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 Bryde 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, razed his plume.
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 clenchéd hand,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

6. "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.

Scott.

LXXIII.--HENRY OF NAVARRE.

the throne of After a nine He was in his

Henry of Navarre was heir presumptive to France, on the death of Henry III. in 1589. years' struggle, he was recognized as Henry IV. fifty-seventh year when assassinated by Ravaillac (rä-väl-yäk).

THERE is an ancient street in Paris where a great thoroughfare contracts to a narrow pass. Tall buildings overshadow it, packed from pavement to tiles with human life; and from the dingy front of one of them the sculptured head of a man looks down on the throng that ceaselessly defiles beneath.

2. On the 14th of May, 1610, a ponderous coach, studded with fleurs-de-lis and rich with gilding, rolled along this street. In it was a small man, well advanced in life, whose profile once seen could not be forgotten a hooked nose; a protruding chin; a

brow full of wrinkles; grizzled hair; a short, grizzled beard; and stiff, gray moustaches, bristling like a cat's.

3. One would have thought him some whiskered satyr, grim from the rack of tumultuous years; but his alert, upright port bespoke unshaken vigor, and his clear eye was full of buoyant life. Following on the foot-way strode a tall, strong, and somewhat corpulent man, with sinister, deep-set eyes, and a red beard, his arm and shoulder covered with his cloak.

4. In the throat of the thoroughfare, where the sculptured image of Henry the Fourth still guards the spot, a collision of two carts stopped the coach. Ravaillac quickened his pace. In an instant he was at the door; his cloak was dropped; a long knife was in his hand; his foot upon a guard-stone, he thrust his head and shoulders into the coach, and with frantic force stabbed thrice at the king's heart.

5. A broken exclamation, a gasping convulsion; then the grim visage drooped on the bleeding breast. Henry breathed his last, and the hope of Europe Idied with him.

6. To few has human liberty owed so deep a gratitude or so deep a grudge. Little did he care for creeds or systems. Impressible, quick in sympathy, his grim lip lighted often with a smile, and his warworn cheek was no stranger to a tear.

7. He forgave his enemies and forgot his friends. Many loved him; none but fools trusted him. Mingled of mortal good and ill, frailty and force, of all the kings who for two centuries and more sat on the throne of France, Henry the Fourth alone was a Adapted from Francis Parkman.

man.

LXXIV. THE SHEPHERD AND PHILOSOPHER.

EMOTE from cities lived a swain,
Unvexed with all the cares of gain;
His head was silvered o'er with age,
And long experience made him sage;
In summer's heat and winter's cold,
He fed his flock and penned his fold:
His hours in cheerful labor flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew:

His wisdom and his honest fame
Through all the country raised his name.

2. A deep philosopher, whose rules

Of moral life were drawn from schools,
The shepherd's homely cottage sought,
And thus explored his reach of thought:
"Whence is thy learning? hath thy toil
O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome surveyed,
And the vast sense of Plato weighed?
Hath Socrates thy soul refined,

And hast thou fathomed Tully's mind?
Or, like the wise Ulysses, thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,
Hast thou through many cities strayed,
Their customs, laws, and manners weighed?"

3. The shepherd modestly replied :-
"I ne'er the paths of learning tried;
Nor have I roamed in foreign parts
To read mankind, their laws and arts;
For man is practiced in disguise,
He cheats the most discerning eyes.

Who by that search shall wiser grow,
When we ourselves can never know?
The little knowledge I have gained,
Was all from simple nature drained;
Hence my life's maxims took their rise;
Hence grew my settled hate to vice.

4. "The daily labors of the bee
Awake my soul to industry:
Who can observe the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog, the trustiest of his kind,
With gratitude inflames my mind;
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray:
In constancy and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove:
The hen, who from the chilly air,
With pious wing, protects her care;
And every fowl that flies at large,
Instructs me in a parent's charge.

5. "From nature, too, I take my rule,
To shun contempt and ridicule;

I never with important air,
In conversation overbear.

Can grave and formal pass for wise,
When men the solemn owl despise?
My tongue within my lips I rein;
For who talks much must talk in vain.
We from the wordy torrent fly—
Who listens to the chattering pye?
Nor would I, with felonious slight,
By stealth invade my neighbor's right.