he did not spurn'; and whether amid Alpine rocks',--Arabian
sands',--or Polar snows',---he seemed proof' against peril', and empowered
with ubiquity'.

III. HAMLET ON SEEING THE SKULL OF YORICK.

Alas, poor Yorick'! I knew him', Horatio'; a fellow of infinite jest', of
most excellent fancy'. He hath borne me on his back' a thousand times';
and now', how abhorred my imagination is'! My gorge rises' at it. Here
hung those lips that I have kissed', I know not how oft', Where be your
gibes' now? your gambols'? your songs'? your flashes of merriment', that
were wont to set the table on a roar'? Not one', now, to mock your own
grinning'? quite chopfallen'? Now get you to my lady's chamber' and tell
her', let her paint an inch thick' to this favor' she must come'; make her
laugh at that'.

IV. DESCRIPTION OF A BATTLE.

Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew'
With wavering flight', while fiercer grew
Around, the battle yell.
The border slogan rent the sky',
A Home'! a Gordon'! was the cry';
Loud' were the clanging blows';
Advanced',--forced back',--now low',--now high',
The pennon sunk'--and rose';
As bends the bark's mast in the gale',
When rent are rigging', shrouds', and sail',
It wavered 'mid the foes'.
The war, that for a space did fail',
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale',
And Stanley'! was the cry;
A light on Marmion's visage spread',
And fired his glazing eye':--
With dying' hand', above his head',
He shook the fragment of his blade',
And shouted',--"Victory'!
Charge', Chester', charge'! On' Stanley', on'!"--
Were the last words of Marmion.

V. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

For the inflections and emphasis in this selection, let the pupil be
guided by his own judgment.

A chieftain to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle
This dark and stormy water?"
"Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?"

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight
"I'll go, my chief--I'm ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:

"And, by my word! t