And if thou said'st, I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth, — “And dar'st thou then

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?

No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms

Let the portcullis fall."

what, warder, ho!

Lord Marmion turned, well was his need, -
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim:

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,

He halts, and turns with clinchèd hand,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

"Horse! horse! "the Douglas cried, "and chase!"

But soon he reined his fury's pace;

"A royal messenger he came,

Though most unworthy of the name.

Saint Mary mend my fiery mood!

Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
'Tis pity of him, too," he cried,
"Bold can he speak, and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

STUDY HINTS

What are the most noticeable qualities of this selection? Note how not one unnecessary word is used to give a graphic idea of the quarrel. What kind of host has Douglas shown himself? Do you think Marmion acted nobly in offering his hand to Douglas? Marmion's indignation at Douglas's refusal was for two reasons. What are they? What thought makes Douglas calm down? Suppose a deaf man had been present at this interview, how would he have known it was a quarrel? What words show this? Which man shows to better advantage in this quarrel? Memorize at least one stanza.

SUGGESTIONS FOR ADDITIONAL READINGS

The Lady of the Lake, Canto I, "The Chase." Sir Walter Scott.
Gathering Song of Donald Dhu. Sir Walter Scott.

Lullaby of an Infant Chief. Sir Walter Scott.

Bruce to his Men at Bannockburn. Robert Burns.

The Ballad of Chevy Chase (Reliques). Thomas Percy.
Robin Hood and Allan-a-Dale. Thomas Percy.

The Pipes at Lucknow. John G. Whittier.

The Battle of Blenheim. Robert Southey.

THE ESCAPE FROM THE TOWER

CHARLES READE

Charles Reade (1814-1884), the English novelist, was born in Oxfordshire. He wrote several novels of which the best was The Cloister and the Hearth (1861), from which this episode is taken. This novel is a careful and fascinating study of fifteenth-century life. See also: Charles Reade, Dramatist, Novelist, Journalist, by Charles L. Reade and the Reverend Compton Reade.

[Gerard is the son of a Tergouw (a town twelve miles from Rotterdam) merchant, who intends him to become a priest. He falls in love, however, with Margaret Brandt, the daughter of a poor scholar, and gives up his church career. This so enrages his father that he thrusts Gerard into prison. His faithful friend Martin, and Margaret Brandt, devise a plan to rescue him.]

GERARD was taken up several flights of stairs and thrust into a small room lighted only by a narrow window with a vertical iron bar. The whole furniture was a huge oak chest. Imprisonment in that age was one of the highroads to death, for it implied cold, unbroken solitude, torture, starvation, and often poison. Gerard felt that he was in the hands of an enemy. And he kneeled down and commended his soul to God.

Presently he rose and sprang at the iron bar of the window, and clutched it. This enabled him to look out by pressing his knees against the wall. Falling back somewhat heavily, he wrenched the rusty iron bar, held only by rusty nails, away from the stonework just as Ghysbrecht Van Swieten,

the burgomaster,1 opened the door stealthily behind him. He brought a brown loaf and a pitcher of water, and set them on the chest in solemn silence. Gerard's first impulse was to brain him with the iron bar, and fly downstairs; but the burgomaster, seeing something wicked in his eye, gave a little cough, and three stout fellows, armed, showed themselves directly at the door.

"My orders are to keep you until you shall bind yourself by an oath to leave Margaret Brandt, and return to the church to which you have belonged from your cradle."

"Death sooner."

"With all my heart." And the burgomaster retired.

As the sun declined, Gerard's heart too sank and sank; with the waning light even the embers of hope went out. He was faint, too, with hunger; for he was afraid to eat the food Ghysbrecht had brought him; and hunger alone cows. men. He sat upon the chest, his arms and his head drooping before him, a picture of despondency. Suddenly something struck the wall beyond him very sharply, and then rattled on the floor at his feet. It was an arrow; he saw the white feather. A chill ran through him, — they meant to assassinate him from the outside. He crouched. No more missiles came. He crawled on all fours, and took up the arrow; there was no head to it. He uttered a cry of hope: had a friendly hand shot it?

He took it up and felt it over; he felt a soft substance attached to it. Then one of his eccentricities was of grand use to him. His tinder box enabled him to strike a light; it showed him two things that made his heart bound with delight. Attached to the arrow was a skein of silk, and on the arrow itself were words written. How his eyes devoured them, his heart panting the while!

"Well-beloved, make fast the silk to thy knife and lower 1 A mayor, or other city official in Holland.

to us but hold thine end fast: then count a hundred and draw up."

Gerard seized the oak chest, and with almost superhuman energy dragged it to the window. Standing on the chest and looking down he saw figures at the tower foot. They were so indistinct they looked like one huge form. He waved his bonnet to them with trembling hand. Then he undid the silk rapidly but carefully, and made one end fast to his knife and lowered it till it ceased to draw.

Then he counted a hundred, then pulled the silk carefully up; it came up a little heavier. At last he came to a large knot, and by that knot a stout whipcord was attached to the silk. What could this mean? While he was puzzling himself, Margaret's voice came up to him, low but clear. "Draw up, Gerard, till you see liberty." At the word, Gerard drew the whipcord line up, and drew and drew until he came to another knot, and found a cord of some thickness take the place of the whipcord. He had no sooner begun to draw this up than he found that he now had a heavy weight to deal with. Then the truth suddenly flashed upon him, and he went to work and pulled and pulled till the perspiration rolled down him; the weight got heavier and heavier, and at last he was well-nigh exhausted; looking down he saw in the moonlight a sight that revived him: it was as it were a great snake coming up to him out of the deep shadow cast by the tower.

He gave a shout of joy, and a score more wild pulls, and lo! a stout new rope touched his hand: he hauled and hauled, and dragged the end into his prison, and instantly passed it through both handles of the chest in succession, and knotted it firmly; then sat for a moment to recover his breath and collect his courage. The first thing was to make sure that the chest was sound, and capable of resisting his weight