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And bitter hours to come might bring
Oh! it was more than grief, to trace
The dark, deep lines of care
And stamp'd them with despair !
I marvell’d that the gentle Maid
Should dwell with one so stern : Then long'd my soul, yet half-afraid,
Her name, her fate, to learn :“ Maiden, why dwell'st thou thus with one, Whom all that see would fear, and shun?
" Leave that mis-shapen, monstrous form !
Seek the green earth with me; Come to my home, where lours no storm.". Stranger it may
not be : Alas! from Him I ne'er can sever, Together link'd, we're link'd for ever!
“ Yes ! through the countless ages past,
O’er earth and boundless main,
Our only birthright pain,
“ The east, the west, the north, the south,
Together we have ranged,
Yet ne'er to be estranged !-
She ceased, and from her eyes again
Burst forth the swelling tears ;
Went like a flame that sears :
-your race ?"
“ Tell me,” I cried, “your names
The maiden's tearful eye
As came the brief reply :
“ Mortal, depart! thou see'st the bane
That poisons all the springs of life ! We were, we are, we shall remain
The Undivided, though at strife ! As yesterday, to-day, to-morrow, Thou know'st us, mortal-Sin and SORROW.”
J. BIRD, ESQ.
Sir R. Newdigate's English verse prize, which had been gained by Mr. Arnould, of Wedham, was read by him on the occa:ion of the recent Installation of the Duke of Wellington at Oxford, from the rostrum. The subject is “ The Hospice of St. Bernard.” The beautiful sentiments and the polished and elegant numbers of the writer, were applauded highly by the whole audience. The following passage is surpassingly beautiful :
But when the lamp burns faintly, and the guest Seeks his low cell, and homely couch of rest, Dim with the mists of time before his eyes, Majestic forms of other days arise, And to his ear the night-winds waft along Names that have lived in story or in song.
Once more the foe of Rome, from height to height, Cheers his dark host, impatient for the fight, And where yon plains expand in boundless gloom, He bids them seek an empire or a tomb. With nodding plumes, bright helms, and glittering
spears, Lo! Gaul's great emperor leads his knightly peers ; Hush'd is their iron tramp, and moonbeams dim Show'r on each ghastly brow and mail-clad limb. He too is there, who, slain on victory's day, Besides their altar sleeps, the young Dessaix ;
And there his chief, whose name of terror spread
If, in that hour of pride, and fervid youth,
The Red King's Twarning.
Historians relate that the death of William Rufus, in the New Forest, was preceded by several predictions clearly announcing his fate. The statement in the second line of this piece, that the hunt commenced at noon, is in accordance with the fact.
With hound and horn the wide New Forest rung,
When the Red William at the bright noon-day, Girt by his glittering train, to saddle sprung,
And to the chase spurr'd forth his gallant grey : O'er hill, o'er dale, the hunters held their track;
But that grey courser, fleeter than the wind, Was foremost still—and as the king look'd back,
Save Tyrrell, all were far and far behind. Slow through a distant pass the train defiled ;
Alone the king rode on—when in mid course Lo! rush'd across his path a figure wild,
And on his bridle-rein with giant force Seized—then swift pointing to a blighted oak, Thus to th' astonish'd king in words of thunder spoke.
“Curb thy race of headlong speed,
Backward, backward turn thy steed!