At which they gorged themselves, then smelling round, Under the pillow soon the cheese they found; And while at this they regaling sat, Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap; Who, half awake, cried out, "Hallo! hallo! Vat is dat nibbel at my pillow so? Ah! 'tis one big huge rat! Vat de diable is it he nibbel, nibbel at ?” In vain our little hero sought repose; Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light. Bring me the bill for vat I have to pay!" The bill was brought, and to his great surprise, Ten shillings was the charge: he scarce believes his eyes. With eager haste he runs it o'er, And every time he viewed it thought it more. "Vy zounds, and zounds!" he cries, "I shall no pay; Vat! charge ten shelangs for vat I have mange? A leetal sup of porter, dis vile bed, Vere all de rats do run about my head ?” 66 Plague on those rats!" the landlord muttered out; "I wish, upon my word, that I could make 'em scout: I'll pay him well that can.” "Vat's dat you say?" "I'll pay him well that can." "Attend to me, I Vil you dis charge forego, vat I am at, If from your house I drive away de rat?" "With all my heart," the jolly host replies; And den invite de rats to sup vid you; For vat dey eat you charge dem just ten shelang; pray, Dey'll quit your house, and never come no more!" Ex. LXXVI.-THE MARCH OF DEL CARPIO. LOCKHART. WITH three thousand men of Leon, from the city Bernard goes, To protect the soil Hispanian from the spear of Frankish foes: From the city which is planted in the midst between the seas, To preserve the name and glory of old Pelayo's victories. The peasant hears upon his field the trumpet of the knight,— He quits his team for spear and shield and garniture of might; The shepherd hears it 'mid the mist,―he flingeth down his crook, And rushes from the mountain like a tempest-troubled brook. The youth who shows a maiden's chin, whose brows have ne'er been bound The helmet's heavy ring within, gains manhood from the sound; The hoary sire beside the fire forgets his feebleness, Once more to feel the cap of steel a warrior's ringlets press. As through the glen his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills, They swelled his host as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills; They round his banner flocked in scorn of haughty Charle magne, And thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain. "Free were we born," 'tis thus they cry,-"though to our king we owe The homage and the fealty behind his crest to go; By God's behest our aid he shares, but God did ne'er com mand That we should leave our children heirs of an enslaved land. "Our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak, Nor are our veins so bloodless, that we our vow should break, To sell our freedom for the fear of prince or paladin ; At least we'll sell our birthright dear,--no bloodless prize they'll win. "At least King Charles, if God decrees he must be lord of Spain, Shall witness that the Leonese were not aroused in vain; "The LION that hath bathed his paws in seas of Libyan gore, LXXVII.—MACLAINE'S CHILD MACKAY. "MACLAINE! you 've scourged me like a hound;- "You should have crushed me into death;— "On him, and you, and all your race!"— And, starting like a hunted stag, And, leaning o'er its topmost ledge, With flashing eye and burning brow, But, midway up the rugged steep, "Oh! spare my child, my joy, my pride; Oh! give me back my child!" she cried: "My child! my child!" with sobs and tears, She shrieked upon his callous ears. "Come, Evan," said the trembling chief,-- "I scorn forgiveness, haughty man! And, as he spoke, he raised the child, "Fair lady, if your lord will strip, The lady's cheek grew pale with ire, Took aim, then dropped it, sore distressed. "I might have slain my babe instead. "Wrong unavenged I've never borne," The lady stood in mute despair, He saw the quivering of her eye, "I smite you," said the clansman true; 66 For by yon Heaven that hears me speak, But Evan's face beamed hate and joy; And mine, Lochbuy, shall be complete." Ere hand could stir, with sudden shock, They found their bodies in the tide; Was that sad mother known to smile:- They dragged false Evan from the sea, Ex. LXXVIII.-CHARACTER OF CHATHAM. GRATTAN. THE secretary stood alone; modern degeneracy had not reached him. Original, and unaccommodating, the features |