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The Cyclades seem'd to swim amid the main,
And hill 'gainst hill, and mount 'gainst mountain smote; With such great fury met those armies twain,
Here burnt a ship, there sunk a bark or boat ;
Of princes dead the bodies fleet and float;
The empire lost to which he would aspire;
But follow'd her, drawn on by fond desire :
Strive and contend love, courage, shame, and ire ;
Cast in her lap he would sad death await,
Sweeten the bitter strokes of cursed fate.
In the rich metal of that princely gate.
With turns and twines, and rolls now to now fro,
Here back return, and to their spring.ward go :
Yet all the maze their map described so,
The garden sweet spread forth her green to shew,
Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs, and flow'rets new,
Sunshiny hills, dales hid from Phæbus' rays,
Groves, arbours, mossy caves, at once they view; And that which beauty most, most wonder brought, No where appear'd the art which all this wrought. So with the rude the polish'd mingled was,
That natural seem'd all and every part
And imitate her imitator art.
The trees no whirlwind felt nor tempest's smart,
upon the selfsame bough did hide,
The apples new and old grew on one twig;
That bended underneath their clusters big ;
Sung merry notes on every branch and bough;
With murmur sweet now sang, and whistled now;
And while they sung it rumbled soft and low:
A wondrous bird among the rest there flew,
Her leden was like human language true;
That strange it seemed how much good she knew;
* The gently-budding rose (quoth she) behold,
That first scant peeping forth with virgin beams, Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth up-fold
In their dear leaves, and less seen fairer seems, And after spreads them forth more broad and bold,
Then languisheth and dies in last extremes: Nor seems the same that decked bed and bow'r
Of many a lady late and paramour : “ So in the passing of a day doth pass
The bud and blossom of the life of man, Nor e'er doth flourish more, but like the grass
Cut down, becometh withered, pale, and wan:
Short is the day, done when it scant began;
The choir of birds their heav'nly tunes renew;
The fowls to shades unseen by pairs withdrew;
And all the gentle trees on earth that grew,
Of strange allurements, sweet 'bove mean and measure, Severe, firm, constant, still the knights forth went,
Hard’ning their hearts 'gainst false enticing pleasure, 'Twixt leaf and leaf their sight before they sent,
And after crept themselves at ease and leisure, Till they beheld the queen sit with their knight Beside the lake, shaded with boughs from sight.
END OF VOL. III.
G. Woodfall and Son, Printers, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London.
The attention of the Editor of `HALF-Hours' has been directed to an erroneous statement at page 56 of volume ii. It is there said, “ The present excellent Bishop of Chester, Dr. John Bird Sumner, is the son of Dr. Sumner, who was a contemporary with Dr. Parr at Harrow, and became Head Master of that celebrated school.” We have to apologize for this inaccuracy, which was the result of imperfect remembrance of conversations many years ago. At the moment in which we are writing the Gazette announces that the Bishop of Chester is raised to the highest ecclesiastical dignity in the realm. It is therefore more necessary that we should not wait for a second edition to correct our
The nominated Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Bishop of Winchester, are the surviving sons of the Reverend Robert Sumner, Vicar of Kenilworth and Stoneleigh, in Warwickshire, and grandsons of Dr. John Sumner, formerly Canon of Windsor, and Provost of King's College, Cambridge. Dr. Sumner, of Harrow, was cousin to the Rev. Robert Sumner.
February 23, 1848.