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A band of martial nobles brave advance with leal accord,
And with serene and warlike grace salute their sovran lord.

Then swore the King a mighty oath, with arm uplifted high,
"By Him who fills the eternal throne, and rear'd yon azure sky,
By all the saints that people heaven, and by yon dawning sun,
This day I'll glut my deep revenge, and prove my father's son!
Too long have I deferred to pay those solemn vows I swore
Unto my gracious sire what time he died on Solway's shore.
Methinks I hear his dying voice command with panting breath
To boil the flesh from off his bones when pass'd his soul in death,
And at the head of our array his sainted relics bear,
That in our conflicts with the Scots he might our triumphs share.
Now right beneath mine itching heel is placed the rebel foe,
And soon upon their traitor heads shall sink the crushing blow.
Here to destruction I devote mine and my father's foes,
Those stiff-neck'd and rebellious tribes I doom to wrathful woes-
As one vast votive sacrifice now to my father's ghost,
I offer up acceptable, yon church-anathemed bost!
Most grateful to his sainted shade its purple smoke shall rise :
Atonement meet for all my faults in his upbraiding eyes.
Shall England's potent arm of steel, which smote fierce Erin down,
And added her, with ancient Wales, unto our glorious crown-
Shall that strong arm be palsied now, when lifted to chastise
A poor and scanty rebel race that our roused rage defies!
What, shall our lofty Norman race, whose fathers with their swords
Cross'd the pale sea in days of yore and made them England's lords,
Trampling the Saxon in the dust, where yet our serfs they lie,
With Wales and Erin cowering down beneath our mastery?-
Hell scourge our race if now we fail, with this selected might,
Of our thralled realms to make as sure serfs of the Scots ere night.
Those dwellers on the mountains bare--yon hungry robber crew,
Shall they affront great England's might, nor reap chastisement due?
Lo, clothed with vengeance, here I stand like Jove prepared to pour
The lightnings of my fury forth, and blast them evermore!
That anarch Bruce, the traitor false, who oft with me did rove,
My mate in boyhood's sunny prime, while mimic knights we strove,
l'ngrateful Caitiff! yesterday he thought to win renown
When in the presence of the hosts d'Bohun was cloven down,
And when with us our warlike chiefs, and peers in council sage,
Determined Stirling to relieve, he barr'd our way with rage,
Driving our succours gruffly back, and baffling our set plan,
And slaying valiant Daynecourt, with many a gallant man!
Enough—why waste we further time, prating on themes like these,
Ho! let our host be marshall’d forth--spread banners to the breeze !"

“My gracious liege,” Earl Pembroke said, “ thy baleful curse this day Shall doubtless be accomplished full, upon yon doom'd array ; For is not thine the mightiest host, and best appointed far That ever any English King yet marshall’d into war? Oh, that to-day thy sainted sire could stoop from heaven one hour To see this host and hear thy words heavy with godlike power!"

D'Argentine with scornful lip, thus bitingly replied, “Since Pembroke hath the lion kill'd, his share should be the hide! I do admire his confidence—he speaks as all were done The Scots with words are cut to shreds—the battle's fought and won! Catch ye the northern lion first—then kill him as ye mayBut first to kill, and then to hunt, is rather wondrous play.

I boast not of my deeds in arms, though I have seen some game,
Yet I prefer to fight and win ere I the victory claim.
I am no prophet, nor the son of any ancient seer,
And on the edge of battle keen, I am not wont to fear;
Yet must I frankly here avow, to me appears yon host
Beneath a sage commander's trunch, who will maintain his post.
The order of his battle seems judicious for his force,
The ground is chosen skilfully, to foil our fiercest horse.
A nobler feat of chivalry mine eyes did ne'er behold,
Than yesterday the Bruce achieved—so measured, cool, and bold!
Not wrathful words but heavy blows, not saints from heaven we want,
'Tis sturdy arms and gallant hearts shall give us cause to vaunt.
Then to the God of Battles leave the issue of the deed :
If Victory fail to crown our arms—one heart at least shall bleed."

“ Brave Argentine!” Earl Pembroke cried, “thy words do prick

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mine ear,

Such bitter taunts, such stinging speech unmoved I may not hear.
On the verge of conflict stand we both against a traitor foe-
This rebel outrage crushd--my gage I now before you throw-
To meet thee, noble Argentine, in deadly combat hot,
And vindicate mine honour foul'd, or die upon the spot!
Not only is my speech defiled with braggart's odious stain,
But sneer'd at are my Sovereign's words, as shallow, weak, and vain.
Though I might stomach all the scorn heap'd on my own poor fame,
Yet duty to my Sovereign cries, Revenge his slander'd name!"

