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The goal is won; the hempen bonds relax,
And liberate the tenants of the sacks;
On Pythias all their noisy welcomes pour

In soul triumphant, nor in body sore.

W.

A NIGHT IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

(Concluded.)

It was

Turn we again to the hall at Herstmonceux. noon, and the tables were groaning under the weight of ancient baronial hospitality. At the dais sat the Lord Dacre, attended only by his wife and the chaplain of his castle; his boon companions had been long since dismissed. There was an air of melancholy on his brow, as if some secret sorrow was ruling in his breast, which not even the anxious affection of his fair lady could chase away. The silence which saddened at least the upper end of the hall was suddenly dispelled by the harsh sound of a horn from without the castle. The cause was

speedily explained by the entrance of a pursuivant, followed by two men at arms.

"What would ye here, my masters?" said the Baron, "that ye disturb thus the privacy of my house?

would ye with Thomas of Herstmonceux ?"

What

"I bear you, my Lord," said the officer, "such tidings as better beseem your private ear than the public audience of your household. Nevertheless," he continued, on Lord Dacre's beckoning him to proceed, "an it pleases you best to hear them in this place, know that our Lord the King would examine you touching a certain affray in the ork of Sir Nicholas Pelham of Laughton. And he wills

you to commit yourself to our custody, that you may be tried by your Peers for the offence for which you stand indicted."

"Mislike not this, dearest Eleanor," he said to his wife, who clung to him, asking by her look, what she feared to know; "mislike not this hasty summons. Believe me I fear not what Pelham can do; and you shall soon receive me back unharmed and absolved from dishonourable charge. And for you, sir," turning proudly to the messenger, "I will follow you forthwith, in obedience to the King's command. Dearest Eleanor, farewell."

So saying, he left the hall, and when he had crossed the outer drawbridge, discovered several horsemen awaiting his appearance. He put himself in the centre,

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and quickly lost sight of his stately mansion. If there was somewhat of sadness in his countenance as he cast a last look on the well-known turret, it was for her, whom he had loved and wronged, that he was sorrowing; for himself he had no fear. It was in truth a prison! the stone walls, inscribed with the rudely-traced name of many a noble captive who had languished in its sad atmosphere, the high and grated window, the humble pallet, and iron-bound door, spoke, but too distinctly, the duresse in which the unhappy inmate was held.

The iron lamp, swinging from the vaulted ceiling, flashed on the worn features of a man extended on the bed. He was sleeping, but his sleep was disturbed; nor was this lost on the fair but mournful lady who watched by his side. The lady of Herstmonceux (for she it was) gently roused her unfortunate husband from his troubled slumbers.

"Alas, Eleanor," he said, "my last sleep in this world

has not been soft or peaceful; I have lived again this month of horrors, I saw the ranger lying wounded on the ground; the officers of the king entering my house; the trial for murder; the solemn mockery in Westminster; I heard the fatal sentence, and methought even now, when you aroused me, they were leading me out to death. Nay, dearest, weep not; I am now no longer sad!"

"Oh! Thomas," she said, with difficulty restraining the tears which burst down her cheeks; "with this day ends the light of my life for ever. Thy sun is put out in blood; one half of my soul is torn from me; why should I, the other, remain? Would I could follow thee!"

"We shall meet again soon," said Lord Dacre; "believe me I mourn nothing now, but that I must bid adieu to thee and my children, and that in the list of my family, my name must be clouded with disgrace. And yet I slew him not, nor was concerned in the affray; I die not to satisfy justice, but that the courtiers may swallow up my broad lands. That they will not enjoy their promised plunders, comforts me even in this sad hour. Believe me, the day which dawns through these wretched gratings shall have no night throughout eternity; and its lustre shall as far exceed the happiness of life on earth, as the glad beams of the sun put to shame that expiring lamp. I regret not now my misfortunes; they have changed the haughty godless baron to a penitent sinner, clinging to the cross, on the confines of the grave. And when we meet again, thou and I, in heaven, I shall not be a penitent criminal, nor thou a mourning saint; both shall be happy together, and for ever.

He hastily threw on a mantle, and seated himself beside his wife. It was now four-he had eight hours to live.

She read to him some of the last prayers of the church, and spent some hours in such comforts and exhortations appear before his Creator. had tolled-and Lady Dacre

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as befitted a person about to It was now seven-the bell prepared, with what firmness she might, to meet her trial. Dearest," she said, “in five hours this earth with its joys and its sorrows, will have closed on thee for ever. Shall I presume to interrupt the last audience thou wilt have with thy maker, ere thy doom be told thee for ever? I will away, martyrdom though it be; for my presence will draw thee down to earth."

Adieu was not said; it was expressed from soul to soul; they parted, not to meet again on earth.

Lord Dacre's confessor then came to him, to administer the last rites of the church, and remained till he was summoned to death; and when that final strife had taken place, he declared that he had never known a penitent so well prepared for death as the Lord of Herstmonceux. He died, with Mantell, Frouds, and Roidon, on the twenty-ninth of June, amidst the universal commiseration of all.

J.

LYCOPHRON OF CORINTH.

A Legend from a Greek Chronicler.

CANTO I.
(1.)

At Corinth's ancient palace gates
A wistful man in silence waits,
After long absence to embrace
The young heir of his kingly race-

To greet the frank and fearless boy,
Who sent to sojourn for a while
On kindly ministries of joy

In his old grandsire's distant isle,
This day again will reach the door,

He ne'er was bid to leave before.

And this should be, thou dark-browed King,
An hour of love and welcoming-

A guerdon of delight—a price
Paid in thy noble child's return
For the half-willing sacrifice

Of his sweet smiles, which was to earn
The good old Procles' grateful prayers,
And cheat him of his death-bed cares
By the quick beams of playful eyes,
And
young affection's witcheries.
'Tis over-all the hours are spent
Allowed for that experiment-

That honoured guest, so fair and bold
Corcyra's halls no more may hold-
And Procles sadly hath resigned
The last stay of his waning mind,
Henceforth content to pine and die
With no heart-food save memory.

(2.)

Across the glad seas' careless surge
The precious ship hath hastened,
As though hope's impulses could urge,

By force of orisons unsaid,

Th' unconscious galley's homeward flight;
The winds have done their task aright-
(What wonder-if no chance could smite

The head of one reserved to try

A more momentous destiny.)

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