Practice Book | Page 5

pell-mell
On the
Louvre, face and flank!
You shall look long enough ere you come to
Hervé Riel.
So, for better and for worse,
Hervé Riel, accept my verse!
In my
verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more
Save the squadron, honor

France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!
ROBERT BROWNING.

LOCHINVAR.
I.
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,--
Through all the wild
border his steed was the best!
And, save his good broadsword, he
weapon had none,--
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So
faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like
the young Lochinvar.
II.
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;
He swam the
Eske river where ford there was none.
But, ere he alighted at
Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a
laggard in love and a dastard in war
Was to wed the fair Ellen of
brave Lochinvar.
III.
So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,
'Mong bridesmen, and
kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand
on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word)

"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our
bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
IV.
"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied;
Love swells like
the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
And now am I come, with this lost
love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.


There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
That would gladly
be bride to the young Lochinvar."
V.
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up;
He quaffed off the
wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she
looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye.
He
took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar;
"Now tread we a
measure?" said young Lochinvar.
VI.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a
galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the
bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far
To have matched our
fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
VII.
One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
When they reached
the hall door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair
lady he swung
So light to the saddle before her he sprung:
"She is
won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar;
They'll have fleet
steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
VIII.
There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters,
Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing
and chasing on Cannobie Lee;
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did
they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er
heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
SIR WALTER SCOTT.

EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES.
0. "DAY."
Day!
Faster and more fast;
O'er night's brim, day boils at last:

Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim
Where spurting and
suppressed it lay,
For not a froth-flake touched the rim
Of yonder
gap in the solid gray,
Of the eastern cloud, an hour away;
But forth
one wavelet, then another curled,
Till the whole sunrise, not to be
suppressed,
Rose, reddened, and its seething breast
Flickered in
bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world.
Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee,
A mite of my twelve
hours' treasure,
The least of thy gazes or glances,
(Be they grants
thou art bound to or gifts above measure)
One of thy choices or one
of thy chances,
(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy
pleasure)
--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure,
Then shame
fall on Asolo, mischief on me!
ROBERT BROWNING.
II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING."
The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on
the thorn:
God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world!
ROBERT BROWNING.

THE FEZZIWIG BALL.
Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which
pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his
capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his

organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat,
jovial voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"
A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man,
came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice.
"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas
eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, before a
man can say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of
room here!"
Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or
couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done
in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed
from public life forevermore; the floor was