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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 :-flyFitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie;
Tunstall lies dead upon the field ;
His life-blood stains the spotless shield:
They parted and alone he lay,
Of all my halls have nursed,
To slake my dying thirst?"
O woman ! in our hours of ease,
To the nigh streamlet ran :
Sees but the dying man.
A monk supporting Marmion's head;
To shrive the dying, bless the dead...
Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave,')
I would the Fiend, to whom belongs
Would spare me but a day!
Might bribe him for delay.
The war, that for a space did fail,
And-Stanley ! was the cry;
And fired his glazing eye:
And shouted “ Victory !"“ Charge! Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!” Were the last words of Marmion.
THE TORTOISE-SHELL TOM-CAT.
Oh, what a story the papers have been telling us,
About a little animal of mighty price,
For near three hundred yellow boys, a trap for mice;
Are every one
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 bosoins, and bid me knock him down.
Ladies and Gentlemen, a-going, going, going-
Next I shall tell ye, the company around him,
They emulously bade as if they were all wild;
And kiss'd, caress'd, and dandled him just like a child :
Have Tom they would,
As you shall hear. [Spoken in different voices.]–Irish Lady-Och, the dear crater, how beautiful he looks when he shuts his eyes ! beauti, ful 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,
Now louder and warmer the competition growing,
Politeness nearly banish'd in the grand fracas.
Gone!--Never cat of talons met with such eclat:
THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.
The sun had just retired; the dews of eve
Their glow-worm lustre scatter'd o'er the vale;
Telling, with many a pause, her tenderest tals.
'Twas then, where peasant footsteps mark'd the way,
A wounded Soldier feebly mov'd along;
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,
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. 1
" 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 :