They fly, or, maddened by despair, Fight but to die." Is Wilton there?". With that, straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen drench'd with gore, And in their arms, a helpless load, A wounded knight they bore. His hand still strained the broken brand; With dinted shield, and helmet beat, Said" By Saint George, he's gone! Good night to Marmion." "Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling cease: He opes his eyes." Said Eustace," peace !" When doffed his casque, he felt free air, Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare:-- "Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! Redeem my pennon,-charge again! Cry- Marmion to the rescue!'- Vain! Last of my race, on battle plain That shout shall ne'er be heard again!- Tunstall lies dead upon the field; His life-blood stains the spotless shield: Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, Must I bid twice?-hence, varlets, fly! They parted and alone he lay, Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring To slake my dying thirst?" O woman! in our hours of ease, By the light quivering aspen made; Scarce were the piteous accents said, Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears: She stooped her by the runnel's side, A monk supporting Marmion's head; To shrive the dying, bless the dead... Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, For, wasting fire, and dying groan, It may not be-this dizzy trance- The war, that for a space did fail, With dying hand above his head "Charge! Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion. THE TORTOISE-SHELL TOM-CAT. Oн, what a story the papers have been telling us, And who ever thought but an Auctioneer of selling us, Of its beauties and its qualities, no doubt he told them fine tales, Are every one By Tom outdone, [Spoken.]-We'll suppose Mr. Cat's-eye, the Auctioneer, with his catalogue in one hand, and a hammer like a Catapulta in the other, mounted in the rostrum at the great room in Cateaton-street. 'Hem Leds and Gemmen-Cats are of two distinctions ; Thomas and Tabby-This is of the former breed, and the only instance in which I have seen beauty monopolized by a male ! Look at him, ladies! what a magnificent mouser; meek though masculine ! The curious concatenation of colour in that Cat, calls Categorically for your best bidding. Place a proper price on poor Pussy; consult your feline bosons, and bid me knock him down. Ladies and Gentlemen, a-going, going, going Any sum for Tommy Tortoise-shell you can't think dear.' Next I shall tell ye, the company around him, They emulously bade as if they were all wild; Tom thought them mad, while they King of Kittens crown'd him, Killing Kitty Crookedlegs, and neat Miss Nelly Neverwed, By all that's good, As you shall hear. [Spoken in different voices.]-Irish Lady-Och, the dear crater, how beautiful he looks when he shuts his eyes! beautiful indeed! He'd even lure the mice to look at him, Auctioneer. Forty-five guineas in twenty places By different Ladies.-Sixty-five !-Seventy !-Eighty !— Ninety Auctioneer.-Go on Ladies; nobody bid more? It's enough to make a Cat swear to think he should go for so little. If the Countess of Catamaran was here, she'd outbid ye all. Miss Grimalkin, you are a connoiseur in Cats, what shall I say?Ninety-five guineas, sir. (In an old tremulous tone.) Auctioneer.-Thank you, Miss- -Mem, it does not signify, you may bid as you will, but he shall be mine, if I bid all day. One hundred and twenty, sir. Auctioneer. Thank you, Lady Letty.-Take a long, last lingering look, Ladies. What a wonder! The only Tortoiseshell Tom the world ever witnessed! See how he twists his tail, and washes his whiskers! Tom, Tom, Tom! (Cat mews.) How musically and divinely he mews, Ladies!-One hundred and seventy guineas, sir. Auctioneer. Thank you, Miss Tabby, you'll not be made a cat's paw of, depend on it.-(Ladies laugh.) Glad to hear you laugh, Ladies: I see how the Cat jumps now; Tommy's going. Ladies and Gentlemen, a-going, going, going, Any sum for Tommy Tortoise-shell you can't think dear. Now louder and warmer the competition growing, Two hundred-two hundred and thirty-three a going- Nay nine or ten fine gentlemen were in the fashion caught, as well, THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. THE sun had just retired; the dews of eve The lonely nightingale began to grieve, Telling, with many a pause, her tenderest tale. 'Twas then, where peasant footsteps mark'd the way, Nor aught regarded he the softening ray, Nor the melodious bird's expressive song. On crutches borne, his mangled limbs he drew, Then, as with strange contortions, labouring slow, In spite of fortitude, one struggling sigh One trembling tear hung ready to depart. "How changed," he cried, "is the fair scene to me, Since last across this narrow path I went; The soaring lark felt not superior glee, Nor any human breast more true content. "O hapless day! when, at a neighbouring wake, "Then, while he bound the ribbands on my brow, "Yet I refused that bounty,-I disdain'd To sell my service in a righteous cause; And such, (to my dull sense it was explain'd) The cause of Monarchs, Justice, and the Laws. "The rattling drums beat loud, the fifes began,- "O helpless day! torn from my Lucy's charms, To painful marches, and the din of arms- "In loathsome vessels now with crowds confined,- |