CCCXCVI. F. S. ECKHARD. THE RUINED CITY. The days of old, though time has reft To shadow forth the past. The warlike deed, the classic page, A thousand years have rolled along, A thousand summer-suns have shone, Till earth grew bright beneath their sway, Since thou, untenanted and lone, Wert rendered to decay. The moss-tuft, and the ivy-wreath, And gladdened in the spring's soft breath; Now, desolation hath denied That even these shall veil thy gloom : And Nature's mantling beauty died In token of thy doom. Alas, for the far years, when clad With the bright vesture of thy prime, Thy proud towers made each wanderer giad, Who hailed thy sunny clime. Alas, for the fond hope and dream, And all that won thy children's trust, How the dim visions throng the soul, The stir of life is brightening round, But a stern moral may be read, By those who view thy lonely gloom : O'er slave and lordly tomb. The sad, the gay, the old, the young, The warrior's strength, and beauty's glow, CCCXCVII. H. G. BELL. DEATH OF QUEEN MARY. Beside the block a sullen headsman stood, And gleam'd the broad axe in his hand, that soon must drip with blood. With slow and steady step there came a lady through the hall, And breathless silence chain'd the lips, and touch'd the hearts of all: Rich were the sable robes she wore-her white veil round her fell And from her neck there hung the cross-the cross she loved so well! I knew that queenly form again, though blighted was its bloom I saw that grief had decked it out-an offering for the tomb! I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so brightly shone I knew the voice, though feeble now, that thrilled with every tone I knew the ringlets, almost grey, once threads of living gold I knew that bounding grace of step-that symmetry of mould! E'en now I see her far away, in that calm convent aisle, I hear her chaunt her vesper-hymn, I mark her holy smile E'en now I see her bursting forth, upon her bridal morn, A new star in the firmament, to light and glory born! Alas! the change! she placed her foot upon a triple throne, And on the scaffold now she stands-beside the block, alone! The little dog that licks her hands, the last of all the crowd Who sunn'd themselves beneath her glance, and round her footsteps bow'd! Her neck is bared-the blow is struck-the soul is pass'd away; The bright-the beautiful-is now a bleeding piece of clay! The dog is moaning piteously; and, as it gurgles o'er, Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded to the floor! The blood of beauty, wealth, and power-the heartblood of a queen The noblest of the Stuart race-the fairest earth hath seen Lapp'd by a dog! Go, think of it, in silence and alone; Then weigh against a grain of sand, the glories of a throne ! CCCXCVIII. BUTSON. PATRIOTISM. Poor is his triumph, and disgraced his name, For him no prayers are pour'd, no pæans sung, Indignant of his deeds, the muse who sings Who made her weal his noblest, only end: Crowns with true glory, and with spotless fame, 1. CCCXCIX. MORRIS. REASONS FOR DRINKING. There's many a lad I liked is dead, 2. TOWN AND COUNTRY. In town let me live, in town let me die, ᎢᎻᎬ ᎻᎬᎪᎡᎢ . Nor peace nor ease the heart can know, Which, like the needle true, Turns at the touch of joy or woe, CCCCI. ANONYMOUS DEATH. Hush, idle words and thoughts of ill, CCCCII. FREDERIC LOCKER. The world! Was ever jester in It almost is-as pleasant! It is an ugly world. Offend Good people-how they wrangle! They eat, and drink, and scheme, and plod, And many are afraid of God And more of Mrs Grundy. 2. A SKULL. A human skull! I bought it passing cheap; I thought mortality did well to keep Some mute momento of the Old Destroyer. Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin, |