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“A royal messenger he came,
258. THE DEATH OF MARMION. With that, straight up the hill there rode
Two horsemen drenched with gore,
A wounded knight they bore.
Said -“By St. George, he's gone!
Good night to Marmion.” -
Yet my last thought is England's : – ily,
To Dacre bear my signet-ring;
Tell him his squadrons up to bring.
Tunstall lies dead upon the field;
Of all my halls have nurst,
To slake my dying thirst!”
To the nigh streamlet ran:
Sees but the dying man.
But in abhorrence backward drew;
Was curdling in the streamlet blue.
A little fountain-cell,
In a stone basin fell. Above, some half-worn leiters say, " Drink . wearg · pilgrim , drink . and prag for.the. kind . soul . of. Sybil . Grey.
Who . built . this . cross . and. buell."
She filled the helm, and back she hied,
A Monk supporting Marmion's head;
To shrive the dying, bless the dead.
With fruitless labor, Clara bound,
For that she ever sung, "In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying i*
So the notes rung;
O think on faith and bliss ! -
But never aught like this."
And – STANLEY! was the cry;-
And fired his glazing eye:
And shouted, “Victory!
FROM "THE LADY OF THE LAKE.” 259. ELLEN—THE LADY OF THE LAKE.
But scarce again his horn he wound,
Wita nead upraised, and look intent,
And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace Of finer form, or lovelier face! What though the sun, with ardent frown, Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had trained her pace A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dews E’en the slight harebell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread: What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The listener held his breath to hear!
A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid ; Her satin snood, her silken plaid, Her golden brooch, such birth betrayed. And seldom was a snood amid Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the raven's wing; And seldom o'er a breast so fair Mantled a plaid with modest care; And never brooch the folds combined Above a heart more good and kind. Her kindness and her worth to spy, You need but gaze on Ellen's eye; Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, Gives back the shaggy banks more true, Than every free-born glance confessed The guileless movements of her bicar: Whether joy danced in her dark eye, Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion poured a prayer, Or tale of injury called forth The indignant spirit of the North.
One only passion unrevealed
260. PATERNAL AFFECTION.
FROM “THE ANTIQUARY.” 261. SUNSET AND THE APPROACH OF A STORM. As Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour paced along, enjoying the pleas. ant footing afforded by the cool moist hard sand, Miss Wardour could not help observing, that the last tide had risen considerably above the usual water-mark. Sir Arthur made the same observation, but without its occurring to either of them to be alarmed at the circumstance. The sun was now resting his huge disk upon the edge of the level ocean, and gilded the accumulation of towering clouds through which he had travelled the livelong day, and which now assembled on all sides, like misfortunes and disasters around a sinking empire and falling monarch. Still, however, his dying splendor gave a sombre magnificence to the massive congregation of vapors, forming out of their unsubstantial gloom, the show of pyramids and towers, some touched with gold, some with purple, some with a hue of deep and dark red. The distant sea, stretched beneath this varied and gorgeous canopy, lay almost portentously still, reflecting back the dazzling and level beams of the descending luminary, and the splendid coloring of the clouds amidst which he was setting. Nearer to the heach the tide rippled onwards in waves of sparkling silver, th.at im. p::ceptibly, yet rapidly, gained upon the sand.
With a mind employed in adıniration of the romantic scene, or perlaps on some more agitating topic, Miss Wardour advanced in silence by her father's side, whose recently offended dignity did not stoop to open any conversation. Following the windings of the beach, they passed one projecting point or headland of rock after another, and now found themselves under a huge and continued extent of the precipices by which that iron-bound coast is in most places defended. Long projecting reefs of rock, extending under water, and only evin