"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. Which once," quoth Forrest, "almost changed my mind; A William Shakespeare. THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN. GOOD sword and a trusty hand! King James's men shall understand And have they fixed the where and when? Here's twenty thousand Cornish men Out spake their captain brave and bold, 'If London Tower were Michael's hold, We'll set Trelawny free! "We'll cross the Tamar, land to land, With one and all, and hand in hand, "And when we come to London Wall, Come forth! come forth, ye cowards all, 'Trelawny he's in keep and hold, But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold Will know the reason why!" Robert Stephen Hawker. LORD STRAFFORD'S MEDITATIONS IN THE TOWER. NO, empty joys, G% With all your noise, 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; Fill his big mind 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, I fall, I fall! Whom shall I call? Alas! can he be heard, Who now is neither loved nor feared? To kiss, where my blest steps were found, How each admires Heaven's twinkling fires, Whilst from their glorious seat Though danger from the act be far, Now 't is too late To imitate Those lights whose pallidness Argues no inward guiltiness; Which is the cause there's no dissent In Heaven's High Court of Parliament. Anonymous. L THE BURDEN OF LONDON. ONDON! thou more than Tyre a thousand-fold, Who will take up the burden against thee? 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 Sewell Stokes. Longleat. JOHN OF PADUA. A LEGEND OF LONGLEAT. LONGLEAT, the seat of the Marquis of Bath, situated on the borders of Wiltshire, is a beautiful example of the Italian architecture of the 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, JOHN A grave wise man with a dark pale face, He sat him down with a pondering brow, |