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His hand still strain'd the broken brand;
His arms were smear'd with blood and sand;
Dragg’d from among the horses' feet,
With dented shield and helmet beat,
The falcon crest and plumage gone,
Can that be haughty Marmion?

4. Young Blount his armor 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."
“Unnurtur'd Blount ! thy brawling cease;
He opes his eyes," said Eustace: " peace. .

5. When, doff'd 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!
Cry, Marmion to the rescue! Vain!
Last of my race, on battle-plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard again!
Yet my last thought is England's fly!
To Dacre bear my signet-ring;
Tell him his squadrons up to bring.

6. “Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie; Tunstall lies dead

upon

the field,
His life-blood stains the spotless shield;
Edmund is down; my life is reft;
The Admiral alone is left.
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,
With Chester charge, and Lancashire,
Full
upon

Scotland's central host,
Or victory and England's lost.
Must I bid twice? HENCE, varlets! FLY!
Leave Marmion here alone,—to die.”

-7. They parted, and alone he lay;

Ciare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmur'd, “Is there none

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Of all my halls have nurst,
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blessed water from the spring,

To slake my dying thirst ?”
Scarce were the piteous accents said,
When, with the baron's casque, the maid

To the nigh streamlet ran.
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears;
The plaintive voice alone she hears,

Sees but the dying man.
8. She fill’d the helm, and back she hied,
And with surprise and joy espied

A monk supporting Marmion's head;.
A pious man, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,

To shrive the dying, bless the dead.
With fruitless labor, Clara bound
And strove to stanch the gushing wound.
The war, that for a space did fail,
Now, trebly thundering, swelld 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.

LESSON VIII.

GRATTAN'S REPLY TO MR. CORRY.
HENRY GRATTAN, an eminent Irish orator and statesman, was born at
Dublin in 1750, and died at Loudon in 1820.

1. Has the gentleman done? Has he completely done? He was unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his speech. There was scarce a word that he uttered that was not a violatious of the privileges of the House; but I did not call him to order Why? Because the limited talents of some men render it impossible for them to be severe without being unparliamentary;

but, before I sit down, I shall show him how to be severe and parliamentary at the same time.

2. On any other occasion I should think myself justifiable in treating with silent contempt any thing which might fall from that honorable member; but there are times when the insignificance of the accuser is lost in the magnitude of the accusation. I know the difficulty the honorable gentleman labored under when he attacked me; conscious that, on a comparative view of our characters, public and private, there is nothing he could say which would injure me. The public would not believe the charge. I despise the falsehood. If such a charge were made by an honest man, I would answer it in the manner I shall do before I sit down. But I shall first reply to it, when not made by an honest man.

3. The right honorable gentleman has called me an “unimpeached traitor.” I ask, why not traitor unqualified by any epithet? I will tell him: it was because he dare not. It was the act of a coward who raises his arm to strike, but has not the courage to give the blow. I will not call him villain, because it would be unparliamentary, and he is a privy counselor. I will not call him fool, because he happens to be Chancellor of the Exchequer; but I say he is one who has abused the privilege of Parliament and freedom of debate, to the uttering of language which, if spoken out of the House, I should answer only with a blov.

4. I care not how high his situation, how low his character, how contemptible his speech; whether a privy counselor or a parasite, my answer would be a BLOW. He has charged me with being connected with the rebels. The charge is utterly, TOTALLY, and MEANLY false. Does the honorable gentleman rely on the report of the House of Lords for the foundation of his assertion? If he does, I can prove to the committee there was a physical impossibility of that report being true. But I scorn to answer any man for my conduct, whether he be a political coxcomb, or whether he brought himself into power by a false glare of courage or not.

5. I have returned, not, as the right honorable member has said, to raise another storm; I have returned to discharge an honorable debt of gratitude to my country, that conferred a great reward for past services, which, I am proud to say, was not greater than

my desert. I have returned to protect that constitution of which I was the parent and the founder, from the assassination of such men as the honorable gentleman and his unworthy associates. They are corrupt; they are seditious; and they, at this very moment, are in a conspiracy against their country.

6. I have returned to refute a libel, as false as it is malicious, given to the public under the appellation of a report of the committee of the Lords. Here I stand, ready for impeachment or trial. I dare accusation. I defy the honorable gentleman; I defy the GOVERNMENT; I defy the WHOLE PHALANX: LET

I tell the ministers I will neither give them quarter nor take it. I am here to lay the shattered remains of my constitution on the floor of this house, in defence of the liberties of my country.

THEM COME FORTH.

LESSON IX.

CATILINE'S REPLY

BY REV. GEORGE CROLY.

1. CONSCRIPT Fathers !

I do not rise to waste the night in words:
Let that plebeian talk; 'tis not my trade;
But here I stand for right,-let him show proofs,
For Roman right; though none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there!
Cling to your master, judges, ROMANS, SLAVES!
His charge is false; I dare him to his proofs.
You have my answer. Let my actions speak!

2. But this I will avow,—that I have scorn'd,

And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong!
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts
The gates of honor on me, turning out
The Roman from his birthright; and for what?
To fling your offices to every slave!
Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb,
And, having wound their loathsome track to the top
Of this huge, n.oldering monument of Rome,
Hang hissing at the nobler man below!

3. Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones! [To the Senate.]

Fling down your scepters; take the rod and axe,
And make the murder as you make the law !

4. Banish'd from Rome! What's banish'd but set free

From daily contact of the things I loathe? " Tried and convicted traitor!!Who

says

this? Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head? Banishd! I thank you for it. It breaks my

chains !
I held some slack allegiance till this hour;
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords!
I scorn to count what feelings, wither'd hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, BURNING WRONGS,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you! here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your consul's merciful. For this all thanks!

He dares not touch a hair of Catiline!
5. “Traitor!" I go; but I return. This trial !
Here I devote

your
senate!

I've had wrongs
To stir a fever in the blood of age,
Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel.
This day's the birth of sorrow! This hour's work
Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my lords,
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus! all shames and crimes!
Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till anarchy comes down on you like night,

And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. 6. I go; but not to leap the gulf alone.

I go; but, when I come, 'twill be the burst
Of ocean in the earthquake, rolling back
In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well!
You build my funeral-pile; but your best blood
Shall quench its flame! Back, slaves! [To the lictors.]
I will return !

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