Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had bound. Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven, Shook to the cold night wind of heaven, Around the screened altar's pale; And there the dying lamps did burn, And thine dark Knight of Liddisdale' The moon on the east oriel shone, Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand In many a freakish knot, had twined: And trampled the apostate's pride, They sate them down on a marble stone, For Paynim countries I have trod, "In these fair climes it was my lot The bells would ring in Notre Dame. The words that cleft Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone. But to speak them were adeadly sin, And for having but thought them my heart within, A treble penance must be done. "When Michael lay on his dying bed "I swore to bury his Mighty Book. I buried him on St. Michael's night, When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright; When the floor of the chancel was stained red, "It was a night of woe and dread Still spoke the Monk when the bell tolled one, Than William of Deloraine, good at need, "Lo Warrior! now the Cross of Red Until the eternal doom shall be," Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone He pointed to a secret rok An iron bar the Warrior took: And the Monk made a sign with his withered hand, The grave's huge portal to expand. With beating heart to the task he went- Till the toil-drops fell from his brows like rain. How the light broke forth so gloriously- Showed the Monk's cowl and visage pale, Before their eyes the Wizard lay Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea. The lamp was placed beside his knee. Often had William of Deloraine 132 THE PERFECT ORATOR. He might not endure the sight to see, "Now speed thee what thou hast to do, For those thou mayest not look upon Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" From the cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasped, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned, Perchance had dazzled the Warrior's sight. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, The night returned in double gloom; For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; With wavering steps and dizzy brain, They hardly might the postern gain. "Tis said, as through the aisles they passed, Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall, Because these spells were brought to-day, "Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, And many a prayer and penance sped; With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER. EVERETT. [It will soon be a matter of tradition how the silver-voiced Everett held multitudes spell-bound by the magic of his flowing periods: fortunately though the clarion-tones are hushed the brilliant sentences still remain to us.] SIR, in the efforts of the people-of the people struggling for their rights-moving, not in organized, disciplined masses, but in their spontaneous action, man for man, and heart for heart-there is something glorious. They can then move forward without orders, act together without combination, and brave the flaming lines of battle without intrenchments to cover or walls to shield them. No dissolute camp has worn off from the feelings of the youthful soldier the freshness of that home, where his mother and his sisters sit waiting, with tearful eyes and aching hearts, to hear good news from the wars; no long service in the ranks of a conqueror has turned the veteran's heart into marble. Their valor springs not from recklessness, from habit, from indifference to the preservation of a life knit by no pledges to the life of others; but in the strength and spirit of the CAUSE alone, they act, they contend, they bleed. In this they conquer. The people always conquer. They always must conquer. Armies may be defeated, kings may be overthrown, and new dynasties imposed, by foreign arms, on an ignorant and slavish race, that cares not in what language the covenant of their subjection runs, nor in whose name the deed of their barter and sale is made out. But the people never invade; and, when they rise against the invader, are never subdued. If they are driven from the plains, they fly to the mountains. Steep rocks and everlasting hills are their castles; the tangled, pathless thicket their palisado; and nature, God, is their ally? Now he overwhelms the hosts of their enemies beneath his drifting mountains of sand; now He buries them beneath a falling atmosphere of polar snows; He lets loose his tempest on their fleets; He puts a folly into their counsels, a madness into the hearts of their leaders; He never gave, and never will give, a final triumph over a virtuous and gallant people, resolved to be free. "For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son |