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And once, when in the woods an oak, for age,
Fell dead, the silence with its groan appalling.
At last they came where still, in dread array,
As though they still might speak, the trumpets lay.

Unhurt they lay, like caverns above ground,

The rifted rocks, for hands, about them clinging, Their tubes as straight, their mighty mouths as round

And firm as when the rocks were first set ringing.

Fresh from their unimaginable mould

They might have seemed, save that the storms had stained them

With a rich rust, that now, with gloomy gold In the bright sunshine, beauteously engrained them.

Breathless the gazers looked, nigh faint for awe, Then leaped, then laughed. What was it now they saw?

Myriads of birds. Myriads of birds, that filled The trumpets all with nests and nestling voices ! The great, huge, stormy music had been stilled By the soft needs that nursed those small, sweet noises !

O thou Doolkarnein, where is now thy wall? Where now thy voice divine and all thy forces? Great was thy cunning, but its wit was small Compared with nature's least and gentlest

courses.

Fears and false creeds may fright the realms awhile;

But heaven and earth abide their time, and smile.

LEIGH HUNT.

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.

WHERE is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where may the grave of that good man be?-
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch-tree!
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roared in the winter alone,
Is gone, and the birch in its stead is grown.
The knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;-

His soul is with the saints, I trust.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLeridge.

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER.

CLOSE his eyes; his work is done! What to him is friend or foeman, Rise of moon or set of sun,

Hand of man or kiss of woman?

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Upon St. Crispin's day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry ;
O, when shall Englishmen
With such acts fill a pen,

Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.
FROM KING HENRY IV.," PART I.

BUT I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reaped,
Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home;
He was perfumed like a milliner ;

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and took 't away again;
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff:-and still he smiled and talked ;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms

He questioned me; among the rest, demanded
My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pestered with a popinjay,

Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answered neglectingly, I know not what, -
He should, or he should not; for he made me mad
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, -God save the mark !

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ;

And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villanous saltpetre should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.

SHAKESPEARE.

MARMION AND DOUGLAS. 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 undertone, "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 stayed, 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 :

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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.".

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"An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
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:

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Hence might they see the full array
Of either host for deadly fray;

Their marshalled lines stretched east and west,

And fronted north and south,

And distant salutation past

From the loud cannon-mouth;

Fierce he broke forth, -"And dar'st thou then Not in the close successive rattle

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms, what, Warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall.” -

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That breathes the voice of modern battle,

But slow and far between.

The hillock gained, Lord Marmion stayed: "Here, by this cross," he gently said,

"You well may view the scene;

Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare:
O, think of Marmion in thy prayer!-
Thou wilt not? - well, no less my care
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.

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No hope of gilded spurs to-day. —
But, see! look up, -on Flodden bent
The Scottish foe has fired his tent.".
And sudden, as he spoke,
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till
Was wreathed in sable smoke.
Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
As down the hill they broke;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times their warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum,

Told England, from his mountain-throne
King James did rushing come. —
Scarce could they hear or see their foes,
Until at weapon-point they close.
They close in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway and with lance's thrust;

And such a yell was there,

Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth
And fiends in upper air:

O life and death were in the shout,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,

And triumph and despair.

Long looked the anxious squires; their eye Could in the darkness naught descry.

At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
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 pluméd crests of chieftains brave
Floating like foam upon the wave;

But naught 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 again,
Wild and disorderly.

Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly :
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight;

Although against them come,

Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Highlandman,
And many a rugged Border clan,

With Huntley and with Home.

Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
Though there the western mountaineer
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,

And with both hands the broadsword plied,
'T was vain :- But Fortune, on the right,
With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight.
Then fell that spotless banner white,

The Howard's lion fell;

Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon 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;
Advanced, forced back, - now low, now nign,
The pennon sunk and rose;

As bends the bark's mast 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."

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Then Eustace mounted too; - yet stayed, As loath to leave the helpless maid,

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