D'Argentine, despite all blame, or praise, or hope, or fear,
Coolly rejoin'd, yet bold and firm, in spite of prince or peer,
“I came not here to bandy words, but speak what I deem true,
And fight as doth become a knight, with glory's crown in view.
In camp mid arms and toil were spent my days from youth till now,
Nor filed my tongue to courtly phrase, nor train'd to smooth my brow,
Such as I am, blunt truth I speak, whatever may betide,
Too old a soldier now am I to flatter power or pride,
The gage the noble Earl throws down I take up as I ought :
I neither seek nor shun this match–I spake but as I thought."

Deep boil'd the King with stifled rage against d'Argentine, Whose sober truth and sense would not with his vain curses twine; Yet smooth from policy, he strove to calm the tempest proud That ruffled brave d'Argentine, but stormed in Pembroke loud. “ This mortal combat I forbid!”-loudly exclaim'd the King“In token of our royal will, I down my warder fling: Pembroke, my kinsman true and brave, on thine allegiance now I charge thee to resume thy gage, and calm thy wrathful brow! And thou, d'Argentine the stout, renown'd for prowess high, We must thy bold and cutting words let pass unheeded by, Deeming them spoken not in scorn, but all in honest zeal, For England's glory, our fair fame, and for the general weal: This is I do believe in sooth the fountain-source of all, Those gibes at me and Pembroke launch'd and which hath stirr'd his

gall; I as the Monarch of you both, beseech-nay, I command That ye, eschewing hate and rage, as brothers clasp the hand !"

“ Obedience prompt a soldier owes unto his lord's behest "Pembroke replied—"I yield my hand and hold the past a jest.' “I give thee mine"-quoth Argentine" and swear by this true heart, That hate, or rage, or malice vile had in my words no part.”

Thus blunt and generous Argentine with frank uniron'd hand,
Right hearty that of Pembroke grasp'd, who smiled--a serpent bland !
But all unmark'd by Argentine, was Pembroke's artful guise,
While thus King Edward's royal voice with joyful accents cries-

“Brave Lordings! all our discord heal'd, let hatred now our rage Into a tiger-temper rouse, then vengeful slaughter wage!”

Now spake the Marshall Deputy of England's regal host-
For fair Prince Thomas, Norfolk's Earl, too young to fill his post,
" Most gracious King, the day is young, and I would deem it right
That man and horse should have repast before they arm for fight,
Belike there's heavy work to-day, and summer days are long,
And ere we meet again to dine it may be even-song."

“Well thought, d'Segrave," quoth the King, “let man and horse be fed;
Yet ere yon sun reach noon, I trust ten thousand Scots have bled !
And all the rest like summer dust are swept our might before,
While to our weary hands cleave stiff, our good sword's dripping gore!
See in one hour that our array be marshall d fresh and fair,
And forthwith let each leader brave unto his post repair."

Now swift these valiant peers disperseobey their lord's command, While to the barriers Edward rides to scan the Scottish band.


( Continued from page 73.) Pestalozzi had now found out the thorough principle of education, and it was not long before an opportunity presented itself whereby it was thoroughly tested. The inhabitants of the canton of Unterwalden had, by their conscientious resistance to the Helvetic Republic, brought down upon their heads the vengeance of the French, who had revolutionised the greater part of Switzerland, and overawed the rest. Stantz, the capital of Unterwalden was sacked and burned. The inhabitants were mercilessly massacred without distinction of age or sex. Those who escaped fled to the mountains till the spoilers had retreated. When they descended to their former homes, they beheld nothing but blood and ashes. The Helvetic government, deeply deploring the unnecessary severity, hastened to rebuild the ruined city, and provide for its bereaved citizens. The destitate children were collected, and Pestalozzi was invited to take charge of them. The Ursuline convent, not yet completed, was assigned as their asylum. The only room fit for occupation was one about twenty-four feet square, and that was unfurnished. This room had to serve as school-room, kitchen and dormitory. Being continually overcrowded, disorder, uncleanliness, and even disease could not well be avoided. Notwithstanding, Pestalozzi did not despair. He tried to achieve the greatest amount of good possible under the circumstances. Nor were these the most formidable obstacles he had to surmount. The guardians of the children were continually finding fault with what was beyond Pestalozzi's power to remedy, and frequently attributed to the teacher what was in reality the fault of the pupil. "Mothers, who supported themselves by open beggary from door to door, would, upon visiting the establishment, find some cause of discontent, and take their children away because they would be no worse off at home. Upon Sundays especially, the fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts, cousins, and other relations of various degrees, made their appearance, and taking the children apart in some corner of the house, or in the street, elicited complaints of every kind, and either took the children with them, or left them discontented and peevish. Many were brought to the asylum with no other intention than to have them clothed, which being done, they were removed at the first opportunity, and often without an ostensible reason. Others required to be paid for leaving their children, to compensate for the diminished produce of their beggary. Others, again, wanted to make a regular bargain for how many days in the week they should have a right to take them out on begging errands, and their proposal being rejected, they went away, indignantly declaring that unless their terms were acceded to they would fetch away the children in a couple of days, a threat which some of them actually made good.” This kind of opposition a teacher feels acutely. He calculates upon the perversity of circumstances, and of the natures he is developing, but the denial of moral sympathy from those whose natural duties he is discharging, cuts him to the quick, and seriously discourages him unless, like Pestalozzi, he finds sympathy sufficient in the consciousness of having performed duties acceptable to the great Master of life. Pestalozzi could look beyond the present for the reward of his labour. He was one of those enthusiasts whom honest singleness of purpose, based upon an almost intuitional perception of truth, frees from the damning scepticism concerning human power and human attainment. How much need has mankind of the sanguine, hopeful spirit of such men, especially in our own day, when that cold frost of scepticism has nipped and blighted so much of our sterling faith!

