“O thus,” quoth Dighton, “lay the gentle babes. —
“ Thus, thus,” quoth Forrest, “girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms;
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which, in their summer beauty, kissed each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
Which once," quoth Forrest,“ almost changed my mind;
But, oh! the Devil — " there the villain stopped ;
When Dighton thus told on, We smotheréd
The most replenished sweet work of Nature,
That, from the prime creation, e'er she framed.”
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse;
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bear this tidings to the bloody King.
William Shakespeare.
THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN.
GOOD sword and a trusty hand !
A merry heart and true!
King James's men shall understand
What Cornish lads can do.
And have they fixed the where and when ?
And shall Trelawny die ?
Here's twenty thousand Cornish men
Will know the reason why!
Out spake their captain brave and bold,
A merry wight was he:
“ If London Tower were Michael's hold,
We'll set Trelawny free!
“We'll cross the Tamar, land to land,
The Severn is no stay,
With one and all, and hand in hand,
And who shall bid us nay?
“And when we come to London Wall,
A pleasant sight to view,
Come forth ! come forth, ye cowards all,
Here's men as good as you.
“ Trelawny he's in keep and hold,
Trelawny he may die;
But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold
Will know the reason why!”
Robert Stephen Hawker.
LORD STRAFFORD'S MEDITATIONS IN THE TOWER.
And leave me here alone,
In sweet sad silence to bemoan
The fickle worldly height,
Whose danger none can see aright,
Whilst your false splendors dim his sight.
Go, and ensnare
With your trim ware
Some other easy wight,
And cheat him with your flattering light;
Rain on his head a shower
Of honors, favor, wealth, and power;
Then snatch it from him in an hour.
Fill his big mind
With gallant wind
Of insolent applause;
Let him not fear all-curbing laws,
Nor king, nor people's frown;
But dream of something like a crown,
Then, climbing towards it, tumble down.
Let him appear
In his bright sphere
Like Cynthia in her pride,
With starlike troops on every side;
For number and clear light
Such as may soon o’erwhelm him quite,
And blend them both in one dead night.
Welcome, sad night,
Grief's sole delight,
Thy mourning best agrees
With honor's funeral obsequies !
In Thetis' lap he lies,
Mantled with soft securities,
Whose too much sunshine dims his eyes.
Was he too bold,
Who needs would hold
With curbing reins the Day,
And make Sol's fiery steeds obey ?
Then, sure, as rash was I,
Who with ambitious wings did fly
In Charles's Wain too loftily.
I fall, I fall!
Whom shall I call ?
Alas! can he be heard,
Who now is neither loved nor feared ?
You who have vowed the ground
To kiss, where my blest steps were found,
Come, catch me at my last rebound.
How each admires
Heaven's twinkling fires,
Whilst from their glorious seat
Their influence gives light and heat;
But 0, how few there are,
Though danger from the act be far,
Will run to catch a falling star.
Now 't is too late
To imitate
Those lights whose pallidness
Argues no inward guiltiness;
Their course one way is bent;
Which is the cause there's no dissent
In Heaven's High Court of Parliament.
Anonymous.
THE BURDEN OF LONDON.
LONDON: thou more than Tyre a thousand-fold,
will ?
Wilt thou too fall, Queen City of the Sea ?
Will all the bullion thy vast coffers hold
Under the Northern waves one day be rolled,
And from thee stand far off the merchant-ships
As from that city in the Apocalypse ?
Art thou the mighty city there foretold ?
But what say these, so busy yet so proud,
With the hard features of Ezekiel's race,
Who, like their fathers in the Tyrian crowd,
Mingle yet mix not, while their elders pace
Back-streets with frowsy bags and guttural cry?
Do they of worn-out England prophesy ?
Henry Sevell Stokes.
LONGLEAT, the seat of the Marquis of Bath, situated on the borders of Wiltshire, is a beautiful example of the Italian architecture of thic Elizabethan age. It took some forty years in building, cost a fabulous sum of money, and was the work of John, an architect of Padua, who also built old Somerset House.
OHN of Padua duly came,
A grave wise man with a dark pale face,
He sat him down with a pondering brow,
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