under the protection of their bucklers, thrown themselves across the pikes of the Germans, the latter were obliged to give way, and would have been entirely defeated if their cavalry had not come to their relief.

It is necessary therefore to institute a military force possessing neither the defects of the Swiss nor those of the Spanish infantry, and that may be able to maintain its ground against the French cavalry; and this is to be effected, not by changing their arms, but by altering their discipline. Nothing is more likely to make a new prince esteemed, and to render his reign illustrious.

Such an opportunity ought eagerly to be embraced, that Italy, after her long sufferings, may at last behold her deliverer appear. With what demonstrations of joy and gratitude, with what affection, with what impatience for revenge, would he not be received by those unfortunate provinces who have so long groaned under such odious oppression. What city would shut her gates against him, and what people would be so blind as to refuse him obedience? What rivals would he have to dread? Is there one Italian who would not hasten to pay him homage? All are weary of the tyranny of these barbarians. May your illustrious house, strong in all the hopes which justice gives our cause, deign to undertake this noble enterprise, that so, under your banners, our nation may resume its ancient splendor, and, under your auspices, behold the prophecy of Petrarch at last fulfilled.

Virtu contr' al furore

Prendera l'arme, et sia il combatter corto.
Che l'antico valore

Na gl' Italici cuor non è ancor morto.

When virtue takes the field,
Short will the conflict be;
Barbarian rage shall yield

The palm to Italy:

For patriot blood still warms Italian veins;
Though low the fire, a spark at least remains.

THE BATTLE OF FLODDEN.

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

(From "Marmion.")

[SIR WALTER SCOTT: The great Scotch novelist and poet; born August 15, 1771, in Edinburgh, where he attended the university. He practiced as an advocate for a while, then withdrew from the bar and devoted his attention largely to literature. "The Lay of the Last Minstrel " (1805) brought him into prominence as an author; and in 1814 he published anonymously "Waverley," the first of the " Waverley Novels." He became a partner in Constable's publishing house and the Ballantynes' printing house, in order to realize all sides of the profit from his works; but bad management, and his immense overdrafts on their resources to build up a great feudal estate at Abbotsford, left them so weak that the panic of 1825 ruined both. He wore out his life in the effort to pay up in full the liabilities of £120,000, and the royalties on his books achieved this after his death. His other great poems are "Marmion" and the "Lady of the Lake," and lesser ones in merit are "Rokeby," "The Lord of the Isles," "Harold the Dauntless," "The Bridal of Triermain," and "The Vision of Don Roderick." Among the "Waverleys" may be cited "Guy Mannering," "The Antiquary," "The Heart of Midlothian," "Old Mortality," "Rob Roy," "The Bride of Lammermoor,' " "Ivanhoe," ," "Kenilworth," "The Abbot," "Quentin Durward," "The Pirate," and "The Talisman."]

Nor far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;

He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide:

The ancient Earl, with stately grace,

Would Clara on her palfrey place,

And whispered, in an undertone,

"Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."

The train from out the castle drew;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:

"Though something I might plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I stayed;
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand."
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :-

"My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open to 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.".

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, 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!".

-

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."

Lord Marmion turned, well was his need,
And dashed the rowels in his steed,

Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous gate 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;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim:

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,

He halts, and turns with clenched 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! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed!
At first in heart it liked me ill,

When the King praised his clerkly skill.
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line:
So swore I, and I swear it still,
Let my boy bishop fret his fill.—
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.

And why stands Scotland idly now,
Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow,
Since England gains the pass the while,
And struggles through the deep defile?
What checks the fiery soul of James?
Why sits that champion of the dames
Inactive on his steed,

And sees, between him and his land,
Between him and Tweed's southern strand,

His host Lord Surrey lead?

What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand?—
O, Douglas, for thy leading wand!

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed!

O for one hour of Wallace wight,

Dr well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight,

And cry,-"Saint Andrew and our right!"

Another sight had seen that morn,
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn,
And Flodden had been Bannock-bourne!
The precious hour has passed in vain,
And England's host has gained the plain;
Wheeling their march, and circling still,
Around the base of Flodden hill.

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye,
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high,
"Hark! hark! my lord, an English drum!
And see ascending squadrons come

Between Tweed's river and the hill,
Foot, horse, and cannon: - hap what hap,
My basnet to a 'prentice cap,

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till!

Yet more! yet more!-how fair arrayed
They file from out the hawthorn shade,
And sweep so gallant by!

With all their banners bravely spread,

And all their armor flashing high,

Saint George might waken from the dead,

To see fair England's standard's fly.".

"Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount; "thou'dst best, And listen to our lord's behest.".

With kindling brow Lord Marmion said,

"This instant be our band arrayed;

The river must be quickly crossed,
That we may join Lord Surrey's host.
If fight King James, as well I trust,
That fight he will, and fight he must,-
The Lady Clare behind our lines
Shall tarry, while the battle joins."

...

A moment then Lord Marmion stayed,
And breathed his steed, his men arrayed,
Then forward moved his band.
Until, Lord Surrey's rear guard won,
He halted by a cross of stone,

That, on a hillock standing lone,

Did all the field command.

[He leaves Clare with Blount and Eustace and ten archers to guard her.]

He waited not for answer there,

And would not mark the maid's despair,

Nor heed the discontented look