"This is my own, my native land!"
Then they all saw something was to pay; but he expected to get through, I suppose, turned a little pale, but plunged on,—
"Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand?—
If such there breathe, go, mark him well,"—
By this time the men were all beside themselves, wishing there was any way to make him turn over two pages; but he had not quite presence of mind for that; he gagged a little, colored crimson, and staggered on,—
"For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,