And taking many a fort, With those that stopped his way, Which in his height of pride, Which he neglects the while, And turning to his men, 66 Though they to one be ten, Be not amazed. Yet have we well begun, By fame been raised. And for myself," quoth he, Loss to redeem me. Poictiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell; No less our skill is, Than when our grandsire great, Lopp'd the French Lilies." The Duke of York so dread, With the main Henry sped, Amongst his hench-men. They now to fight are gone, Well it thine age became, To our hid forces; Stuck the French horses. With Spanish yew so strong, When down their bows they threw, Arms were from shoulders sent, This while our noble King, And many a deep wound lent, Glo'ster, that Duke so good, Warwick in blood did wade, And cruel slaughter made, Still as they ran up; Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont and Willoughby Bare them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhope. Upon St. Crispin's day To England to carry ; O, when shall Englishmen A SCENE FROM RIENZI. MISS MITFORD. [Mary Russell Mitford was born at Alresford, Hants, in 1789. Her father, Dr. Mitford, sometimes confounded with the author of "The History of Greece," was for many years chairman of the Reading bench of magistrates, and lived to the age of 82. His early career though it is said "he encouraged his daughter's talents by all the appliances that wealth and taste could furnish,' -appears to have been one of "irregularities and extravagances," and he soon ran through a sum of ten thousand pounds which his daughter, when ten years of age, gained as a prize in the lottery; but it seems more than probable that the doctor himself purchased the ticket in his child's name "for luck." Miss Mitford's first prose sketches appeared in the annuals, and she subsequently wrote those delightful rural pictures for "The Ladies' Magazine," which were afterwards published (in 1832) under the title of "Our Village." Her tragedies, the first of which appeared in 1823, all of which evince highly intellectual powers, are "Julian," "Foscari," "Charles I.," and "Rienzi," but the last only succeeded on the stage. In 1842 she received a pension from the Civil List, and lived in elegant retirement; frequently, however, visited by literary celebrities at her cottage in Berkshire. Her last work, "Recollections of a Literary Life," is very interesting and full of curious details anent "men, women, and books." She died in 1855, in her 77th year.] Rie. Son. CHARACTERS. RIENZI AND ANGELO. Methinks this high solemnity might well Have claimed thy presence. A great ruler's heir Should be familiar in the people's eyes; Live on their tongues; take root within their hearts; Win woman's smiles by honest courtesy, And force man's tardier praise by bold desert. So, when the chief shall die, the general love May hail his successor. But thou-where wast thou? If with thy bride Ang. I have not seen her.-Tribune—! Thou wav'st away the word with such a scorn Rie. Wherefore should I? Ang. And wouldst be A king. Rie. There thou mistak'st.-A king!-Fair son, Power dwelleth not in sound, and fame hath garlands Brighter than diadems. I might have been Anointed, sceptred, crowned-have cast a blaze Of glory round the old imperial wreath, The laurel of the Cæsars: but I chose To master kings, not be one; to direct The royal puppets at my sovereign will, And Rome-my Rome, decree!-Tribune! the Gracchi Ang. Rienzi!--Tribune! Hast thou forgotten, on this very spot How thou didst shake the slumbering soul of Rome Rie. Well? Ang. Alas! When now thou fall'st, as fall thou must, 'twill be O'erthrown to form a wider tyranny ; Rie. Hast thou ended? I fain would have mistaken thee-Hast done? Ang. No; for, despite thy smothered wrath the voice Of warning truth shall reach thee. Thou to-day |