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ad-vanced' fare-well hen-coops con-vulsive ac-com-pan-ied as-sail' fore-mast twi-light de-scrip-tive fam-il-iar bow-sprit fore-most ech-o-ing des-o-late im-me-di-ate-ly

[LORD GEORGE BYRON (b. 1788, d. 1824) was born in London. He received the rudiments of his education in the grammar school of Aberdeen. The poet has immortalised his affectionate recollections of his early life in Scotland in "Lochnagar," and the verses of "Auld Lang Syne" in "Don Juan." In 1798 he succeeded to the family title and estates, and was sent by his guardian, Lord Carlisle, to Harrow, and thence to Cambridge in 1804. On quitting Cambridge he soon after published his "Hours of Idleness;" the severe criticism of which, in the "Edinburgh Review," elicted the first specimen of the noble poet's real power in the satire "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." Lord Byron made a tour on the continent, from which he returned in 1811, but soon set out again on a similar excursion. The insurrection of the Greeks having broken out in 1821, he resolved to devote his fortune, his pen, and his sword to their cause. He caught a fever in consequence of his exertions, and died at Missolonghi. A few of his leading works are "Childe Harold,' "The Bride of Abydos," "Lara," "Hebrew Melodies," "Don Juan," etc.]

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1. 'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down
Over the waste of waters; like a veil,

Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown.
Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.
Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,
And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale,
And the dim desolate deep: twelve days had Fear
Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

2. At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars,
And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose,
That still could keep afloat the struggling tars;
For yet they strove, although of no great use.
There was no light in heaven but a few stars;

The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews:
She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port,
And, going down head-foremost,—sunk, in short.

3. Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell,

Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the braveThen some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave;

And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy,

And strives to strangle him before he dies.

4. And first one universal shriek there rush'd,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd,

Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry

Of some strong swimmer in his agony.—Byron.

SUMMARY.-For twelve days the crew and all on board had been in danger. At twilight the sky was clouded, and the water was covered with a haze. The decks were cleared of everything that could be thrown overboard in hopes that the ship might be lightened. At last some left the ship in boats, which were greatly overcrowded. Soon after the vessel heeled over and went down head foremost. A wild shriek rent the air, and some leaped overboard in their distress. The sea soon closed over all, and a deep hush fell upon the scene. Nothing was heard but the wild wind and the dash of billows, unless a solitary shriek, the bubbling cry of one who struggled to the end.

A-bate', become less severe.
An-tic-i-pate, take before the

Blight-ed, destroyed.

Re-morse-less, without regret.
Soli-tar-y, lonely.
Tim-id, afraid.
Tran-scends', goes beyond.


How long had the vessel been in danger? When did the fatal hour arrive? How did some try to escape? What happened to

the vessel? How did the people on board behave-the timid? the brave? the rash? What cries were heard?

EXERCISES.-1. Parse and analyse-Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell.

2. Nouns are formed by adding tude, ity, ure, y, which mean "the state of being, condition, or quality; as, solitude, state of being alone (solus, alone); felicity, state of being happy (felix, felicis, happy); verdure, state of being green (ver, the spring); modesty, state of being modest. Give the exact meaning of the following words— fortitude (fortis, strong), activity, pleasure, bigamy (bi, twice, gamos, a marriage).

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[ROBERT DODSLEY (b. 1703, d. 1764) was born at Mansfield, of poor parents; and though he commenced life as a footman, he rose to considerable eminence as a dramatic author and essayist. The most celebrated of his theatrical pieces is "Cleone," and the most useful of his speculations the Annual Register," commenced in 1758 in conjunction with Edmund Burke.]


1. KING [aside].—No, no; this can be no public road, that's certain. I am lost, quite lost, indeed. Of what advantage is it now to be a king? Night shows me no respect. I cannot see better than another man, nor walk so well. What is a king? Is he not wiser than another man? Not without his counsellors, I plainly find. Is he not more powerful? I oft have been told so, indeed; but what now can my power command? Is he not greater and more magnificent? When seated on his throne, and surrounded by nobles and flatterers, perhaps he may think so; but when lost in a wood, alas! what is he but a common man? His wisdom knows not which is north and which is south; his power a beggar's dog would bark at; and his greatness the beggar would not bow to. And yet, how oft are we puffed up with these false attributes! Well, in losing the monarch I have found the man. [The report of a gun is heard.] Hark! some villain sure is near! What were it best to do? Will my majesty protect me? No. Throw majesty aside, then, and let manhood do it.

2. MILLER [enters].-I believe I hear the rogue. Who's there ?

3. KING.-No rogue, I assure you.

4. MILLER.-Little better, friend, I believe. Who fired that gun ?

5. KING.-Not I, indeed.

6. MILLER.-You lie, I believe.

7. KING [aside].-Lie! lie! How strange it seems to me to be talked to in this style! Upon my word, I don't. 8. MILLER.-Come, come, sir, confess; you have shot one of the king's deer, have you not?

9. KING.-No, indeed; I owe the king more respect. I heard a gun go off, indeed, and was afraid some robbers might be near.

10. MILLER-I'm not bound to believe this, friend. Pray, who are you? What's your name?

11. KING.-Name!

12. MILLER.-Name! yes, name. Why, you have a name, have you not? Where do you come from? What is your business here?

13. KING. These are questions I have not been used to, honest man.

14. MILLER.-May be so, honest man; but they are questions no honest man would be afraid to answer, I think; so, if you can give no better account of yourself, I shall make bold-to take you along with me, if you please.

15. KING. With you! what authority have you to-?

16. MILLER. The king's authority: if I must give you an account, sir. I am John Cockle, the miller of Mansfield, one of his majesty's keepers in this forest of Sherwood; and I will let no suspected fellow pass this

way that cannot give a better account of himself than you have done, I promise you.

17. KING [aside].-I must submit to my own authority. —Very well, sir, I am glad to hear that the king has so good an officer; and since I find you have his authority, I will give you a better account of myself, if you will do me the favour to hear it.

18. MILLER. It's more than you deserve, I believe; but let's hear what you can say for yourself.

19. KING. I have the honour to belong to the king as well as you, and, perhaps, should be as unwilling to see any wrong done him. I came down with him to hunt in this forest; and the chase leading us to-day a great way from home, I am benighted in this wood, and have lost my way.

20. MILLER. This does not sound well. If you have been a-hunting, pray, where is your horse?

21. KING.—I tired my horse so much that he lay down under me, and I was obliged to leave him.

22. MILLER.--If I thought I might believe this, now— 23. KING. I am not used to lie, honest man.

24. MILLER.—What! do you live at court and not lie ? That's a likely story, indeed.

25. KING. -Be that as it may, I speak truth now, I assure you. To convince you of it, if you attend me to Nottingham (if I am near it), or give me a night's lodging in your own house, here is something to pay you for your trouble [giving him a purse]. If that is not sufficient, I will satisfy you in the morning to your utmost desire.

26. MILLER.-Ay, now I am convinced you are a courtier: here is a little bribe for to-day, and a large promise for to-morrow, both in a breath.

I.R. V.

Here, take


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