Part 32 (1/2)

But the loonant river to force its ay betwixt thee other than that rocky hich is fiercely held by the current? Yes, there is a narrow road, painfully grooved by the hand of allery, now dropping down to the brink of the strea array winds on There is the heavy tread of the foot-soldiers, the tra and flapping of the colours, and the angry reht sleep, except, indeed, when the eagles of the crag, startled from their eyries, raise their shrill cry as they spread their living wings above the gilded eagles of France

Suddenly a voice is heard far up ale's cry _this_ time--not the freak of a ard echo--but huin?_” Silence! It is a host that holds its breath and listens Was it a spirit of the upper air parleying with its kind? If so, it has its answer countersigned across the dark gulf

”_Noch nicht!_”--”_Not yet!_” The whole invading ar serpent-length of thatthe base of the ain, and it says ”_Now!_”

_Now_, then, descends the wild avalanche of destruction, and all is tus of the , thundering down Trunks and roots of pine trees, gathering speed on their headlong way, are launched down upon the powerless foe, led with the deadly hail of the Tyrolese rifles And this fearful stor the whole line at once Noarrooved pathway, or are tumbled, horse and h of horrors! Who would willingly linger on the hideous details of such a scene? Sorrowful that es, to stain and to spoil such wonders of beauty as the hand of the Creator has here ue with the serpent, should writhe into such scenes as these, and poison them with the virus of sin

Richter

Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail

Let her know her place; She is the second, not the first, A higher hand uide Her footsteps, er child

Tennyson

MARSTON MOOR

(A Cavalier Song)

To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas, the clarion's note is high!

To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas, the big druallant cavaliers, And the bray of Rupert's trurows fainter in our ears

To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas! White Guy is at the door, And the raven whets his beak o'er the field of Marston Moor

Up rose the Lady Alice, froht a silken banner down the narrow turret-stair, Oh! many were the tears that those radiant eyes had shed, As she traced the bright word ”Glory” in the gay and glancing thread; And mournful was the smile which o'er those lovely features ran As she said, ”It is your lady's gift, unfurl it in the van!”

”It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest ride, Midst the steel-clad files of Skippon, the black dragoons of Pride; The recreant heart of Fairfax shall feel a sicklier qualive out a louder psal, And hear her loyal soldier's shout, 'For God and for the King'”

'Tis noon The ranks are broken, along the royal line They fly, the braggarts of the court! the bullies of the Rhine!

Stout Langdale's cheer is heard no more, and Astley's helm is down, And Rupert sheathes his rapier, with a curse and with a frown, And cold Newcastle ht, ”The Gerht”

The knight is left alone, his steel-cap cleft in twain, His good buff jerkin criory stain; Yet still he waves his banner, and cries aentleht it out!”

And noards a Roundhead's pike, and now he hue-play, and now he fells a knave

God aid thee now, Sir Nicholas! thou hast no thought of fear; God aid thee now, Sir Nicholas! for fearful odds are here!