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The wind's last breath had tossed in air,
Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair,-
The next but swept a lone hill side
Where heath and fern were waving wide;
The sun's last glance was glinted, back,
From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,-
The next, all unreflected, shone

On bracken green, and cold gray stone.
Fitz-James looked round-yet scarce believed
The witness that his sight received;
Such apparition well might seem
Delusion of a dreadful dream.
Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed
And to his look the Chief replied,
"Fear nought-nay, that I need not say-
But-doubt not aught from mine array.
Thou art my guest;-I pledged my word
As far as Coilantogle ford:

Nor would I call a clans-man's brand
For aid against one valiant hand,
Though on our strife lay every vale
Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.
So move we on ;-I only meant
To show the reed on which you leant,
Deeming this path you might pursue
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."-
They moved:-I said Fitz-James was brave,
As ever knight that belted glaive";
Yet dare not say, that now his blood

Kept on its wont and tempered flood,

As, following Roderick's stride, he drew
That seeming lonesome path-way through,
Which yet by fearful proof, was rife
With lances, that to take his life
Waited but signal from a guide,
So late dishonoured and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round
The vanished guardians of the ground,
And still from copse and heather deep,
Fancy saw spear and broad-sword peep,
And in the plover's shrilly strain,
The signal whistle heard again.
Nor breathed he free till far behind
The pass was left; for then they wind
Along a wide and level green,
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen,
Nor rush nor bush of broom was near,

To hide a bonnet or a spear.

DEATH FEARED BECAUSE UNKNOWN.

BY DRYDEN.

'Tis but because the living death ne'er knew,
They fear to prove it as a thing that's new:
Let me the experiment before you try,
I'll show you first how easy 'tis to die.

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COURAGE IN PROSPECT OF DEATH.

BY SHAKESPEARE.

O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and 1 quake,
Lest thou a feverish life shouldst entertain,
And six or seven winters more respect
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?
The sense of death is most in apprehension;
And the poor beetle that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.

Why give you me this shame ?
Think you I can a resolution fetch
From flowery tenderness? If I must die
I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

What though the mast be now blown overboard,
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood;
Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea,

And give more strength to that which hath too

much,

Whiles, in his moan, the ship slips on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have sav'd?
Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!

Shakespeare.

COURAGE IN EXTREMITY.

BY SCOTT.

My soul hath felt a secret weight,
A warning of approaching fate.
A priest had said, Return, repent!
As well to bid that rock be rent.
Firm as that flint I face mine end;
My heart may burst, but cannot bend.
The dawning of my youth, with awe
And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw;
For over Redesdale it came,

As bodeful as the beacon flame.
Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine,
When, challenging the clans of Tyne
To bring their best my brand to prove,
O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove;
But Tynedale nor in tower nor town,
Held champion meet to take it down.
My noontide India may declare;
Like her fierce Sun, I fired the air!
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly
Her natives, from mine angry eye.
Panama's maids shall long look pale
When Risingham inspires the tale;
Chili's dark matrons long shall tame
The froward child with Bertram's name.

And now my race of terror run,
Mine be the eve of tropic sun!
No pale gradations quench his ray,
No twilight dews his wrath allay;
With disc like battle target red,
He rushes to his burning bed,
Dyes the wide wave with bloody light,
Then sinks at once-and all is night.

BASIL'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS.

BY JOANNA BAILLIE.

SOLDIERS! we've fought together in the field,
And bravely fought: i' the face of horrid death,
At honours call, I've led you dauntless on:
Nor do I know the man of all your bands,
That ever poorly from the trial shrunk,
Or yielded to the foes contended space.
Am I the meanest then of all my troops,
That thus ye think, with base unmanly threats,
To move me now? Put up those paltry weapons;
They edgeless are to him who fears them not:
Rocks have been shaken from the solid base;
But what shall move a firm and dauntless mind?

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