That you will ne'er recede, while from the tongues
Of age, and womanhood, and infancy,

The helplessness, whose safety in you lies,
Invokes you to be strong! Come on! Come on '
I'll bring you to the foe! And when you meet him,

Strike hard! Strike home!

Strike while a dying blow

Is in an arm! Strike till you 're free, or fall!

35. RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. — Mary Russell Mitford.

FRIENDS!

I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave: not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame,-
But oase, ignoble slaves! slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots; lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages;

Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great

In that strange spell — a name! Each hour, dark fraud. Or open rapine, or protected murder,

Cry out against them. But this very day,

An honest man, my neighbor,-there he stands,-
Was struck - struck like a dog, by one who wore

The badge of Ursini! because, forsooth,

He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor? Men, and wash not
The stain away in blood? Such shames are common.

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,

Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of Heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks-
a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaver
Have brave sons?
ye
Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die Have ye fair daughters? — Look

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored; and, if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash! Yet, this is Rome,
That sate on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world! Yet, we are Romans.
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a King! And once again
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus ! once again I swear
The Eternal City shall be free!

33. THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD.-James Montgomery

The noble voluntary death of the Switzer, Winkelried, is accurately described in the followIng verses. In the battle of Shempach, in the fourteenth century, this martyr-patriot, perceiv ing that there was no other means of breaking the heavy-armed lines of the Austrians than by gathering as many of their spears as he could grasp together, opened, by this means, a passage for his fellow-combatants, who, with hammers and hatchets, hewed down the mailed men-at-arms, and won the victory.

"MAKE way for liberty!" he cried,-
Made way for liberty, and died!
In arms the Austrian phalanx stood,
A living wall, a human wood;
Impregnable their front appears,
All horrent with projected spears.
Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their father-land,

Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke

From manly necks the ignoble yoke;

Marshalled once more at Freedom's call,

They came to conquer or to fall.

And now the work of life and death
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burned within;
The battle trembled to begin;

Yet, while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for assault was nowhere found;
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed,
The unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 't were suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrants' feet.
How could they rest within their graves,
To leave their homes the haunts of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread,
With clanking chains, above their head?
It must not be; this day, this hour,
Annihilates the invader's power!
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly; she cannot yield.

Swift to the breach his comrades fly,
"Make way for liberty!" they cry,
And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart
While, instantaneous as his fall,

Rout, ruin, panic, seized them all.
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free
Thus Death made way for liberty!

87. RICHARD TO THE PRINCES OF THE CRUSADE.—Sir Walter Scott. B 1771, d. 1832

AND is it even so? And are our brethren at such pains to note the infirmities of our natural temper, and the rough precipitance of our zeal, which may have sometimes urged us to issue commands when there was little time to hold council? I could not have thought that cffences,

casual and unpremeditated, like mine, could find such deep root in the hearts of my allies in this most holy cause, that, for my sake, they should withdraw their hand from the plough when the furrow was near the end; for my sake, turn aside from the direct path to Jerusalem, which their swords have opened. I vainly thought that my small services might have outweighed my rash errors; that, if it were remembered that I pressed to the van in an assault, it would not be forgotten that I was ever the last in the retreat; that, if I clevated my banner upon conquered fields of battle, it was all the advan tage I sought, while others were dividing the spoil. I may have called the conquered city by my name, but it was to others that I yielded the dominion. If I have been headstrong in urging bold counsels, I have not, methinks, spared my own blood, or my people's, in carrying them into as bold execution; or, if I have, in the hurry of march or battle, assumed a command over the soldiers of others, such have ever been treated as my own, when my wealth purchased the provisions and medicines which their own sovereigns could not

procure.

But it shames me to remind you of what all but myself seem to have forgotten. Let us rather look forward to our future measures; and, believe me, brethren, you shall not find the pride, or the wrath, or the ambition of Richard, a stumbling-block of offence in the path to which religion and glory summon you, as with the trumpet of an archangel! O, no, no! never would I survive the thought that my frailties and infirmities had been the means to sever this goodly fellowship of assembled princes. I would cut off my left hand with my right, could my doing so attest my sincerity. I will yield up, voluntarily, all right to command in the host even mine own liege subjects. They shall be led by such sovereigns as you may nominate; and their King, ever but too apt to exchange the leader's baton for the adventurer's lance, will serve under the banner of Beauscant among the Templars, -ay, or under that of Austria, if Austria will name a brave man to lead his forces. Or, if ye are yourselves a-weary of this war, and feel your armor chafe your tender bodies, leave but with Richard some ten or fifteen thousand of your soldiers to work out the accomplishment of your vow; and, when Zion is won, - when Zion is won, we will write upon her gates, not the name of Richard Plantagenet, but of those generous Princes who intrusted him with the means of conquest!

38 THE EARL OF RICHMOND TO HIS ARMY.-Shakspeare.

MORE than I have said, loving countrymen,

The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this:-
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side,
The prayers of holy saints, and wrongéd souls,
Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces.

Richard except, those whom we fight against
Had rather have us win than him they follow.
For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant and a homicide;

One raised in blood, and one in blood established;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;
A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil.
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
One that hath ever been God's enemy.
Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
God will, in justice, guard you as his soldiers;
If
you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
If you do fight against your country's foes,
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
If you do free your children from the sword,
Your children's children quit it in your age.
Then, in the name of God and all these rights,
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt

Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
But, if I thrive, the gain of my attempt,
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully:
God, and St. George! Richmond and victory!

39. HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS.-Shakspeare.

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.
I pray thee do not wish for one man more.
By Jove, 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

But if it be a sin to covet honor,

I am the most offending soul alive.

my

desires:

No, 'faith, my Lord, wish not a man from England:
I would not lose, methinks, so great an honor

As only one man more would share from me,

For the best hope I have. O! do not wish one more