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LONDON:

BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

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THE PRINCESS:

A MEDLEY.

PROLOGUE.

SIR WALTER VIVIAN all a summer's day

Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun
Up to the people: thither flock'd at noon
His tenants, wife and child, and thither half
The neighbouring borough with their Institute
Of which he was the patron. I was there
From college, visiting the son,—the son
A Walter too, with others of our set.

And me that morning Walter show'd the house,

B

Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall

Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names,

Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay

Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park,

Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time ;

And on the tables

every

clime and age

Jumbled together; celts and calumets,

Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans

Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries,

Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere,

The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs

From the isles of palm: and higher on the walls,

Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer,

His own forefathers' arms and armour hung.

And this' he said was Hugh's at Agincourt;

And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon :
A good knight he! we keep a chronicle

With all about him '-which he brought, and I

Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights

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