« AnteriorContinuar »
Gone are the knights of Italy;
The paladins of Spain;
Lies low as Charlemagne.
In England or in France, Would meet with no adventure now
Worth lifting of the lance. Throughout the land of Libya
Were good St. George to speed,
From dragons to be freed.
Or if they linger still,
No dire dun-cows they kill.
There met he six of his forlorn disciples,
“Friends, as was the Lord then,
Such, in the royal chapel of Palermo,
Low bent the crowd within the royal chapel,
The breast-plates and the caps of steel,
'Mongst common things are laid; Even Wallace's two-handed sword
Is now a rusty blade.
Its caves and castles strong;
Live but in ancient song!
Oh! wondrous days of old romance,
How pleasant do ye seem;
For winter-nights a theme !
To call to life again
And those Caerleon men!
To see the steeds whereon they rode,
It was a goodly sight;
So coal-black and so white !
Oh, 't was a wondrous pleasant thing,
When I was but a child, To live in those old times, to meet
Adventure strange and wild!
And even still the charm is strong ;
But it is not now as then, For I see the tombs wherein they lie,
And not the living men!
This town has the distinguished honour of being the birthplace of Lords Eldon and Stowell, who were also both educated at its grammar-school. The eighth anniversary of the British Association for the Advancement of Science was held here during the autumn of 1838. On that occasion Dr. Buckland, referring to the many noble literary and scientific institutions which now adorn the place, remarked, that "twenty. five years ago he was in Newcastle, and the Literary and Philosophical Society was the only institution of a literary or scientific character ; but in subsequent years many other societies had sprung up. It was in the recollection of persons now living, that before any of these societies existed in Newcastle, cock-fighting, and bull and bear baiting, were the recreations of the inhabitants; but in this latter day, how great a change! In the former period, Newcastle was chiefly famous as the centre whence radiated physical heat, and for its transcendent grindstones, which were celebrated from China to Peru: but now it gave out to afar, mental light and heatand was an intellectual whetstone for the minds of men."
VESPERS IN THE CAPELLA REALE.
1282 “ T was on the Easter Monday, in the evening, After the Sabbath of the Saviour's rising Twelve hundred years, and eighty years and two, From this same Easter Monday—that at vespers, The blessed Saviour, who had not ascended Yet to the Father, walked upon the sea-shore.
A Cily-Street. I LOVE the fields, the woods, the streams,
The wild-flowers fresh and sweet,
The crowded city-street;
I see within the city-street
Life's most extreme estates, The gorgeous domes of palaces;
The prison's doleful grates; The hearths by household virtues blest, The dens that are the serpent's nest.
I see the rich man, proudly fed
And richly clothed, pass by;
With hunger in his eye;
What dreary deeds of woe,
Their arras chambers know! Yet is without all smooth and fair, As heaven's blue dome of summer air!
And even the portliest citizen,
Within his doors doth hide Some household grief, some secret care,
From all the world beside : It ever was, it must be so, For human heritage is woe!
Hence is it that a city-street
Can deepest thought impart, For all its people, high and low,
Are kindred to my heart; And with a yearning love I share In all their joy, their pain, their care!
The quiet cattle feeding
In meadows bright as gold, In pastoral vales exceeding
Their Arcady of old, Are England's, and surround me;
But far-off regions gleam In golden light around me,
And shapes as of a dream. Old realms of Indian story,
By witchery of thought, Wrapt in a hazy glory
Before my soul are brought! The Himalaya mountains,
The heavenly lands below, The Ganges' sacred fountains
Beneath the eternal snow! I see them like the vision
That fills the poet's eye, A cloudland-world elysian
Built in the sunset-sky. I see them in far ages
In primal splendour shine, Peopled by kings and sages,
Earth's oldest, proudest line. With them the great World-Giver,
As they believed, abode, And, symbolled in their River,
Diffusing blessing, flowed. The cities which they builded
With gold were overlaid, The sceptres which they wielded
To rule the world were made. Earth kept no hidden treasure,
Gold, marble, or rich gem; And the water without measure
Poured out its wealth for them. Upon their silken raiment
Was set the diamond-stone; And kingly-given payment
Was but in gold alone. While England yet was forest,
And idol-gods adored ; While yet her wounds were sorest
Beneath the Roman sword; These kingliest of earth's children
Sate on their ivory thrones, Their golden sceptres wielding
O'er myriad-peopled zones. But the glory hath departed !
