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Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin;
Bid each retainer arm with speed; call every vassal in.
Up with my banner on the wall, - - the banquet-board prepare,

Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!

An hundred hands were busy then: the banquet forth was spread,
And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread;
While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall.
Lights gleam on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic

¡hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board;

While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state, Armed cap-à-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate.

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"Fill every beaker up, my men,- - pour forth the cheering wine'
There's life and strength in every drop thanksgiving to the vine!
Are ye all there, my vassals true? - mine eyes are waxing dim:
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim !

"Ye're there; but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword,
And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board.
I hear it faintly. Louder yet! - What clogs my heavy breath?
Up all, and shout for Rudiger, Defiance unto death !'"

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Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry
That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high.
"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him? - Slaves, traitors, have ye flown?
Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone?

Down rang the massy cup,

"But I defy him :- let him come !" While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up ; And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head,

There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat dead.

ALBERT G. GREENE

BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO.

WITH Some good ten of his chosen men,
Bernardo hath appeared,

Before them all in the palace hall,
The lying king to beard;
With cap in hand and eye on ground,

He came in reverend guise,

But ever and anon he frowned,
And flame broke from his eyes.

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'A curse upon thee," cries the king,

"Who com'st unbid to me!

But what from traitor's blood should spring,
Save traitor like to thee?

His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart,
Perchance our champion brave
May think it were a pious part
To share Don Sancho's grave."

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"Seize seize him!" loud the king doth scream: "There are a thousand here;

Let his foul blood this instant stream;

What! caitiffs, do you fear?

Seize seize the traitor!" But not one

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To move a finger dareth:

'ernardo standeth by the throne,

And calm his sword he bareth.

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And here's the sword that owns no lord,
Excepting heaven and me:

Fain would I know who dares its point, –
King, condé, or grandee."

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WIDE o'er Bannock's heathy wold
Scotland's deathful banners roll'd,
And spread their wings of sprinkled gold
To the purpling east.

Freedom beamed in every eye;
Devotion breathed in every sigh;

Freedom heaved their souls on high,
And steeled each hero's breast.

Charging then the courser's sprang,
Sword and helmet clashing rang,
Steel-clad warrior's mixing clang
Echoed round the field.

LOCKHART

Deathful see their eyeballs glare!
See the nerves of battle bare!
Arrowy tempests cloud the air,

And glance from every shield.

Hark! the bowman's quivering strings!
Death on gray-goose pinions springs !
Deep they dip their dappled wings
Drunk in heroes' gore.

Lo! Edward, springing on the rear,
Plies his Caledonian spear:
Ruin marks his dread career,

And sweeps them from the shore.

See how red the streamlets flow!
See the reeling, yielding foe,

How they melt at every blow!
Yet we shall be free!

Darker yet the strife appears;
Forest dread of flaming spears!
Hark! a shout the welkin tears!
Bruce has victory!

HENRY V, AT THE SEIGE OF HARFLEUR.

ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with our English dead.

In

peace there's nothing so becomes a man

As modest stillness and humility;

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:

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Disguise fair nature with hard favored rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon.

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostrils wide.
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To its full hight!-- On, on, you noble English,
Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers, that like so many Alexanders,

Have in these parts from morn till even fought,

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Be copy now for men of grosser blood,

And teach them how to war; and you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs are made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture: let us swear

That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not:
For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble luster in your eye:

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game 's a-foot;
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge,
Cry, Heaven for Harry, England and St. George!

SHAKSPEARE

HENRY V, ENCOURAGING HIS SOLDIERS.

WHAT's he that wishes for more men from England? My cousin Westmoreland! No, my fair cousin, If we are marked to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men the greater share of honor;

Heaven's will! I pray thee wish not one man more.
In truth I am not covetous of gold,

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires :
But if it be a sin to covet honor,

I am the most offending soul alive.

No, my good lord, wish not a man from England:
Heaven's peace! I would not lose so great an honor
As one more man methinks would share from me,
For the best hopes I have.
Wish not one more:
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he who hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart, his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian,
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand on tiptoe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

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