But Guarinos whispered in his ear, and looked into his face,Then stood the old charger like a lamb, with a calm and gentle grace. O, lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree, And, slowly riding down, made halt before Marlotes' knee; Again the heathen laughed aloud: "All hail, sir knight," quoth he, "Now do thy best, thou champion proud: thy blood I look to see." With that, Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode, Pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode. Now ride, now ride, Guarinos,-nor lance nor rowel spare,Slay, slay, and gallop for thy life: the land of France lies there! Ex. CXLVII.—P YRA MUS AND THIS BE. J. G. SAXE. THIS tragical tale, which, they say, is a true one, Young PETER PYRAMUS-I call him Peter, And in one of the worst of pagan climes That flourish now in classical fame, Long before Either noble or boor Had such a thing as a Christian name— In years, I ween, Youngs That is to say, he was just eighteen, Now PETER loved a beautiful girl And every young blade, Are wont to do before they grow staid, So THISBE's father and PETER'S mother Of a marriage deterred, Or even deferred, By any contrivance so very absurd As scolding the boy, and caging his bird?— But removing a brick Made a passage-though rather provokingly small. While PETER kissed THISBE, and THISBE kissed PETER,— For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls, Will manage to creep through the smallest of holes! 'T was here that the lovers, intent upon love, Laid a nice little plot To meet at a spot Near a mulberry-tree in a neigboring grove; By the youth and the maid, (Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones,) While PETER, the vigilant matrons to blind, While waiting alone by the trysting tree, As e'er you set eye on, Came roaring along quite horrid to see, Now PETER arriving, and seeing the vail And reeking with gore, Turned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale, That THISBE was dead, and the lion had eat her! He determined to share The fate of his darling, "the loved and the lost," NOW THISBE returning, and viewing her beau, Which had taken his life, In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring! MORAL. Young gentlemen!-pray recollect, if you please, Should From kissing young fellows through holes in the wall! Ex. CXLVIII.—THE EXECUTION.* My Lord Tomnoddy got up one day, So his lordship rang for his cabriolet. Tiger Tim Was clean of limb, His boots were polished, his jacket was trim; ВАВНАМ. He stood in stockings just four feet ten; My Lord Tomnoddy raised his head, "Malibran's dead, Duvernay 's fled, Taglioni has not arrived in her stead ;— What may a nobleman find to do ?" Tim looked up, and Tim looked down; He paused, and put on a thoughtful frown; And he held up his hat, and he peeped in the crown, He bit his lip, and he scratched his head, He let go the handle, and thus he said, * A chapter from the book of London life. As the door, released, behind him banged, "An 't please you, my lord, there's a man to be hanged!" My Lord Tomnoddy jumped up at the news,— "Run to M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues. I have seen before, Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Blackmore; At the end of a string, With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing!" Through street and through square, Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air. Went the high-trotting mare at a deuce of a pace; But did no great harm, Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm, Two urchins at play, Knocking down, very much to the sweeper's dismay,— Which made all the passing church-mission folks squall. But eastward afar My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car; Or their calls, or their bawls, He passes by Waithman's emporium for shawls, 66 Where in front of the jail, he Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gayly |