center of his antagonist's shield, and struck it so fairly and forcibly, that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, the champion had, in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance toward Bois Guilbert's shield; but changing his aim almost in the moment of encounter, he addressed to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Templar on the visor, where his lance's point kept hold of the bars. Yet even at this disadvantage, Bois Guilbert sustained his high reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man, rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust.

11. To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed, was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and stung with madness, both at his disgrace, and the acclamations by which it was hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword, and waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited Knight sprung from his steed', and also unsheathed his sword'. The marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses between' them, and reminded them that the laws of the tournament did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of encounter', but that to the "Disinherited Knight'" the meed of victory was fairly and honorably awarded.

LXII. THE BANNER OF PULASKI.

FROM LONGFELLOW.

PULASKI was a Polish officer who took part with the Americans, and fell at the taking of Savannah, during the American revolution. His standard of crimson silk was presented to him by the Moravians of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, and it became his shroud.

1. WHEN the dying flame of day,
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowled head;
And the censer burning swung,

Where, before the altar, hung

That proud banner, which, with prayer,
Had been consecrated there.

And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle.

2. "Take thy banner!-may it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave,
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the sabbath of our vale,
When the clarion's music thrills
To the heart of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.

3. Take thy banner! and, beneath
The war-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it-till our homes are free;
Guard' it—God will prosper thee!
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.

4. Take thy banner! But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him!-By our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,

Spare him!-he our love hath shared!
Spare him!-as thou wouldst be spared!

5. Take thy banner!-and if e'er

Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat

To the tread of mournful feet,

Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee."

And the warrior took that banner proud',
And it was his martial cloak and shroud.

LXIII. THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND.

FROM CAMPBELL.

THOMAS CAMPBELL is the most classical poet of the present century, and there are few modern bards whose works are more likely to be ranked among the standard classics of the language. He died in 1844.

Pan'dours; Hungarian soldiers.

Hus-sars'; Hungarian horsemen.

1. O sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile,
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued Oppression poured to northern wars
Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars,
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Pealed her loud drum and twanged her trumpet horn;
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,

Presaging wrath to Poland,—and to man!

2. Warsaw's last champion, from her height surveyed,
Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid;

(h) "O Heaven!" he cried, "my bleeding country save!
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our country` yet remains!

By that dread name, we wave the sword on high',
And swear for her-to live-with her to die!"

3. (1) He said`, and on the rampart-heights arrayed
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge or death,—the watch-word' and reply`;
(h) Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm.

4. In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank, your volleyed thunder flew!
Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!

Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear,

Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career;

Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked-as Kosciusko fell!

5. The sun went down', nor ceased the carnage there`,
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air;
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below;
The storm prevails', the rampart yields away,
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Hark! as the smoldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!
Earth shook, red meteors flashed along the sky,
And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry!

6. (h) O righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save?

Where was thine' arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod,
That smote the foes of Zion and of God;

That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yoked in wrath and thundered from afar?
Where was the storm that slumbered till the host
Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast;
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow,
And heaved an ocean on their march below?

7. Departed spirits of the mighty dead'!

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled'!

Friends of the world'! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause and lead the van!
Yet, for Sarmatia's tears of blood, atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return

The patriot TELL -the BRUCE of Bannockburn`!

LXIV.-SOUTH CAROLINA.

FROM HAYNE.

MR. HAYNE was a Senator in Congress from the State of South Carolina. This is an extract from a speech delivered by him, while a member of that body.

1. If there be one state in the Union, Mr. President, that may challenge comparison with any other, for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the Union', that state is South Carolina'. Sir', from the very commencement of the revolution', up to this hour', there is no sacri

fice, however great, she has not cheerfully made'; no service she has ever hesitated to perform.

2. She has adhered to you in your prosperity'; but in your adversity', she has clung to you with more than filial affection'. No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs; though deprived of her resources', divided by parties', or surrounded by difficulties', the call of the country has been to her as the voice of God'. Domestic discord ceased at the sound'; every man became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all seen, crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar of their common country'.

3. What, sir, was the conduct of the South, during the revolution? Sir, I honor New England, for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But great as is the praise which belongs to her', I think at least equal honor is due to the South. Never were there exhibited, in the history of the world', higher examples of noble daring', dreadful suffering', and heroic endurance', than by the whigs of Carolina, during the revolution'. The whole state, from the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe.

4. The plains of Carolina drank up the most precious blood of her citizens. Black, smoking ruins marked the places which had been the habitation of her children. Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even there', the spirit of liberty survived', and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumters' and her Marions', proved, by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people' was invincible.