Shame on ye! timid souls, feeble for aught but ill; Shall sin and shall woe waste this world below, and will ye lie sluggish still?

Wrest from their grasp the prey; crush them, though cowards mock;

And if the heart quail and the courage fail, think of the EAGLE'S ROCK!

The Hostage. Damon and Pythias.

THEY seize in the tyrant of Syracuse' halls a youth with a dagger in's vest: he is bound by the tyrant's behest: the tyrant beholds him-rage blanches his cheek: "Why hidest yon dagger, conspirator? Speak !"-"To pierce to the heart such as thou!"-" Wretch! Death on the cross is thy doom even now!"-"It is well," spake the youth; "I am harnessed for death, and I sue not thy sternness to spare; yet would I be granted one prayer:three days would I ask, till my sister be wed: as a hostage, I leave thee my friend in my stead; if I be found false to my truth, nail him to thy cross without respite or ruth!"-Then smiled with a dark exultation the king, and he spake, after brief meditation :- -"I grant thee three days' preparation; but see thou outstay not the term I allow, else by the high thrones of Olympus I vow that if thou shalt go scatheless and free, the best blood of thy friend shall be forfeit for thee!"

And Pythias repairs to his friend-"I am doomed to atone for my daring emprize, by death in its shamefullest guise; but the monarch three days ere I perish allows, till I give a loved sister away to her spouse; thou, therefore, my hostage must be, till I come the third day, and again set thee free." And Damon in silence embraces his friend, and he gives himself up to the despot; while Pythias makes use of his respite-and ere the third morning in orient is burning, behold the devoted already returning to save his friend ere it be later, by dying himself the vile death of a traitor!

But the rain, the wild rain, dashes earthwards in floods, upswelling the deluging fountains; strong torrents rush down from the mountains, and lo! as he reaches the deep river's border the bridgeworks give way in terrific dis

order; and the waves, with a roaring like thunder, sweep o'er the rent wrecks of the arches and under. To and fro by the brink of that river he wanders;-in vain he looks out through the offing-the fiends of the tempest are scoffing his outcries for aid ;-from the opposite strand no pinnace puts off to convey him to land; and, made mad by the stormy commotion, the river-waves foam like the surges of Ocean. Then he drops on his knees, and he raises his arms to Jupiter, Strength-and-Help-giver "O, stem the fierce force of this river! The hours are advancing-noon wanes-in the west soon Apollo will sink-and my zeal and my best aspirations and hopes will be baffled—and Damon, my Damon, will die on a scaffold !"

But the tempest abates not, the rapid flood waits not; on, billow o'er billow comes hasting; day, minute by minute, is wasting and, daring the worst that the desperate dare, he casts himself in with a noble despair, and he buffets the tyrannous waves; and Jupiter pities the struggler-and saves. The hours will not linger: his speed is redoubled-"Forth, faithfullest! bravest, exert thee! The gods cannot surely desert thee!" Alas! as Hope springs in his bosom renewed, a band of barbarians rush out of the wood, and they block up a wanderer's path, and they brandish their weapons in clamorous wrath. "What will ye?" he cries; "I have nought but my life, and that must be yielded ere night: force me not to defend it by fight!" But they swarm round him closer, that truculent band: so he wrests the huge club from one savage's hand, and he fells the first four at his feet; and the remnant, dismayed and astounded, retreat.

The storm-burst is over-low glows the red sun, making earth and air fainter and hotter; the knees of the fugitive totter-"Alas!" he cries, "have I then breasted the flood, have I vanquished those wild men of rapine and blood, but to perish from langour and pain; while my hostage, my friend, is my victim in vain?" When, hark! a cool sound, as of murmuring water! he hears it-it bubblesit gushes;-hark! louder and louder it rushes! he turns him, he searches, and lo! a pure stream ripples forth from a rock, and shines out in the beam of the sun ere he fireily sinks; and the wanderer bathes his hot limbs and he drinks.

