THE GRENDEL.

Grim was his smile to see the banquet spread;
It seemed as if, obedient to his wish,

Fortune that night so many victims sent

To please his gory tooth.

In purpose firm

Higlac's brave kinsman watched; and much he mused
How he within his sudden grasp might close

The hated foe. Nor sluggish was the Grendel :

In former visits little had it cost

To seize his sleeping victims, and their bones
To crush exultingly, while from the veins.
The purple current streamed; but of the limbs,
Lifeless and mangled, feet and hands alone
Became his horrid repast.

Near he drew,

And with his hands the waking chieftain seized,
On couch reclined. But swifter rose the thane,
And in his sudden grasp the demon dashed
Against the floor resplendent. Sore dismayed,
The Grendel felt that in his wanderings
Throughout the regions of the middle earth,
Never had stronger man his grasp assailed.
In terror sudden, much the monster wished
To flee precipitate; in darkness wrapt,

To seek the shelter of his demon home.

ELOVED cell, retirement's sweet abode !
Farewell, a last farewell, thy poet bids thee!
Beloved cell, by smiling woods embraced,
Whose branches, shaken by the genial breeze,
To meditation oft my mind disposed.
Around thee too their health-reviving herbs
In verdure gay the fertile meadows spread;
And murmuring near, by flowery banks confined,
Through fragrant meads the crystal streamlets

glide,

Wherein his nets the joyful fisher casts.
And fragrant with the apple-bending bough,
With rose and lily joined, thy gardens smile;
While jubilant along thy verdant glades

A FAREWELL TO HIS CELL.

At dawn his melody each songster pours,
And to his God attunes the notes of praise.
Yet sweeter far the sounds which thou hast heard,
When to my infant mind by Christian sage
The books of holy wisdom were explained.
Still sweeter those which silent nature heard,
When grateful songs to heaven's great King arose.
Beloved cell, in mournful strains, alas!

And flowing tears, I leave thy ivy'd roof.
No more thy silence shall the Muses break;
No more beneath thy classic shade recline
Famed Horace, or the greater sire of song.

No more, when strangers' feet these precincts tread,
Thy solitudes with youthful music ring.
Thus all things change; in mortal life
There's no stability; like sudden gloss,

Swift fades the splendour of this slippery world:
The brightest day is soon by darkness driven;
By frosty blasts the fairest flowers are nipt;
By rising winds the tranquil sea is vexed:
Here swifter youth the nimble stag pursues;
There, o'er his staff incumbent, totters age.
Why, world delusive, eager to betray,
Do we, blind mortals, love thee?