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“ The blood that I like water shed,

When Roland did advance,
By secret traitors brought and led,

To make us slaves of France, –
The life of King Alphonso

I saved at Ronceval,
Your words, lord king, were recompense

Abundant for it all.

“ Your horse was down,

your hope was flown, Ye saw the falchion shine, That soon had drank your royal blood,

Had I not ventured mine.
But memory, soon, of service done

Deserteth the ingrate;
And ye’ve thanked the son for life and crown

By the father's bloody fate.

Ye pledged to me your kingly faith

To set Don Sancho free;
But curse upon your paltering breath!

The light he ne'er did see;
He died in dungeon cold and dim,

By Alphonso's base decree;
And visage blind, and mangled limb,

Were all they gave to me.

“The king that swerveth from his word

Hath stained his purple black;
No Spanish lord shall draw his sword

Behind a liar's back.
But noble vengeance shall be mine,

And oven hate I'll show ;
The king hath injured Carpio's line,

And Bernard is his foe !"

'Seize, — seize him!” loud the king doth

scream, “There are a thousand here, Let his foul blood this instant stream. What! caitiffs, do


fear? Seize, seize the traitor !” But not one

To move a finger dareth ; Bernardo standeth by the throne,

And calm his sword he bareth. .

He drew the falchion from its sheath,

And held it up on high;
And all the hall was still as death ; -

Cries Bernard, “ Here am I,
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."

Then to his mouth his horn he drew,

It hung below his cloak,
His ten true men the signal knew,

And through the ring they broke;
With helm on head, and blade in hand,

The knights the circle break,
And back the lordlings 'gan to stand,

And the false king to quake.

“ Ha! Bernard!" quoth Alphonso,

“ What means this warlike guise ? Ye know full well I jested;

Ye know your worth I prize!” – Bernardo turned upon his heel,

And smiling passed away. — Long rued Alphonso and Castile

The jesting of that day!

LOCKEART 149. Washington.

Ir matters very little what spot may have been the birthplace of Washington. No people can claim, no country can appropriate him. The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered, and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm had passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared! how bright, in the brow of the firmament, was the planet which it revealed to us!

In the production of Washington, it does really appear as if Nature was endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual instances, no doubt, there were, splendid exemplifications of some singular qualification ; Cæsar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master.

As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that to the soldier and the statesman he almost added the character of the sage! A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood; a revolutionist, he was free from any stain of treason; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the command.

Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it. If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to assign him; whether at the head of her citizens or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the

last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation.

Who, like Washington, after having emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might almost be said to have created ?

• How shall we rank thee upon Glory's page,

Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage ?
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee,

Far less, than all thou hast forborne to be!” Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of partiality in his estimate of America. Happy, proud America ! The lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy! The temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism.


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150. Rights of the Indians defended.

Think of the country for which the Indians fought' Who can blame them? As Philip looked down from his seat on Mount Hope, that glorious eminence, that

throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand,

Showers on her kings barbaric pomp and gold," – as he looked down and beheld the lovely scene which spread beneath at a summer sunset, — the distant hill tops blazing with gold, the slanting beams streaming along the waters, the broad plains, the island groups, the majestic forest, could he be blamed, if his heart burned within him, as he beheld it all passing, by no tardy process, from beneath his control into the hands of the stranger ? As the river chieftains - the lords of the waterfalls and the mountains ranged this lovely valley, can it be wondered at, if they beheld with bitterness the forest disappearing beneath the settler's axe — the fishing-place disturbed by his sa:-mills ? Can we not fancy the feelings with which some strong. minded savage, in company with a friendly settler, contemplating the progress already made by the white man, and marking the gigantic strides with which he was advancing irto the wilderness, would fold his arms and say, “ White man, there is eternal war between me and thee! I quit not the land of my fathers, but with my life. In those woods, where I bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store of food; on these fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the land is mine. I understand not these paper rights. I gave not my consent, when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were purchased for a few bawbles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How could my father sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon ? They knew not what they did. The stranger came, a timid suppliant, and asked to lie down on the red man's bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man's fire, and have a little piece of land, to raise corn for his women and children; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says, “It is mire.' Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup; the white man's dog barks at the red man's heels. If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots ? Shall I wander to the 'vest, - the fierce Mohawk — the man-eater

is my foe. Shall I fly to the east, the great water is before me. No, stranger; here I have lived, and here will I die; and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war between me and thee. Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction ; for that alone I thank thee; and now take heed to thy steps: the red man

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