And he had reached his home; when lo! there sprang

One with a bounding footstep, and a brow

Like light, to meet him. Oh! how beautiful!

Her dark eye flashing like a sun-lit gem,
And her luxuriant hair, 'twas like the sweep
Of a swift wing in visions. He stood still,
As if the sight had withered him. She threw
Her arms about his neck: he heeded not.
She called him "Father," but he answered not.
She stood and gazed upon him. Was he wroth?
There was no anger in that blood-shot eye.
Had sickness seized him? She unclasped his helm,
And laid her white hand gently on his brow.
The touch aroused him. He raised up his hands,
And spoke the name of God in agony.

She knew that he was stricken then, and rushed
Again into his arms, and with a flood

Of tears she could not stay, she sobbed a prayer
That he would tell her of his wretchedness.
He told her, and a momentary flush

Shot o'er her countenance; and then, the soul
Of Jephthah's daughter wakened, and she stood
Calmly and nobly up, and said, ""Tis well;
And I will die!" And when the sun had set,
Then she was dead--but not by violence.

CXX.-FRANCE AND THE UNITED STATES.

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

1. BORN, Sir, in a land of liberty, having early learned its value, having engaged in a perilous conflict to defend it, having, in a word, devoted the best years of my life to secure its permanent establishment in my own country,— my anxious recollections, my sympathetic feelings, and my best wishes, are iresistibly excited, whensoever, in any country, I see an oppressed Nation unfurl the banners of freedom. But, above all, the events of the French Revolution have produced the deepest solicitude, as well as the highest admiration.

2. To call your nation brave, were to pronounce but

common praise. Wonderful People! Ages to come will read with astonishment the history of your brilliant exploits! I rejoice that the period of your toils and of your immense sacrifices is approaching. I rejoice that the interesting revolutionary movements of so many years have issued in the formation of a Constitution designed to give permanency to the great object for which you have contended.

3. I rejoice that liberty, which you have so long embraced with enthusiasm,-liberty, of which you have been. the invincible defenders,—now finds an asylum in the bosom of a regularly organized Government;-a Government, which, being formed to secure the happiness of the French People, corresponds with the ardent wishes of my heart, while it gratifies the pride of every citizen of the United States, by its resemblance to his own. On these glorious events, accept, Sir, my sincere congratulations.

4. In delivering to you these sentiments, I express not my own feelings only, but those of my fellow-citizens, in relation to the commencement, the progress, and the issue, of the French Revolution; and they will cordially join with me in purest wishes to the Supreme Being, that the citizens of our sister Republic, our magnanimous allies, may soon enjoy in peace that liberty which they have purchased at so great a price, and all the happiness which liberty can bestow.

5. I receive, Sir, with lively sensibility, the symbol of the triumphs and of the enfranchisement of your Nation, the colors of France, which you have now presented to the United States. The transaction will be announced to Congress; and the colors will be deposited with those archives of the United States which are at once the evidences and the memorials of their freedom and independence. May. these be perpetual! And may the friendship of the two Republics be commensurate with their existence !

CXXI.-MARMION TAKING LEAVE OF DOUGLAS.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

1. THE train from out the castle drew;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :

66 Though something I might 'plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your King's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed,-
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand."

2. But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :-

My manors, halls and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my King's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone ;-
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp !

3. Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And-" This to me!" he said:
"An'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And first I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near
(Nay, never look upon your Lord,

And lay your hands upon your sword!),
I tell thee, thou'rt defied!

And if thou saidst I am not peer

To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

4. On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth :- "And darest thou, then,

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms !—what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."

5. Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need,-
And dashed the rowels in his steed;
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous gate 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 clenched hand,
A shout of loud defiance pours,

And shakes his gauntlet at the towers!

CXXII.-THE DEATH OF MARMION.

1. AND soon straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen, drenched 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?

2. Young Blount his armor did unlace,
And, gazing on his ghastly face,

Said " By Saint George, he's gone! The spear-wound has our master sped;

SCOTT.

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 :

3. "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!
Must I bid twice ?-hence, varlets! fly;
Leave Marmion here alone-to die."

4. With fruitless labor, Clara bound,
And strove to stanch the gushing wound.
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,

1. MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.
Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.
Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

2. But when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,
The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast-
A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

WHITTIER.