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At length the freshening western blăst
Aside the shroud of battle căst;
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears;
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white sea-mew.
Then marked they dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,
And plumed crests of chieftains brave,
Floating like foam upon the wave;

But nought distinct they see :
Wide raged the battle on the plain ;
Spears shook, and falchions* flashed amain;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose aguin,

Wild and disorderly.
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcont flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew

Around the battle yell.
The Border slogan rent the sky:
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry;

Loud were the clanging blows ;
Advănced,-forced back,—now low, now high,

The pennon sunk and rose :
As bends the bark's măst in the gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,

It wavered mid the foes.
No longer Blount the view could bear :
By heaven, and all its saints! I swear,

I will not see it lost!
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads, and patter prayer,

I gallop to the host.”
And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.
The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made, for a space, an opening large-

The rescued banner rose :-
But darkly closed the war around;
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground,

It sunk among the foes.
Then Eustace mounted too ;-yet staid,
As lõath to leave the helpless maid,
* Pron, fall'shuns.

+ Pron. taw ka.

When, făst as shăft can fly,
Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread,
The loose rein dangling from his head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ;
And Eustace, maddening at the sight,

A look and sign to Clara căst,

To mark he would return in haste,
Then plunged into the fight.
Ask me not what the maiden feels,

Left in that dreadful hour alone :
Perchănce her reason stoops, or reels;

Perchănce a courage, not her own,

Braces her mind to desperate tone.-
The scattered van of England wheels ;-

She only said, as loud in air
The tumult roared. “ Is Wilton there ?"-
They fly, or, maddened

by despair, Fight but to die.—“ Is Wilton there ?"With that, 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 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 ghăstly 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 căsque, 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!

Lăst of my race, on battle-plain
That shout shall ne'er be heard again !
Yet my lăst thought is England's :-fly-
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 rest;
The Admiral alone is left.
Le: 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."

They parted, and alone he lay,
Clare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmured," Is there none,

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

To släke my dying thirst !".
O, woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou !
Scarce were the piteous accents said,
When, with the Baron's căsque, the maid

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

Sees but the dying man.
She stooped her by the runnel's side,
She filled 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.
Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave,
And, as she stooped his brow to lave

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“ Is it the hand of Clare,” he said, “Or injured Constance, bathes


head ?" I would the Fiend, to whom belongs The vengeance due to all her wrongs,

Would spare me but a day ! For, wasting fire, and dying groan, And priests slain on the altar-stone,

Might bribe him for delay.

may not be this dizzy trắnce
Curse on yon base marauder's lånce,
And doubly cursed my failing brand !
A sinful heart makes feeble hand.".
Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk,
Supported by the trembling Monk.
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 lăst words of Marmion.



[From Bowring's Russian Anthology.) O THOU eternal One! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide; Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight; Thou only God! There is no God beside ! Being above all beings! Mighty One! Whom none can comprehend and none explore ; Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone : Embracing all,--supporting, ruling o'er,Being whom we call God-and know no more ! In its sublime research, philosophy May measure out the ocean-deep-may count The sands or the sun's rays—but, God! for Thee There is no weight nor measure :-none can mount

Up to tky mysteries. Reason's brightest spark,
Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try
To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark :
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
Even like past moments in eternity.
Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence :-Lord! on thee
Eternity had its foundation ;-all
Sprung forth from thee :-of light, joy, harmony,
Sole origin :—all life, all beauty thine.
Thy word created all, and doth create;
Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine.
Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious ! Great!
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!
Thy chains the unmeasured universe surrou

Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,
So suns are born, so worlds sprung forth from thee!
And as the spangles in the sunny rays
Shinc round the silver snow, the pageantry*
Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise.
A million torches lighted by thy hand
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss :
They own thy power, accomplish thy command,
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light-
A glorious company of golden streams,
Lamps of celestial éther burning bright-
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams ?
But thou to these art as the noon to night.
Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,
All this magnificence in thee is lost :-
What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee ?
And what am I then? Heaven's unnumbered host,
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed
Against thy greatness, is a cipher brought
Against infinity! O, what am I then ? Nought!

* Pron. pad'-jun-tre.

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