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Yet shunn'd and dreaded with such care,
As if it only were a snare

That prudence might escape:

At times both wish'd for and implored,
At times sought with self-pointed sword,
Yet still a dark and hideous close
To even intolerable woes,

And welcome in no shape.

And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure,
They who have revell'd beyond measure
In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure,
Die calm, or calmer, oft than he
Whose heritage was misery;

For he who hath in turn run through

All that was beautiful and new,

Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave; And, save the future (which is view'd

Not quite as men are base or good,
But as their nerves may be endued),

With nought perhaps to grieve:

The wretch still hopes his woes must end,
And Death, whom he should deem his friend,
Appears, to his distemper'd eyes,
Arrived to rob him of his prize,
The tree of his new paradise.
To-morrow would have given him all,
Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall;
To-morrow would have been the first
Of days no more deplored or curst,
But bright, and long, and beckoning years,
Scen dazzling through the mist of tears,
Guerdon of many a painful hour;
To-morrow would have given him power
To rule, to shine, to smite, to save-
And must it dawn upon his grave?

The sun was sinking-still I lay

Chain'd to the chill and stiffening steed;
I thought to mingle there our clay,
And my dim eyes of death had need;
No hope arose of being freed:

I cast my last looks up the sky,

And there between me and the sun

I saw the expecting raven fly,

Who scarce would wait till both should die,
Ere his repast begun;

He flew, and perched, then flew once more,
And each time nearer than before;
I saw his wing through twilight flit,
And once so near me he alit

I could have smote, but lack'd the strength;
But the slight motion of my hand,
And feeble scratching of the sand,
The exerted throat's faint struggling noise,
Which scarcely could be called a voice,

Together scared him off at length.
I know no more-my latest dream
Is something of a lovely star

Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar,

And went and came with wandering beam,

And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense
Sensation of recurring sense,

And then subsiding back to death,
And then again a little breath,
A little thrill, a short suspense,

An icy sickness curdling o'er

My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain-
A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,
A sigh, and nothing more.

I woke where was I? Do I see
A human face look down on me?
And doth a roof above me close?
Do these limbs on a couch repose?
Is this a chamber where I lie ?
And is it mortal yon bright eye,
That watches me with gentle glance?
I closed my own again once more,
As doubtful that my former trance
Could not as yet be o'er.

A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall,
Sate watching by the cottage wall;
The sparkle of her eye I caught,
Even with my first return of thought;
For ever and anon she threw

A prying, pitying glance on me
With her black eyes so wild and free:
I gazed, and gazed, until I knew

No vision it could be,—

But that I lived, and was released
From adding to the vulture's feast:
And when the Cossack maid beheld
My heavy eyes at length unseal'd,
She smiled-and I essay'd to speak,
But fail'd-and she approach'd, and made
With lip and finger signs that said,
I must not strive as yet to break
The silence, till my strength should be
Enough to leave my accents free;
And then her hand on mine she laid,
And smooth'd the pillow for my head,
And stole along on tiptoe tread,

And gently oped the door, and spake
In whispers-ne'er was voice so sweet!
Even music follow'd her light feet:

But those she call'd were not awake, And she went forth; but, ere she pass'd, Another look on me she cast,

Another sign she made, to say, That I had nought to fear, that all Were near, at my command or call,

And she would not delay

Her due return:-while she was gone,
Methought I felt too much alone.

She came with mother and with sire-
What need of more ?-I will not tire
With long recital of the rest,

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[Sir WALTER RALEIGH addressed this letter to Prince Henry, the son of James I.]

MAY it please Your Highness,―The following lines are addressed to your Highness from a man who values his liberty, and a very small fortune in a remote part of this island, under the present constitution, above all the riches and honours that he could anywhere enjoy under any other establishment.