In the midst of this confusion and distraction, Pestalozzi set to work methodically, if not systematically. His method was that of nature, and required no apparatus save that which every mind carries about with it. He had his pupils and himself, if we may so express it, and these were all he required besides what lay around them and within them. He had only to make himself acquainted with their experiences, and they were ready for effective work. This method, however, was not exactly his own choice. Necessity compelled him to adopt it; but what was begun from necessity was continued afterwards from choice. The “rationale" of his method was this: “He directed his whole attention towards the natural elements which are deposited in the child's mind. He taught numbers instead of ciphers, living sounds instead of dead characters, deeds of faith and love instead of abstruse creeds, substances instead of shadows, realities instead of signs. He led the intellect of his children to the discovery of truths which in the nature of things they could never forget, instead of burdening their memory with the recollection of words which, likewise in the nature of things, they could never understand. Instead of building up a dead mind and a dead heart on the ground of the dead letter, he drew forth life to the mind, and life to the heart, froin the fountain of life within.” The routine of system may vary with different individuals, or even with the same individual, but the method never may, for providence in nature is fixed and determinate. Truly, too, hath the poet said, “ Heaven lies about us in our infancy;" for with the simple trusting faith of the child we ought to inquire “the way, the truth, the life,” from the ministers of good that form the unseen spirit of the universe. Pestalozzi could see into the spirit of things, and abstract the spiritual good. He had but to instil his enthusiasm into the minds of his pupils, by showing them the way, the truth, and the life, in a form suited to their capacities, and as soon as that was fairly kindled within them, his main purpose was gained; for all true education cometh from within.

The educator is but a guide well skilled in the method of nature. Each intelligent soul does and alone can do the main work by itself, so that self-education is only true and thorough.

Pestalozzi addressed himself to his work like a man inspired Indeed, the highest intuitional power possible for man to have was required for it. His genius was only equalled by his devotedness ;witness the following picture: “There, in the midst of his children, he forgot that there was any world besides his asylum; and as their circle was an universe to him, so was he to them all in all. From morn to night he was the centre of their existence. To him they owed every comfort and every enjoyment; and whatever hardships they had to endure he was their fellow-sufferer. He partook of their meals, and slept amongst them. In the evening he prayed with them before they went to bed, and from his conversation they dropped into the arms of slumber. At the first dawn of light it was his voice that called them to the light of the rising sun, and to the praise of their heavenly Father. All day he stood amongst them, teaching the ignorant and assisting the helpless, encouraging the weak and admonishing the transgressor. His hand was daily with them, joined in theirs; his eye, beaming with benevolence, rested on theirs. He wept when they wept, and rejoiced when they rejoiced. He was to them a father, and they were to him as children.' His method, which some might consider no method at all, is thus discriminatingly described by Biber, from whom we have quoted pretty freely already: “They (the children) had no tasks to get, but they had always something to investigate, or to think about. They gained little positive knowledge, but they increased daily in the love of knowledge, and in the power of acquiring it. They might have been at a loss if called upon to quote texts in support of any particular doctrine of Christianity, but in the practice of its virtues they were perpetually exercised. The whole tendency of Pestalozzi's instruction was not to initiate his children in the use of those phrases which form the currency of the scientific, literary, political, and religious world, nor to habituate them to any sort of routine for the future purposes of business, but to raise their state intellectually and morally by a treatment conformable to the law of God in human



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