driven
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven.
O, crested Lochiel, the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlement's height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.

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!
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal:
"T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.
Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path!

Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight!
Rise! rise! yc wild tempests, and cover his flight!

"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?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn,
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?
Ah no! for a darker departure is near;

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier;
His death-bell is tolling. Oh! mercy, dispel

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims.
Accursed be the fagots, that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat,
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale –

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.
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,

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 indif ferent 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.

In some

2. Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. 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 locks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. The