A prince can mak a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might,

Gude faith he maunna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o sense, and pride o' worth,

Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray, that come it may,

As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

HOHENLINDEN.--Campbell.

On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neighed

To join the dreadful revelry.

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing.
My spirit flew in feathers,

That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow,
I remember, I remember,

The fir-trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender spires,

Were close against the sky.
It was a childish ignorance,-

But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven,

Than when I was a boy.

HONEST POVERTY.—Burns.

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that; The coward-slave we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a' that. For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that, The rank is but the guinea stamp,

The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hoddin grey, and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that ;
For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o' men for a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might,

Gude faith he maunna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o sense, and pride o' worth,

Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray, that come it may,

As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

HOHENLINDEN.-Campbell.

On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neighed

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven

Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry.

Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet;
And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

OTHELLO'S ORATION TO THE SENATE.

Shakspeare.

Most potent, grave, and reverend Seigniors,
My very noble and approved good masters;
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true I have married her;
The
very

head and front of my offending
Hath this extent—no more. Rude am I in my speech
And little blessed with the set phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,

Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ;
And therefore shall I little grace my cause,
In speaking for myself. Yet by your gracious patience
I will a round unvarnished tale deliver
Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For such proceeding I am charged withal)
I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me, oft invited me;
Still questioned me the story of my life,
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have passed.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it :
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field ;
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history.

These things to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline;
But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse : which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means,
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffered. My story being done,