That city Constantine bequeathed of old,
The treasure-house of all the wealth of Greece?
Where all the riches that an age of peace
Could gather? all that Phidias' art had left,
All that could come from splendid States bereft
Of what they valued? out upon your trust!
Lo, temples ruined, and high columns dust!
Yet for this clime fast fall our warriors brave,
Where man is free, and woman is a slave.

Say when we've fought and saved those ruthless men,
Shall we not break the harem's fetters then?
Said I the Turk was base? nay wonder not
That such is man, when woman is forgot.
Do warriors true the fair dishonour thus ?
Can they be brave, and yet uncourteous ?
And do those dark eyes peeping thro' the veil
Speak of no happier state, no brighter tale?

Up! rouse thee, Turk, and prove thy manhood, prove
That thou hast courage, and that thou canst love.
Oh! let some spark of thy ancestral fame,
Kindle thy bosom with an unknown flame,
Nor idly view thy empire waste away,
Till realmless, friendless, and without a ray

Of hope, perchance thou see'st that man tho' brave
Must ever fall if woman be his slave.

From hall, from cottage, many a weeping eye

Turns to the cypresses of Scutari :

Far, far from home full many a maiden there
Doth minister, and brave men bless the fair:
Their's a rich meed, the soldiers grateful tear-
Who deems himself at home when they are near.
Let Saragossa boast her martial maid

And Orleans her Pucelle who drew the blade
Of war, and faced the flaming barricade.

England is proud of that fair sisterhood,

Her own loved daughters, gentle, brave and good. E'en when the babes who now but lisp the name Shall be old men, and others speak their fame, When war and all its pageants are forgot,

Still shall the simple story perish not:
The children of our babes shall tell the tale
And mercy's synonym be Nightingale !

Of old the brave Megarian's snowy sail
Woo'd the embraces of the Ægean gale:
And first 'neath Bysa's all-auspicious sway
Grew the fair city that demands my lay.
But where are they who saw thy early hour,
And vainly wrestled with thy growing power,
Sole relic of those great co-empresses,

Who shared of yore the ocean-monarchies ?
Aye, where is Tarshish old, and Sidon where ?
They are not now, and yet we know they were :
Where Sidon was, the fisher spreads his net,
God spake the word, and Tarshish' sun has set-
Where are thy navies, queenly Carthage? Gone-
Gone, perished all;-Byzantium reigns alone.
E'en Rome hath yielded half her ancient sway,
Rome is no more the Queen whom all obey.
Lo! nations bow before another shrine,

The oriental throne of Constantine.

Through many a change, fair city, hast thou passed:
While Moslem rules thee, mourn, oh mourn thy last.
Thrice have thy sons a stranger's creed adored,
Thrice have they felt the rude invader's sword.
And yet Byzantium, shalt thou change again,

Where now the Crescent, there the Cross shall reign, *The golden words of thy great Saint once more Shall find an echo where they spake of yore,

And Turk, and Infidel shall turn to bless

The Prince of Peace, the Son of Righteousness!

ARTHUR CARR.

St. Chrysostom, once Patriarch of Constantinople.

JULY 2, 1857.

Durham School.

Founder.

KING HENRY VIII., A.D. 1541.

Governors,

THE DEAN AND CHAPTER.

Head-Master.

The REV. HENRY HOLDEN, D.D. BALLIOL COLL., OXFORD.

Second- Master.

The REV. HENRY STOKER, M.A. UNIVERSITY COLL., DUKHAM.

Mathematical Master.

MATTHEW WOOD, Esq., B.A. CATHERINE COLL., CAMBRIDGE

Assistant Master.

The Rev. E. H. GOLDSMITH, M.A. C.C.C., Oxford.

Foreign Language Master.
MONSIEUR S. BAMBERGER.

Arithmetic and Writing Master.

MR. FOSTER.

Drawing Master
MR. NEWTON.

Drilling and Fencing Master.

SERGT. WHITE.

Dancing Master.
MR. WETHERELL.