Sleep! the deer is in his den;

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,
How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye,

Here no bugle sounds reveille.

-Sir Walter Scott

Words: dewing-refreshing; pibroch-a martial air of the Highlanders, played on the bagpipes. Probably, as used here, the bagpipe itself; fallow-untilled land; bittern-a bird of the heron family that makes a peculiar booming note; reveille-the awakening call for soldiers.

LOCHINVAR*

(This ballad is taken from Sir Walter Scott's Marmion, a long poem nearly as pleasing as this author's The Lady of the Lake.)

H, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

OH, Ο

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone! So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like young Lochinvar!

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard° in love and a dastard° in war
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar!

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all!
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword-

For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word-
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide-
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard° did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, ""Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

Sc light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur: They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see!
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?

-Sir Walter Scott

Words: brake thicket; laggard loiterer; dastard coward; craven-cowardly; measure-a few dance steps; galliard-dance.

Questions: Where is the scene of this story? Does Lochinvar mean what he says in the fourth stanza? What is his purpose? Explain The bride kissed the goblet. To be sure that you catch Lochinvar's dauntless spirit in the last line of the seventh stanza, hold in thought the word "can" before follow. Do you recall a ballad from The Lady of the Lake-a ballad that we studied last year? Do you prefer that ballad to Lochinvar?

Pleasure Reading:
Scott's Marmion

R

THEY COME NOT BACK

EMEMBER, these three things come not back:

The arrow sent up on its track—

It will not swerve, it will not stay
Its speed; it flies to wound or slay.

The spoken word, so soon forgot
By thee; but it has perished not;
In other hearts 't is living still,
And doing work for good or ill.

And the lost opportunity,

That cometh back no more to thee,

In vain thou weep'st, in vain dost yearn:

These three will nevermore return.

-Author Unknown

LIBERTY OR DEATH

(Patrick Henry was a member of the First Continental Congress, which met in Philadelphia in 1774. This Congress sent a petition to King George III, but Henry and others felt that this would do no good. They could foresee the coming struggle, and felt that it would be wise to get ready. At a convention in Virginia in March, 1775, Henry introduced resolutions that the militia should be organized and that preparations for defense should be made. These resolutions met with strong opposition. Then Henry rose and made the following speech, which has become famous the world over. At its close there was not one opposing voice. What a tribute to Henry's wonderful oratory and clear reasoning!)

R. PRESIDENT: It is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

MR. is nature our eyes

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there is in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House.° Is it that insidious smile, with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss.

Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir.

These are the implements of war and subjugation: the last arguments to which kings resort.

I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we any thing new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain.

Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find, which have not already been exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done every thing that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition° to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne.

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free-if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending-if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon, until the glorious