While in Tantallon's towers I staid,
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."

8. 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, now 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 swords),
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 flash 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 St. 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 grate behind him rung;
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, raised his plume.

6. The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim:

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clinchéd 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;
A letter forged! St. Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed?
St. 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's halls.

SCOTT.

I

10. THE SUMMER OF KINGS.

WAS one evening on the Ohio, when the river was swollen with recent rains. The current was passing quickly, but with a placidity which reminded me of the old proverb, that "smooth water runs deep." It was early in May. The sky was pale. Thin clouds, with softened outlines, and mingling gently with one another, were moving towards the north. There was something in the air which, if not vivifying, if not genial, was quieting.

2. It was an evening when good hearts might have been touched with great tenderness, if not with mournfulness. Not with the mournfulness which comes from anguish, and pervades our nature as if with faint pulsations of a subsiding struggle, but with that mournfulness which accompanies the recollections of home, and is tempered and sweetened and lit up with the love of old scenes and faces, and the hope of seeing them once more.

3. From the various incidents that were going on in the boat about me, and the varying features of the scene through which we were gliding, I turned to one object, which, far more forcibly than the rest, attracted my attention. It was a sycamore-tree—a noble-looking tree; noble in its proportions, noble in its profusion, noble in its promise.

4. And the birds were in it, on its topmost branches, strik ing out their wings and uttering their quick notes of joy Oh! with what a sweet thrill came forth the liquid song from that waving, sparkling foliage, and how confident it made the looker-on, that the tree from which it gushed in a thousand mingling streams, would stand and flourish, and put forth its

beauty, and rejoice in the fragrant breath of the summer, and stoutly defy the shock of winter for years to come!

5. It was a dream. I looked downward; the roots were stripped. The earth had been loosened from them, and they glistened like bones, whitened as they were with the water which tumbled through them, and about them, and over them. One hold alone it seemed to have. But the sleepless element was busy upon that; even as I looked the soft mould slipped in flakes from the solitary stay which held the tree erect.

6. And there it stood, full of vigor, full of beauty, full of festive life; full of promise, with a grave a fathom opened at its feet. The next flood, and the last link must give way. And down must come that lord of the forest, with all his honors, with all his strength, with all his mirth; and the remorseless river shall toss him to the thick slime, and then fling him up again, tearing his tangled finery, and bruising and breaking his proud limbs until two thousand miles below, on some stagnant swamp, tired of the dead prey, the wild pursuer, chafed and foaming from the chase, shall cast a shapeless log ashore.

7. "Such," said I, "shall be the fate of the European kings. It is now summer with them. The sunbeams gild the domes of their palaces; the helmets, with crimson manes, barn along those white lines within which legions, countless as that of Xerxes, are encamped."

8. Prayers are going on in a pavilion on the field. It is the camp near Olmutz. Elsewhere are bridal feasts. There are pennons of silk and flowers fresh with luscious fragrance. Beauty is clustered there in snowy vesture, and the princes and warriors of the cities are plumed and harnessed for the field.

9. And there are senators and counsellors of state, and doctors of the law, and ministers of police and other functionaries, assembled likewise in holiday costume. The market-places, and the public squares, and all the public offices, are decked out with floral wreaths, and painted shields, and pendent

flags. And there are gay processions through the streets, and market-choruses, and barges with carved and gilded prows and silken awnings fringed and tasselled richly, all laden with revelry, gliding up and down the river.

10. The sun goes down, yet the sky is bright-brighter than at noon. There is a broad avenue walled on either side, and arched with fire. There are fountains of fire, pillars of fire, temples of fire ("temples of immortality," they call them), arches of fire, pyramids of fire. The fable of the phoenix is more than realized. Above that mass and maze of flames, an eagle, feathered with flames, spreads his gigantic wings, and mounts and expands, until tower, and dome, and obelisk are spanned.

11. Visions of Arabian Nights visit the earth again. The wealth and wonders of Nineveh are disentombed. The festival costs one million sixteen hundred francs; all done to order. It is summer with the kings; aye, summer with the kings. Bright leaves are upon and life and song are among them but death is at the root. The next flood and the proud lord shall be uprooted and the waters shall beat him away; when they have stripped him of his finery they shall fling him in upon the swamp to rot. Such shall be the fate of the European kings, European aristocracies, European despotisms. Who will lament it? Who would avert it?

:

12. What though it is now summer with the kings? What though the evil ones have been exalted, and the perjured have been named holy, and the blood of the people is mixed with the wine of the princes, and illuminations bewilder the memory of those who mourn, and the gibbet is disguised in lamps and flowers and the relics of imperial wars, and the desolate laugh hysterically in their intoxication, and the reign of the wicked is a jubilee, and he spreadeth himself like a green bay-tree, and his power is supreme? What recks it? It shall pass like the dream of the drunkard.