They fly, or, maddened by despair, Fight but to die." Is Wilton there?". With that, straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen drench'd 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 armour 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 !"

When doffed his casque, he felt free air,

Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare:--

"Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare!

Redeem my pennon,-charge again!

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-
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,
Clare drew her from the sight away,
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan,
And half he murmured,-" Is there none,
Of all my halls have nursed,

Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
Of blessed water, from the spring,

To slake my dying thirst?"

O woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!-

Scarce were the piteous accents said,
When, with the Baron's casque, the maid
To the nigh streamlet ran:

Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears:
The plaintive voice alone she hears,
Sees but the dying man.

She stooped her by the runnel's side,
She filled the helm, and back she hied,-
And with surprise and joy espied

A monk supporting Marmion's head;
A pious man, whom duty brought
To dubious verge of battle fought,

To shrive the dying, bless the dead...

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave,
And, as she stooped his brow to lave-
"Is it the hand of Clare," he said,
"Or injured Constance, bathes my head?
I would the Fiend, to whom belongs
The vengeance due to all her wrongs,
Would spare me but a day!

For, wasting fire, and dying groan,
And priests slain on the altar-stone,
Might bribe him for delay.

It may not be-this dizzy trance-
Curse on yon base marauder's lance,
And doubly cursed my failing brand!
A sinful heart makes feeble hand!"
Then, fainting down on earth he sunk,
Supported by the trembling Monk.

The war, that for a space did fail,
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale,
And-Stanley! was the cry ;—
A light on Marmion's visage spread,
And fired his glazing eye:

With dying hand above his head
He shook the fragment of his blade,
And shouted "Victory!"-

"Charge! Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion.

THE TORTOISE-SHELL TOM-CAT.

Oн, what a story the papers have been telling us,
About a little animal of mighty price,

And who ever thought but an Auctioneer of selling us,
For near three hundred yellow boys, a trap for mice;

Of its beauties and its qualities, no doubt he told them fine tales,
But for me, I should as soon have bought a cat of nine tails;
I wouldn't give for all the cats in Christendom so vast a fee,
No to save 'em from the catacombs or Catalani's catastrophe ;
Kate of Russia, Katterfelto's cat, and Catalani,

Are every one

By Tom outdone,
As you shall hear.

[Spoken.]-We'll suppose Mr. Cat's-eye, the Auctioneer, with his catalogue in one hand, and a hammer like a Catapulta in the other, mounted in the rostrum at the great room in Cateaton-street.

'Hem Leds and Gemmen-Cats are of two distinctions ; Thomas and Tabby-This is of the former breed, and the only instance in which I have seen beauty monopolized by a male ! Look at him, ladies! what a magnificent mouser; meek though masculine ! The curious concatenation of colour in that Cat, calls Categorically for your best bidding. Place a proper price on poor Pussy; consult your feline bosons, and bid me knock him down.

Ladies and Gentlemen, a-going, going, going

Any sum for Tommy Tortoise-shell you can't think dear.'

Next I shall tell ye, the company around him,

They emulously bade as if they were all wild;

Tom thought them mad, while they King of Kittens crown'd him,
And kiss'd, caress'd, and dandled him just like a child:
Lady Betty Longwaist, and Mrs. Martha Griskin,
Prim Polly Pussey-love, Miss Scratch, and Biddy Twiskin,
Solemn Sally Solus, who to no man yes had ever said,

Killing Kitty Crookedlegs, and neat Miss Nelly Neverwed,
Crowding, squeezing, nodding, bidding, each for Puss so eager,
Have Tom they would,

By all that's good,

As you shall hear.

[Spoken in different voices.]-Irish Lady-Och, the dear crater, how beautiful he looks when he shuts his eyes! beautiful indeed! He'd even lure the mice to look at him,

Auctioneer. Forty-five guineas in twenty places

By different Ladies.-Sixty-five !-Seventy !-Eighty !— Ninety

Auctioneer.-Go on Ladies; nobody bid more? It's enough to make a Cat swear to think he should go for so little. If the Countess of Catamaran was here, she'd outbid ye all. Miss Grimalkin, you are a connoiseur in Cats, what shall I say?Ninety-five guineas, sir. (In an old tremulous tone.)

Auctioneer.-Thank you, Miss- -Mem, it does not signify, you may bid as you will, but he shall be mine, if I bid all day. One hundred and twenty, sir.

Auctioneer. Thank you, Lady Letty.-Take a long, last lingering look, Ladies. What a wonder! The only Tortoiseshell Tom the world ever witnessed! See how he twists his tail, and washes his whiskers! Tom, Tom, Tom! (Cat mews.) How musically and divinely he mews, Ladies!-One hundred and seventy guineas, sir.

Auctioneer. Thank you, Miss Tabby, you'll not be made a cat's paw of, depend on it.-(Ladies laugh.) Glad to hear you laugh, Ladies: I see how the Cat jumps now; Tommy's going.

Ladies and Gentlemen, a-going, going, going,

Any sum for Tommy Tortoise-shell you can't think dear.

Now louder and warmer the competition growing,
Politeness nearly banish'd in the grand fracas.

Two hundred-two hundred and thirty-three a going-
Gone!-Never cat of talons met with such eclat:

Nay nine or ten fine gentlemen were in the fashion caught, as well,
As ladies in the bidding for this purring piece of Tortoise-shell.
The buyer bore him off in triumph, after all the fun was done,
And bells rung as if Whittington had been Lord Mayor of London.
Mice and rats flung up their hats, for joy that cats so scarce were,
And mouse-trap makers rais'd the price full cent. per cent. I swear, sir.

THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.

THE sun had just retired; the dews of eve
Their glow-worm lustre scatter'd o'er the vale;

The lonely nightingale began to grieve,

Telling, with many a pause, her tenderest tale.

'Twas then, where peasant footsteps mark'd the way,
A wounded Soldier feebly mov'd along;

Nor aught regarded he the softening ray,

Nor the melodious bird's expressive song.

On crutches borne, his mangled limbs he drew,
Unsightly remnants of the battle's rage;
While Pity, in his youthful form, might view
A helpless prematurity of age.

Then, as with strange contortions, labouring slow,
He gain'd the summit of his native hill,
And saw the well-known prospect spread below,
The farm, the cot, the hamlet, and the mill.

In spite of fortitude, one struggling sigh
Shook the firm texture of his tortur'd heart;
And from his hollow and dejected eye

One trembling tear hung ready to depart.

"How changed," he cried, "is the fair scene to me, Since last across this narrow path I went;

The soaring lark felt not superior glee,

Nor any human breast more true content.

"O hapless day! when, at a neighbouring wake,
The gaudy serjeant caught my wondering eye;
And, as his tongue of war and honour spake,
I felt a wish-to conquer or to die!

"Then, while he bound the ribbands on my brow,
He talk'd of captains kind, and generals good;
Said, a whole nation would my fame avow,
And bounty called the purchase of my blood.

"Yet I refused that bounty,-I disdain'd

To sell my service in a righteous cause; And such, (to my dull sense it was explain'd)

The cause of Monarchs, Justice, and the Laws.

"The rattling drums beat loud, the fifes began,-
My king and country seem'd to ask my aid;
Through every vein the thrilling ardour ran,-
I left my humble cot, my village maid.

"O helpless day! torn from my Lucy's charms,
I thence was hurried to a scene of strife,

To painful marches, and the din of arms-
The wreck of reason, and the waste of life.

"In loathsome vessels now with crowds confined,-
Now led with hosts to slaughter in the field;
Now backward driven, like leaves before the wind,
Too weak to stand, and yet ashamed to yield: