Gone are the knights of Italy; The paladins of Spain;

And brave king Arthur in the dust,
Lies low as Charlemagne.

Sir Bevis and Sir Lancelot,

In England or in France,

Would meet with no adventure now
Worth lifting of the lance.
Throughout the land of Libya
Were good St. George to speed,
No fair king's daughter would he find,
From dragons to be freed.

The Guys of Warwick all are dead,
Or if they linger still,

No brave achievements they perform,
No dire dun-cows they kill.

The breast-plates and the caps of steel,
'Mongst common things are laid;
Even Wallace's two-handed sword
Is now a rusty blade.

The earth is not what once it was;
Its caves and castles strong;
Its monsters and its mighty men
Live but in ancient song!

Oh! wondrous days of old romance,
How pleasant do ye seem;

For sunlit hours in summer bowers,
For winter-nights a theme!

How have I loved from childhood's years
To call to life again

Brave prince, and paladin, and peer,
And those Caerleon men!

To see the steeds whereon they rode,
It was a goodly sight;
Such horses are not now-a-days,

So coal-black and so white!

Oh. 'twas a wondrous pleasant thing,
When I was but a child,

To live in those old times, to meet
Adventure strange and witd!

And even still the charm is strong;
But 't is not now as then,

For I see the tombs wherein they lie,
And not the living men!

VESPERS IN THE CAPELLA REALE.

1282.

"TWAS on the Easter Monday, in the evening,
After the Sabbath of the Saviour's rising-
Twelve hundred years, and eighty years and two,
From this same Easter Monday-that at vespers,
The blessed Saviour, who had not ascended
Yet to the Father, walked upon the sea-shore.

There met he six of his forlorn disciples,
Who, spirit-crushed and heart-sore, had that even
Gone out a-fishing. With them went the Master.
-Oh, love surpassing human understanding!
Oh, Friend, Instructor, Comforter, and Saviour,
Thou didst that night, when heaven was opened for
thee,

When angels and archangels were awaiting
Thy coming to the Father, with thy children,
Thy mourning, desolate, heart-broken children,
Yet go a-fishing!

"Friends, as was the Lord then,
Full of sweet love and pity for the afflicted,
So is he still! He pitieth all our sorrows;
He knoweth all our inward tribulations!
Ye who have trouble, call upon the Saviour!
Ye who are hopeless, fearful, or afflicted
In mind or body, call upon the Saviour!
Oh, all of ye, and I, for we are sinners,
Let us bow down and call upon the Saviour!
Oh Guide, oh Friend, oh crucified Lord Jesus,
Be with us, all of us, now and for ever!"

Such, in the royal chapel of Palermo, Such was the sermon on that Easter Monday Whereon the bloody Pedro, thence the Cruel, Ordained at the holy time of vespers To slay eight thousand Christian worshippers! Low bent the crowd, within the royal chapel, White-headed men, mothers, and little children, To bless the Lord! Even then the armed ruffians Entered the holy place, and the white marble Ran down with streams of blood!

NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE.

This town has the distinguished honour of being the birthplace of Lords Eldon and Stowell, who were also both educated at its grammar school. The eighth anniversary of the British Association for the Advancement of Science was held here during the autumn of 1838. On that occasion Dr. Buckland, referring to the many noble literary and scientific institutions which now adorn the place, remarked, that "twentyfive years ago he was in Newcastle, and the Literary and Philosophical Society was the only institution of a literary or scientific character; but in subsequent years many other societies had sprung up. It was in the recollection of persons now living, that before any of these societies existed in Newcastle, cock-fighting, and bull and bear baiting, were the recreations of the inhabitants; but in this latter day, how great a change! In the former period, Newcastle was chiefly famous as the centre whence radiated physical heat, and for its transcendent grindstones, which were celebrated from China to Peru: but now it gave out to afar, mental light and heatand was an intellectual whetstone for the minds of men."

A City-Street.

I LOVE the fields, the woods, the streams,
The wild-flowers fresh and sweet,
And yet I love no less than these,

The crowded city-street;
For haunts of man, where'er they be
Awake my deepest sympathy.

I see within the city-street

Life's most extreme estates, The gorgeous domes of palaces; The prison's doleful grates;

The hearths by household virtues blest, The dens that are the serpent's nest.

I see the rich man, proudly fed

And richly clothed, pass by;

I see the shivering, homeless wretch,
With hunger in his eye;

For life's severest contrasts meet
For ever in the city-street!

And lofty, princely palaces

What dreary deeds of woe,
What untold, mortal agonies

Their arras chambers know!
Yet is without all smooth and fair,

As heaven's blue dome of summer air!

And even the portliest citizen,

Within his doors doth hide

Some household grief, some secret care,
From all the world beside :

It ever was, it must be so,
For human heritage is woe!

Hence is it that a city-street

Can deepest thought impart, For all its people, high and low, Are kindred to my heart; And with a yearning love I share In all their joy, their pain, their care!

VIEW NEAR DEOBUN, AMONG THE HIMALAYAS.

A SUMMER DAY-DREAM.

I SIT 'mid flowery meadows,
I list the cuckoo's cry;
I see the oak-tree shadows
Athwart the green grass lie.

Hard by, a little river

Runs shimmering in the sheen;
And silvery aspens quiver
Along its margent green.

I hear the warbling linnet;
The wild bee humming round;
And every passing minute

Gives some sweet English sound.

I see in green nooks pleasant
Small children at their play;
And many a cheerful peasant
That toileth all the day.

"Tis English all! birds singing,
Cool shadows, flowers, and rills;
And the village-bells' low ringing
Among the sleeping hills!

The quiet cattle feeding

In meadows bright as gold,
In pastoral vales exceeding
Their Arcady of old,-

Are England's, and surround me;
But far-off regions gleam

In golden light around me,
And shapes as of a dream.

Old realms of Indian story,

By witchery of thought,
Wrapt in a hazy glory
Before my soul are brought!
The Himalaya mountains,

The heavenly lands below,
The Ganges' sacred fountains
Beneath the eternal snow!

I see them like the vision
That fills the poet's eye,
A cloudland-world elysian
Built in the sunset-sky.

I see them in far ages

In primal splendour shine,
Peopled by kings and sages,
Earth's oldest, proudest line.

With them the great World-Giver,
As they believed, abode,
And, symbolled in their River,
Diffusing blessing, flowed.

The cities which they builded

With gold were overlaid, The sceptres which they wielded To rule the world were made. Earth kept no hidden treasure, Gold, marble, or rich gem; And the water without measure Poured out its wealth for them.

Upon their silken raiment

Was set the diamond-stone; 'And kingly-given payment

Was but in gold alone.

While England yet was forest,
And idol-gods adored;
While yet her wounds were sorest
Beneath the Roman sword;

These kingliest of earth's children
Sate on their ivory thrones,
Their golden sceptres wielding
O'er myriad-peopled zones.
But the glory hath departed!
Earth's oldest, proudest born,
Gold-robed, imperial-hearted,

Lie in their tombs forlorn!

And the great River's waters

Are swollen with blood, not rain And Brahma's sons and daughters Cry from the earth in vain.

THE NEW PALACE OF MAHMOUD II.

A MIGHTY spirit is abroad! The same

That gave th' unknown to Galileo's ken; That guided Luther's world-awakening pen; Whence Milton, Hampden, Sidney, souls a-flame With liberty and light, drew strength and aim!

The same that to the great-souled Genoese, Compass in hand, and dreaming of far seas, With glorious visions of the New World came! Oh, moral renovation, that dost shake,

And overturn; dost often bathe in blood The earth's most gracious bosom, yet dost make All change, all desolation bring forth good, Spirit of love, thou hast lit thy torch benign Within the city of the Constantine!

THE MONASTERY OF SANTA SABA.

"The monastery of St. Saba is in the wilderness of Ziph, and a few hours' distance from Jerusalem. A more dreary situation cannot be conceived; its walls, towers, and terraces, are on the brink of precipices; but could the world afford a more sublime or memorable home? We sat down and gazed on the deep glen of the Kedron far beneath--the wilderness on every side, where David fled from the pursuit of Saul; and the Dead Sea and its sublime shores full in front, illumined by the setting sun. It was founded by this saint in the middle of the fourth century, and has ever since been a religious retreat of great fime. St. Saba died when nearly a hundred years of age. Feeling his end approach, he implored to be carried to his beloved retreat, that his bones might rest there; and here they have been preserved to this day."

SAINT Saba's hours were drawing to their close;
And," carry me, my pious friends," said he,
"Into the chapel of my last repose,
Nigh to the waters of the dark Dead Sea!

"There have I gathered for my latest need,
Many a sweet token of the faith we hold,
Let us depart! my spirit will be freed
From its clay prison ere the day be told!

And I would see, before mine eyes grow dim,
The mountains and the Dead Sea's desert shore;
And I would hear the brethren's vesper-hymn
Chime to the Kedron's melody once more!

"Oh friends, the Saviour in the desert-place,
Sustained the fainting multitude with bread;
And in my mountain-cavern, with his grace
Have I, his humblest little one, been fed.

"The voice of God, while I was yet a child,
Called me from man and from his works to part;
I left my father's house, and in the wild
Wandered three days with meek, submissive heart.

"Upon the fourth I found an ancient man
Stretched on the rock, as if in mortal pain;
Friends, I am old, but his life's lengthened span
One-half my years had numbered o'er again.

"At sight of me he slowly raised his head,
And gazed upon me with a kindling eye;

Tis well; I knew that thou would'st come!" he said, 'Now list my missioned words, and let me die!'

"Therewith he told a blessed history;
As how his father had the gardener been,
Who kept the garden where the Lord did lie,
And who the ascending from the tomb had seen.

"Of the Lord's friends on earth, how much he told,
For them he knew, or they who had them known;
Far more than any written book could hold,
That day to my enlarged mind was shown!
"And of the Lord such living form he brought,
It seemed that I beheld him in that place;
That there I saw the miracles he wrought;
That I had converse with him face to face!

"Oh, wondrous knowledge! and from that day forth
I have not ceased to preach the blessed word;
For fourscore years and upwards, through the earth
Have I proclaimed glad tidings of the Lord!

"But in the city, 'mid the crush of men,
I would not ye should dig my lowly grave,
But carry me unto the Kedron's glen,
And lay me in the mountain's chapelled cave!

"For there I laid the old man's bones in peace,
And there would I my earthly part should rest!
Carry me hence! for ere the daylight cease
I must be with the Lord, a marriage-guest!"

THE GIPSY MOTHER'S SONG. THE merry miller's rosy dame Hath not a wish her heart to tame; The baron's lady, young and fair, Hath gold to spend, and gold to wear: The Queen of England, richer still, Hath all the world to do her will!

But England's Queen, with all her state,
Nor baron's wife, nor miller's mate,
With all their wealth, are blest as we,
Within the tent, beneath the tree,-
As thou and I, my bright-eyed dove,
And he, the father, whom we love!

THE ORDEAL OF TOUCH.

"On occasion of these practices upon the credulity of the ignorant, the face of the corpse was bared, as well as the breast and arms, the body was wrapped in a winding-sheet of the whitest linen, so that if blood should flow, it would be instantly observed. After a mass peculiarly adapted to the

ordeal, the most suspected, calling down the signal vengeance

of heaven if they spoke falsely, successively approached the bier, and made the sign of the cross upon the dead man's breast."

Oh, most absurd! Landlord! He has no tenants!
Why, the poor Westwoods is a county proverb:
The father wasted all his patrimony;

He sold and mortgaged his broad, ancient manors,
And by illegal means despoiled the heir,
Till, at his death, the very furniture —
Costly as that of any ducal mansion --
Was sold to pay his debts. Landlord indeed!
Why, the old house and grounds alone remain,
And how they're kept up is a miracle!
It makes one melancholy but to drive

Did grant your judgment right, although you fled,
As Lucy shall not— like a guilty thing-
So may you, in this matter of her wooing,
Find that our little Lucy chooseth well,
Despite her mother's judgment.

Ah, my Lucy,

You knew not, did you, that your mother's marriage Was one of stealth? - that she was wooed

Like Juliet, in the play?

LUCY.

Oh, yes; for many a year

I've had a guess at some such sweet romance!
There was a famous painter made a picture,
And that same picture from my earliest childhood
Fixed my regard; 't is in the drawing-room,
Hung just above the Indian cabinet,

And it is called "The Andalusian Lover;"
I thought it was the portrait of my mother;
And that the lover bore a strong resemblance
Unto the miniature my mother wears,—
I understand it now!

But, mother dear,
Have I said aught to grieve you?-Oh, forgive me'
MRS. ALVA. (Kissing her.)

No, my dear girl! But had you known your father, You could not laughingly have spoken of him!

MRS. ASH.

My Alice, let these memories of the past

Bring blessings to your daughter! Good Don Pedro

Was worthy of your never-dying love;

And Arthur Westwood-nay, I'll have my willIs not less worthy Lucy's.

Come, this day

I'll visit my old friend who hath been schooled By hard adversity, good Margaret Cavendish; And you shall go with me!

INSTALLATION OF THE BISHOP OF MAGNESIA.

'Twas morning, and the city was astir,

As if some new joy were awaiting her.

Doors were thrown wide, and all adown the street
The pavement answered to the tread of feet;
And everywhere some eager-spoken word
About the expected Bishop might be heard.
And then 'twas told, how, while the people slept.
Ere the first streaks of day, the church was swept ¿

How holy water all about was spilled;
How every censer was with incense filled;
And furthermore, that even now might they

Expect the Bishop on his on ward way,

For they who rode to meet him had been gone
Three hours at least. They must be here anon.
Anon the throng returned; the cavalcade
Along the street their easy progress made;
And all admired the horses' stately tread,
And the mixed rider's vestments, blue and red
But chiefly all regards to him were given,
Who came the anointed delegate of heaven,