Earth's oldest, proudest born, Gold-robed, imperial-hearted,
Lie in their tombs forlorn! And the great River's waters
Are swollen with blood, not rain And Brahma's sons and daughters Cry from the earth in vain.
VIEW NEAR DEOBUN, AMONG THE
A SUMMER DAY-DREAM.
I sit 'mid flowery meadows,
I list the cuckoo's cry;
Athwart the green grass lie.
Runs shimmering in the sheen; And silvery aspens quiver
Along its margent green. I hear the warbling linnet;
The wild bee humming round; And every passing minute
Gives some sweet English sound. I see in green nooks pleasant
Small children at their play; And many a cheerful peasant
That toileth all the day. "Tis English all! birds singing,
Cool shadows, flowers, and rills; And the village-bells' low ringing
Among the sleeping hills!
Oh, Himalaya mountains,
" And I would see, before mine eyes grow dim, Still, still ye stand unshaken;
The mountains and the Dead Sea's desert shore; Nor have the river-fountains
And I would hear the brethren's vesper-hymn
Chime to the Kedron's melody once more !
“Oh friends, the Saviour in the desert-place,
Sustained the fainting multitude with bread;
And in my mountain-cavern, with his grace
Have I, his humblest little one, been sed.
“ The voice of God, while I was yet a child,
Called me from man and from his works to part;
I left my father's house, and in the wild
Wandered three days with meek, submissive heart.
“Upon the fourth I found an ancient man
Stretched on the rock, as if in mortal pain;
Friends, I am old, but his life's lengthened span
One-half my years had numbered o'er again.
And gazed upon me with a kindling eye ;
“Now list my missioned words, and let me die! That gave th' unknown to Galileo's ken; * Therewith he told a blessed history;
That guided Luther's world-awakening pen; As how his father had the gardener been,
Who kept the garden where the Lord did lie,
And who the ascending from the tomb had seen. The same that to the great-souled Genoese,
Compass in hand, and dreaming of far seas, “Of the Lord's friends on earth, how much he told, With glorious visions of the New World came! For them he knew, or they who had them known; Oh, moral renovation, that dost shake,
Far more than any written book could hold,
That day to my enlarged mind was shown !
“And of the Lord such living form he brought, Spirit of love, thou hast lit thy torch benign
It seemed that I beheld him in that place;
That there I saw the miracles he wrought;
I have not ceased to preach the blessed word;
For fourscore years and upwards, through the earth
Have I proclaimed glad tidings of the Lord! "The monastery of St. Saba is in the wilderness of Ziph, and a few hours' distance from Jerusalem. A more dreary
“But in the city, 'mid the crush of men, situation cannot be conceived; its walls, towers, and terraces, I would not ye should dig my lowly grave, are on the brink of precipices; but could the world afford a But carry me unto the Kedron's glen, mure sublime or memorable home? We sat down and gazed on the deep glen of the Kedron far beneath--the wilderness And lay me in the mountain's chapelled cave! on vary side, where David Bed from the pursuit of Saul; and the Dead Sea and its sublime shores full in front, illumined by “ For there I laid the old man's bones in peace, the setting sun. It was founded by this saior in the middle of And there would I my earthly part should resi! the fourth century, and has ever since been a religious retreat of great f me. St. Saba died when nearly a hundred years of Carry me hence! for ere the daylight cease aze. Freling his end approach, he implored to be carried 10 I must be with the Lord, a marriage-guest !" his beloved retreat, that his bones might test there ; and here they have been preserved to this day."