You see, sir, the doctrines .that are lately come into the world, and how far the phrase has obtained of calling your royal father, God's vicegerent; which ill men have turned both to the dishonour of God, and the impeachment of his Majesty's goodness. They adjoin vicegerency to the idea of being all-powerful, and not to that of being all-good. His Majesty's wisdom, it is to be hoped, will save him from the snare that may lie under gross adulations; but your youth, and the thirst of praise which I have observed in you, may possibly mislead you to hearken to these charmers, who would conduct your noble nature into tyranny. Be careful, oh, my prince! Hear them not, fly from their deceits; you are in the succession to a throne, from whence no evil can be imputed to yon, but all good must be conveyed from you. Your father is called the vicegerent of heaven; while he is good he is the vicegerent of heaven. Shall man have authority from the fountain of good to do evil? No, my prince: let mean and degenerate spirits, which want benevolence, suppose your power impaired by a disability of doing injuries. If want of power to do ill be an incapacity in a prince, with reverence be it spoken, it is an incapacity he has in common with the Deity. Let me not doubt but all pleas, which do not carry in them the mutual happiness of prince and people, will appear as absurd to your great understanding, as disagreeable to your noble nature. Exert yourself, O generous prince, against such

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sycophants, in the glorious cause of liberty; and assume such an ambition worthy of you, to secure your fellow-creatures from slavery; from a condition as much below that of brutes, as to act without reason is less miserable than to act against it. Preserve to your future subjects the divine right of being free agents; and to your own royal house the divine right of being their benefactors. Believe me, my prince, there is no other right can flow from God. While your Highness is forming yourself for a throne, consider the laws as so many common-places in your study of the science of government; when you mean nothing but justice they are an ease and help to you. This way of thinking is what gave men the glorious appellations of deliverers and fathers of their country; this made the sight of them rouse their beholders into acclamations, and mankind incapable of bearing their very appearance, without applauding it as a benefit. Consider the inexpressible advantages which will ever attend your Highness, while you make the power of rendering men happy the measure of your actions; while this is your impulse, how easily will that power be extended? The glance of your eye will give gladness, and your very sentence have a force of bounty. Whatever some men would insinuate, you have lost your subjects when you have lost their inclinations. You are to preside over the minds, not the bodies of men ; the soul is the essence of the man, and you cannot have the true man against his inclinations. Choose therefore to be the king or the conqueror of your people; it may be submission, but it cannot be obedience that is passive.-I am, sir, your Highness's most faithful servant. London, Aug, 12, 1611.

THOUGHTS WHILE MAKING THE GRAVE OF A NEW-BORN CHILD.

[N. P. WILLIS. See Page 236, Vol. I.]

Room, gentle flowers! my child would pass to | From lips all pale with agony, and tears, heaven!

Ye look'd not for her yet with your soft eyes,
Oh, watchful ushers at Death's narrow door!
But lo! while you delay to let her forth,
Angels, beyond, stay for her! One long kiss

Wrung after anguish had dried up with fire
The eyes that wept them, were the cup of life
Held as a welcome to her. Weep! oh, mother!
But not that from this cup of bitterness
A cherub of the sky has turn'd away.

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One look upon thy face ere thou depart! My daughter! It is soon to let thee go! My daughter! With thy birth has gush'd a spring I knew not of-filling my heart with tears, And turning with strange tenderness to theeA love-O God! it seems so-that must flow Far as thou fleest, and 'twixt heaven and me, Henceforward, be a bright and yearning chain Drawing me after thee! And so, farewell! "Tis a harsh world, in which affection knows No place to treasure up its loved and lost

Tripping with laughter down the rocky steps
That lead up to thy bed, would still trip on,
Breaking the dread hush of the mourners gone;
The birds are never silent that build here,
Trying to sing down the more vocal waters:
The slope is beautiful with moss and flowers,
And far below, seen under arching leaves,
Glitters the warm sun on the village spire,
Pointing the living after thee. And this
Seems like a comfort; and, replacing now
The flowers that have made room for thee, I go

But the foul grave! Thou, who so late wast To whisper the same peace to her who lies

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THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

49

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. [OLD BALLAD.]

OW ponder well, you parents

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dear,

The words which I shall write;

A doleful story you shall hear,

In time brought forth

to light:

A gentleman of good

account

In Norfolk lived of late, Whose wealth and riches did surmount

Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to die,

No help that he could have;
His wife by him as sick did lie,

And both possessed one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kind;

In love they lived, in love they died,
And left two babes behind:

The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three years old:
Th' other a girl, more young than he
And made in beauty's mould.
The father left his little son,

As plainly doth appear,

When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred pounds a year;
And to his little daughter Jane

Five hundred pounds in gold,
To be paid down on marriage day,

Which might not be controlled :
But if the children chance to die

Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possess their wealth,
For so the will did run.
"Now, brother," said the dying man,
"Look to my children dear;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friends else I have here:
To God and you I do commend
My children night and day;
But little while, be sure, we have

Within this world to stay.

