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But thy sounds were sweeter

UNA AND THE REDCROSS KNIGHT.
Than the dome of Peter

EDMUND SPENCER-"FAERY QUEEN."
Flings o'er the Tiber,
Pealing solemnly-

A gentle knight was pricking on the plain,
Oh the bells of Shandon

Yclad in mighty arms and silver shield,

Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain,
Sound far more grand on

The cruel marks of many a bloody field;
The pleasant waters

Yet arīns till that time did he never wield:
Of the river Lee.

His angry steed did chide his foaming bit,

As much disdaining to the curb to yieid:
There's a bell in Moscow,

Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit,
While on tower and kiosk O,

As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fit
In Saint Sophia,
The Turkman gets;

And on his breast a bloody cross he bore,
And loud in air

The dear remembrance of his dying Lord,
Calls men to prayer,

For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore,
From the tapering summits

And dead—as living ever-him adored:
Of tall minarets.

Upon his shield the like was also scored,
Such empty phantom

For sovereign hope, which in his help he had:
I freely grant them;

Right faithful true he was in deed and word;
But there is an anthem

But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad:
More dear to me-

Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.
'Tis the bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on

Upon a great adventure he was bound,
The pleasant waters

That greatest Gloriana to him gave-
Of the river Lee,

That greatest glorious queen of Faery loud-
To win him worship, and her grace to have,

Which of all earthly things he most did crave;
OLD FAMILIAR FACES.

And ever as he rode, his heart did yearn
To prove his puissance in battle brave

Upon his foe, and his new force to learn;
I have nad playmates, I have had companions, Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stern.
In my ways of childhood, in my joyiui school days,
All, als are yone, the old familiar faces.

A lovely lady rode him fair beside,

Upon a lowly ass more white than snow;
I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies, Under a veil that wimpled was full low,
All, al are gone, the old familiar faces.

And over all a black stole she did throw,

As one that inly mourned; so was she sad, I loved a love once, fairest among women;

And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow; Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her

Seemed in heart some hidden care she had, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she led.

CHARLES LAMB.

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