164

ADDRESS TO INDEPENDENCE.

That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint-can only feel-
Feel-to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and its spirit soar ?

No dread of death-if with us die our foes-
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will-we snatch the life of life-
When lost-what recks it-by disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamor'd of decay,
Cling to his couch and sicken years away;
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
Ours-the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed.
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang-one bound-escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loathed his life may gild his grave;
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory.
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,

When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
"How had the brave who fell exulted now!"

ADDRESS TO INDEPENDENCE.

We have printed this piece as prose-not measuring it off into metrical lines, that the reader may see how naturally the rhythm forms itself upon the tongue :

Thy spirit, Independence, let me share. Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye! thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. Thou, guardian genius, thou didst teach my youth pomp and her tinsel livery to despise; my lips, by thee chastised to early truth, ne'er paid that homage which the heart denies.

Those sculptured walls my feet shall never tread, where varnished Vice and Vanity, combined to dazzle and seduce, their banners spread, and forge vile shackles for the free-born mind; where Insolence his wrinkled front uprears, and all the flowers of spurious fancy blow; and Title his ill-woven chaplet wears-full often wreathed around the miscreant's brow; where ever-dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain, presents her sup of stale profession's

froth; and pale Disease, with all his bloated train, torments the sons of gluttony and sloth. In Fortune's car behold the minion ride, with either India's glittering spoils oppressed; so moves the sumpter-mule, in harnessed pride, that bears the treasure which he cannot taste. For him let venal bards disgrace the bay, and hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string; her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay, and all her jingling bells fantastic Folly ring;-disquiet, doubt and dread shall intervene; and Nature, still to all her feelings just, in vengeance hang a damp on every scene, shook from the baneful pinions of disgust.

Nature I'll court in her sequestered haunts, by mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove or cell; where the poised lark his evening ditty chants, and health, and peace, and contemplation dwell. There Study shall with Solitude recline, and Friendship pledge me to his fellow-swains; and Toil and Temperance sedately twine the slender cord that fluttering life sustains; and fearless poverty shall guard the door; and Taste unspoiled the frugal table spread; and Industry supply the humble store; and Sleep, unbribed, his dews refreshing shed; white-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite, shall chase far off the goblins of the night; and Independence o'er the day preside ;—propitious power! my patron and my pride!

THE WRECK.

BYRON.

Scarcely ever has such a startling picture been portrayed by words. The reader should try by tone, accent, and gesture to give the author's evident meaning:

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell

Then shriek'd the timid and stood still the brave

Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;

And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,

And tries to strangle him before he die.

And first one universal shriek there, rush'd
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd,

Accompanied with a convulsive splash,

A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

166

DEPARTURE OF MARMION.

DEPARTURE OE MARMION.

SCOTT.

To deliver this noble extract aright, the student should carefully study every line, and thus obtain an insight into the characters of Douglas and Marmion. The voice should y as much as possible in every respect, to personify the > warriors:

Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide:
The ancient earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered, in an under tone,

"Let the hawk stoop,-his prey is flown! "
The train from out the castle drew;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:

Though something I might plain,” he said,

"Of cold respect to stranger guest,

Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I staid,-
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble earl, receive my hand."

But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms and thus he spoke :-
My manors, halls and bowers shall still
Be open at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer;
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone-
The hand of Douglas is his own ;]
And never shall in friendly grasp

The hand of such as Marmion clasp !"

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And-"This to me!" he said,-
"An' 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!

DEPARTURE OF MARMION.

And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!

"And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,

Here in thy hold, thy vassals near
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword),
I tell thee, thou'rt defied!

And if thou said'st I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth :-" And dar'st thou, then,
To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou thence unscath'd to go ?

No! by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms!--what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall!"

Lord Marmion turned-well was his need!-
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous gate behind him rung;
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim :

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,

He halts and turns with clenched Land,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!" But soon he reined his fury's pace:

"A royal messenger he came,

Though most unworthy of the name.

A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed!
At first in heart it liked me ill,

When the king praised his clerkly skill.

167

168

WAR SONG OF THE GREEKS.

Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line:
So swore I, and I swear it still,
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill.

"Saint Mary mend my fiery mood!
Oid age ne'er cools the Douglas blood;
I thought to slay him where he stood.
'Tis pity of him, too," he cried;
"Bold can he speak, and fairly ride:
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle walls.

WAR SONG OF THE GREEKS.

BARRY CORNWALL.

This should be delivered with a prompt, fearless enunciation, as though the speaker's heart was charged with the electric fire of love of country:

Awake! 'tis the terror of war!

The crescent is tossed on the wind;

But our flag flies on high, like the perilous star

Of the battle. Before and behind,

Wherever it glitters, it darts

Bright death into tyrannous hearts.

Who are they that now bid us be slaves?

They are foes to the good and the free;

Go, bid them first fetter the might of the waves!
The sea may be conquered; but we

Have spirits untamable still,

And the strength to be free,-and the will!

The Helots are come: in their eyes

Proud hate and fierce massacre burn;
They hate us, but shall they despise ?
They are come,-shall they ever return?
O, God of the Greeks! from thy throne
Look down, and we'll conquer alone!

Our fathers,-each man was a god,

His will was a law, and the sound

Of his voice, like a spirit's, was worshipped: he trod,
And thousands fell worshippers round:

From the gates of the West to the Sun,
He bade, and his bidding was done.