Biography.—Sir Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1771, and died at Abbotsford in 1832. His first publication, the ballads "Lenore" and "The Wild Huntsman," appeared in 1796. 66 - "The We have no need to mention all his works by name,Waverly Novels," "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," and "The Lady of the Lake" are among those most widely read. Marmion,' Notes.-Sir William Wallace, the champion of Scottish liberty, was executed, by order of Edward I., in London in 1305. The Norse sea-kings were famous navigators from the Norwegian Peninsula. Gôr'get, a piece of armor for defending the throat. 46.-"CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT." sex'ton, an under officer of a turrets, topmost parts of a build Slowly England's sun was setting o'er the hill-tops far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,— He with footsteps slow and weary, she with sunny, floating hair: He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she with lips all cold and white, Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew N must not ring to-night." 66 'Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old, With its turrets tall and gloomy, with its walls dark, damp, and cold, "I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die, At the ringing of the curfew-and no earthly help is nigh: Cromwell N will not come till sunset," and her lips grew strangely white As she breathed the husky whisper,-"Curfew must not ring to-night," "Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton, every word pierced her young heart Like the piercing of an arrow, like a deadly, poisoned dart, Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour; Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow, And within her secret bosom Bessie made a solemn vow. She had listened while the judges read without a tear or sigh, "At the ringing of the curfew, Basil Underwood must die." And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright In an undertone she murmured, -"Curfew must not ring tonight." She with quick steps bounded forward, sprung within the old church door, Left the old man threading slowly paths so oft he'd trod be fore; Not one moment paused the maiden, but with eye and cheek aglow, Mounted up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro; And she climbed the dusty ladder on which fell no ray of light, Up and up-her white lips saying, "Curfew must not ring to-night." She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great, dark bell; Awful is the gloom beneath her, like a pathway down to hell. Lo, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 'tis the hour of curfew now, And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled her brow, Shall she let it ring? No, never! Flash her eyes with sudden light, And she springs and grasps it firmly, -"Curfew shall not ring to-night." Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a speck of light below, 'Twixt heaven and earth her form suspended, as the bell swung to and fro, And the sexton at the bell-rope, old and deaf, heard not the bell, But he thought it still was ringing fair young Basil's funeral knell. Still the maiden clung most firmly, and with trembling lips and white, Said to hush her heart's wild beating,- "Curfew shall not ring to-night." It was o'er, the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more Firmly on the dark old ladder, where for hundred years before, Human foot had not been planted. The brave deed that she had done Should be told long ages after, as the rays of setting sun Should illume the sky with beauty; aged sires with heads of white, Long should tell the little children, Curfew did not ring that night. O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie sees him, and her brow, Full of hope and full of gladness, has no anxious traces now. torn; And her face so sweet and pleading, yet with sorrow pale and worn, Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eye with misty light : "Go, your lover lives," said Cromwell; "Curfew shall not ring to-night!" ROSA HARTWICK THORPE, |