The sun looks his last!-On the oft-trodden pathway hies homeward the weariful reaper; the shadows of evening grow deeper, when, pressing and hurrying anxiously on, two strangers pass Pythias-and list! he hears one to the other exclaiming, "O shame on the wretch that betrayed the magnanimous Damon!" Then Horror lends wings to his faltering feet, and he dashes in agony onward; and soon a few roofs, looking sunward, gleam faintly where Syracuse' suburbs extend; and the good Philodemus, his freedman and friend, now comes forward in tears to his master, who gathers despair from that face of disaster. "Back, Master! Preserve thine own life at the least! His, I fear me, thou canst not redeem, for the last rays of eventide beam. O! though hour after hour travelled on to its goal, he expected thy coming with confident soul; and, though mocked by the king as forsaken, his trust in thy truth to the last was unshaken!" "Eternal Avenger! and is it too late?" cried the youth with a passionate fervour; "and dare not I be his preserver? Then Death shall unite whom not Hell shall divide !—we will die, he and I, on the road, side by side; and the bloody Destroyer shall find that there be souls whom friendship and honour can bind!"

And on, on, unresting, he bounds like a roe :-see! they lay the long cross on the ground! See ! the multitude gather all round! See already they hurry their victim along! When, with giant-like strength, a man bursts through the throng, and-" Oh stay, stay your hands!" is his cry;-"I am come !—I am here !—I am ready to die!" And astonishment masters the crowd at the sight, while the friends in the arms of each other weep tears that they struggle to smother. Embarrassed, the lictors and officers bring the strange tidings at length to the ears of the king; and a human emotion steals o'er him, and he orders the friends to be summoned before him. And, admiring, he looks at them long ere he speaks :"You have conquered, O marvellous pair, by a friendship as glorious as rare! You have melted to flesh the hard heart in my breast! go in peace!—you are free! But accord one request to my earnest entreaties and wishesaccept a third friend in your king, Dionysius."

J. C. Mangan.

Battle of Bannockburn.

A selection from "The Lord of the Isles."
Now onward, and in open view

The countless ranks of England drew,
Dark rolling like the ocean-tide

When the rough west hath chafed his pride,
And his deep roar sends challenge wide
To all that bars his way!

In front the gallant archers trode,
The men-at-arms behind them rode,
And midmost of the phalanx broad
The Monarch held his sway.
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed-
At once, before his sight amazed,
Sunk banner, spear, and shield;
Each weapon-point is downward sent,
Each warrior to the ground is bent.
"The rebels, Argentine, repent!

For pardon they have kneel'd."-
"Ay! but they bend to other powers,
And other pardon sue than ours!
See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands,
And blesses them with lifted hands!
Upon the spot where they have kneel'd,
These men will die or win the field."-
"Then prove we if they die or win!
Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin."
Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high,
Just as the Northern ranks arose,
Signal for England's archery

To halt and bend their bows.
Then stepped each yeoman forth a pace,
Glanced at the intervening space,

And raised his left hand high;

To the right ear the cords they bring―·
At once ten thousand bow-strings ring,
Ten thousand arrows fly!

Nor paused on the devoted Scot
The ceaseless fury of their shot;

As fiercely and as fast,

Forth whistling came the grey-goose wing

As the wild hailstones pelt and ring

Adown December's blast.

Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide,
Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide;
Woe, woe, to Scotland's banner'd pride,
If the fell shower may last!
Upon the right, behind the wood,
Each by his steed dismounted, stood
The Scottish chivalry;-

With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain
His own keen heart, his eager train,
Until the archers gained the plain;

Then, "Mount, ye gallants free!"
He cried; and, vaulting from the ground,
His saddle every horseman found.
On high their glittering crests they toss,
As springs the wild-fire from the moss;
The shield hangs down on every breast,
Each ready lance is in the rest,

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And loud shouts Edward Bruce,Forth, Marshal! on the peasant foe! We'll tame the terrors of their bow,

And cut the bow-string loose!" Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks, They rushed among the archer ranks. High o'er their heads the weapons swung, As through the ranks the chargers sprung, And shriek, and groan, and vengeful shout Give note of triumph and of rout! Awhile, with stubborn hardihood, Their English hearts the strife made good. Borne down at length on every side, Compelled to flight, they scatter wide. The King with scorn beheld their flight. "Are these," he said,

our yeomen wight? Each braggart churl could boast before, Twelve Scottish lives his baldrick bore!" Fitter to plunder chase or park, Than make a manly foe their mark,— Forward, each gentleman and knight! Let gentle blood show generous might,