"You must be father and mother both

And uncle, all in one;

God knows what will become of them
When I am dead and gone."

With that bespake their mother dear:

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"And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;
If otherwise you seem to deal,
God will your deeds regard."
With lips as cold as any stone

She kissed her children small: "God bless you both, my children dear!" With that the tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spoke
To this sick couple there:
"The keeping of your children dear,
Sweet sister, do not fear;
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children dear,
When you are laid in grave."

Their parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And brings them home unto his house,
And much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a day,
When for their wealth he did devise
To make them both away.

He bargained with two ruffians rude,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take the children young.
And slay them in a wood.

He told his wife, and all he had,
He did the children send

To be brought up in fair London,
With one that was his friend.

Away then went these pretty babes,
Rejoicing at that tide,
Rejoicing with a merry mind,

They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the way,

To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives' decay;

So that the pretty speech they had
Made murd'rers' hearts relent;
And they that undertook the deed
Full sore they did repent.

Yet one of them, more hard of heart.
Did vow to do his charge,
Because the wretch that hired him

Had paid him very large.

The other would not agree thereto,
So here they fell at strife;
With one another they did fight
About the children's life.

And he that was of mildest mood
Did slay the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
While babes did quake for fear.

He took the children by the hand,

When tears stood in their eye;

And bade them come and go with him,
And look they did not cry:

And two long miles he led them on,

While they for food complain:

"Stay here," quoth he, “I'll bring you bread When I do come again."

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,

Went wandering up and down;
But never more they saw the man
Approaching from the town:
Their pretty lips with blackberries
Were all besmeared and dyed;
And when they saw the darksome night,
They sat them down and cried.
Thus wandered these two pretty babes,
Till death did end their grief;
In one another's arms they died,
As babes wanting relief:
No burial these pretty babes
Of any man receives,
Till Robin Red-breast painfully
Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrath of God
Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt a hell:

His barns were fired, his goods consumed,
His lands were barren made;

His cattle died within the field,

And nothing with him stayed.

And, in the voyage to Portugal,
Two of his sons did die;
And, to conclude, himself was brought
To extreme misery:

He pawned and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about,
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this means come out :

The fellow that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to die,
As was God's blessed will;
Who did confess the very truth,

The which is here expressed;
Their uncle died while he, for debt,
In prison long did rest.

All you that be executors made,
And overseers eke,
Of children that be fatherless,
Anu infants mild and meek,
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right;
Lest God with such-like misery
Your wicked minds requite.

A SCENE IN THE LAST FRENCH REVOLUTION.*

ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE, born at Taunton, 1811; educated at Eton, and Trinity College, Cambridge; called to the Bar, 1837; Author of "Eothen" and "Invasion of the Crimea."]

THE advance-post of the insurgents, at its northwestern extremity, was covered by a small barricade, which crossed the Boulevard at a point close to the Gymnase Theatre. Some twenty men, with weapons and a drum taken in part from the "property room" of the theatre, were behind this rampart, and a small flag, which the insurgents had chanced to find, was planted on the top of the barricade.

the point occupied by the head of the column the state of the Boulevards was different. From that point home to the Madeleine the whole carriage. way was occupied by troops; the infantry was drawn up in subdivisions at quarter distance. Along this part of the gay and glittering Boulevard the windows, the balconies, and the footpavements were crowded with men and women who were gazing at the military display. These gazers had no reason for supposing that they incurred any danger, for they could see no one with whom the army would have to contend. It is true that notices had been placed upon the walls recommending people not to encumber the streets. and warning them that they would be liable to be dispersed by the troops without being summoned; but of course those who had chanced to see this announcement naturally imagined that it was a menace addressed to riotous crowds which might be pressing upon the troops in a hostile way. By kind permission of the Author.

Facing this little barricade, at a distance of about 150 yards, was the head of the vast column of troops which now occupied the whole of the western Boulevard, and a couple of field pieces stood pointed towards the barricade.

In

the neutral space between the barricade and the head of the column the shops and almost all the windows were closed, but numbers of spectators, including many women, crowded the foot-pavement. These gazers were obviously incurring the risk of receiving stray shots. But westward of

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