THE GIPSY MOTHER'S SONG.
SAINT Saba's hours were drawing to their close ;
THE merry miller's rosy dame
Perhaps I might, my love; but now sit down, "On occasion of these practices upon the credulity of the
And take your work, your drawing, or your books, ignorant, the face of the corpse was bared, as well as the
And if you mean to wed a poor man, Lucy, breast and arms; the body was wrapped in a winding-sheet Learn to be an economist of time. of the whitest linen, so that if blood should flow, it would be
- So, daughter Alvarez, wbat I have heard instantly observed. After a mass peculiarly adapted to the ordeal, the most suspected, calling down the signal vengeance
Is really true; this match meets not your wishes. of heaven if they spoke faleely, successively approached the
MRS. ALVA. bier, and mude the sign of the cross upon the dead man's My wishes! Is't not natural for a mother breast."
To wish her only child the fairest fortune!
MRS. ASH, “Stand back! and let me pass
No doubt on 't, daughter Alvarez; but still
What is that fairest fortune, is the question.
MRS. ALVA. Stand back, my slanderous enemy;
There is no question here! I'm not a child,
To form imperfect judgments!
No, my daughter; “Oh body stiff and stark,
But let me hear your reasons 'gainst this match: If I have done thee ill,
The world speaks well of Westwood. Let every cruel wound of thine
MRS. ALYA. Pour to the earth the sanguine sign!
As a man Hide not the guilt if it is mine,
I can say nought against him — but as husband Oh, body stark and still!
For Lucy Alvarez — for your granddaughter,
He is unmeet indeed! “I that have been thy friend,
Is he well-bredi
Oh, perfectly-or we should ne'er have known him Oh! if this deed were mine, make known
Handsome and clever, is he?
“Here, on thy stony brow,
My bared right-hand I lay;
If I am guilty, say!
So he's thought,
“My hand hath not a stain!
The death-robe yet is white!
So heaven attest the right!
Is he moral ?
"I challenge thee to proof!
I know the secret wood,
And dare the accusing blood !"
Past those old gates, where never carriage enters- Did grant your judgment right, although you fled, Which only will be opened for the hearse!
As Lucy shall not
- like a guilty thing
So may you, in this matter of her wooing, But said you not he had a mother living ?
Find that our little Lucy chooseth well,
Despite her mother's judgment.
Ah, my Lucy,
You knew not, did you, A noble fortune.
your mother's marriago
Was one of stealth ? - that she was wooed
Like Juliet, in the play?
Oh, yes; for many a year A generous-hearted, noble-minded girl
I've had a guess at some such sweet romance ! Was Margaret Cavendish!
There was a famous painter made a picture,
And that same picture from my earliest childhood
And it is called “The Andalusian Lover;" That no one misses her.
I thought it was the portrait of my mother;
And that the lover bore a strong resemblance "Tis the world's way!
Unto the miniature my mother wears,
I understand it now!
But, mother dear,
MRS. ALVA. (Kissing her.) He is no match for Lucy Alvarez!
No, my dear girl! But had you known your father, - Why does he enter not the church or army, You could not laughingly have spoken of him! And get preferment there !- 't were nobler far"T were manlier far, than being a fortune-hunter!
My Alice, let these memories of the past
Bring blessings to your daughter! Good Don Pedro Now, daughter Alvarez, one little word:
Was worthy of your never-dying love; And Lucy, you may lay your book aside
And Arthur Westwood-nay, I'll have my willBut small attention have you given your book - Is not less worthy Lucy's. And take this footstool. Now recall your youth,
Come, this day Dear daughter Alvarez!
I'll visit my old friend who hath been schooled
By hard adversity, good Margaret Cavendish;
And you shall go with me!
INSTALLATION OF THE BISHOP OF
I am no flatterer, but your matron years
Ah, I see
But, dearest Alice,
'Twas morning, and the city was astir,
Anon the throng returned; the cavalcade
So might you love young Westwood !