HU.

Come, boy, prepare yourself.

AR. Is there no remedy?
HU.

None, but to lose your eyes.

AR. O heaven!-that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a wandering hair,

Any annoyance in that precious sense!

Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

HU. Is this your promise? go to; hold your tongue.
AT. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert:
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes. O! spare mine eyes;
Though to no use but still to look on you.
Lo! by my troth, the instrument is cold,
And would not harm me.

HU. I can heat it, boy.

AR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be used

In undeserved extremes: see else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heaven, hath blown his spirit out,
And strewed repentant ashes on his head.

Hu. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
AR. And if you do, you will but make it blush,
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes;
And like a dog that is compelled to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office: only you do lack

That mercy which fierce fire and iron extend,
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

HU. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :

Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.

AR. O! now you look like Hubert: all this while
You were disguised.

HU.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports;
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.

Peace! no more, Adieu.

AR,

O heaven!-I thank you, Hubert. Hu. Silence! no more. Go closely in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee.

[Exeunt.

THE AMERICAN EAGLE.

THOMPSON.

[Throw plenty of life, energy and fire into this spirited address to the crag- clinging monarch of the air, who is considered to be the symbol of American freedom and power.]

Bird of the heavens! whose matchless eye
Alone can front the blaze of day,
And, wandering through the radiant sky,
Ne'er from the sunlight turns away:
Whose ample wing was made to rise
Majestic o'er the loftiest peak,
On whose chill tops the winter skies,
Around thy nest, in tempests speak-
What ranger of the winds can dare,
Proud mountain king! with thee compare?
Or lift his gaudier plumes on high
Before thy native majesty,

When thou hast taken thy seat alone,

Upon thy cloud-encircled throne?

Bird of the sun! to thee-to thee

The earliest tints of dawn are known,
And 'tis thy proud delight to see

The monarch mount his gorgeous throne;
Throwing the crimson drapery by,
That half impedes his glorious way;
And mounting up the radiant sky,
E'en what he is-the king of day!

Bird of Columbia! well art thou
An emblem of our native land,
With unblenched front and noble brow,
Among the nations doomed to stand,
Proud, like her mighty mountain woods;
Like her own rivers, wandering free;
And sending forth, from hills and floods,
The joyous shout of liberty!

Like thee, majestic bird! like thee
She stands in unbought majesty,

With spreading wings, untired and strong,
That dares a soaring far and long,
That mounts aloft, nor looks below,

And will not quail though tempests blow.

"GOOD-NIGHT TO MARMION."

SCOTT.

[The poems of Walter Scott as thickly bristle with capital recita, tion pieces as did the mountain heath with the spears borne by warriors of Rhoderick Dhu. The following extract is one of the finest passages in one of the great Bard's finest poems, Marmion." It admits of almost every shade of elocutionary exercise. The swift, powerful declamation descriptive of the Battle, the fall of Marmion, his rapid charge to his squire, the glorious apostrophe to woman, and the final scene where the expiring warrior-like the Dying Gladiator"consents to death but conquers agony-" are illustrative of

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 seamew,
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 faulchions 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:
"Twas 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 high,
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,

66

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 loth to leave the helpless maid,
When, fast as shaft 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 sigh to Clara cast,
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:
Perchance her reason stoops or reels;

Perchance 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 among 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 ghastly 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!".

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When, doffed his casque, he felt free air,
Around gan Marmion wildly stare :-
"Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustice where?
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare:

Cry Marmion to the rescue !'—Vain!

Last of my race, on battle plain

That shout shall ne'er be heard again!—
Yet my last thought is England's :-fly,
To Dacre bear my signet-ring;
Tell him his squadrons up to bring:-
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 reft;-
The Admiral alone is left.

Let 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;