With his white hair, unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff

comes; Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the

drums. The yeomen, round the market cross, make clear an ample

space, For there behoves him to set up the standard of her Grace: And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the

bells, As slow, upon the labouring wind, the royal blazon swells. Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies

down! So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed

Picard field, Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle

shield : So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turned to

bay, And, crushed and torn, beneath his claws the princely

hunters lay, Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, sir knight! ho! scatter

flowers, fair maids ! Ho, gunners! fire a loud salute! ho, gallants! draw your

blades ! Thou, sun, shine on her joyously! ye breezes, waft her

wide! Our glorious semper eadem! the banner of our pride!


The fresh’ning breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy

foldThe parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll

of gold.

Night sunk upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea; Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again

shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Mil

ford bay, That time of slumber was as bright, as busy as the day; For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance

spreadHigh on St. Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on Beachy

Head. Far o'er the deep, the Spaniard saw, along each southern

shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points

of fire, The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves, The rugged miners poured to war, from Mendip's sunless

caves :

O’er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery

herald flew He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge—the rangers of

Beaulieu. Right sharp and quick the bells rang out, all night, from

Bristol town; And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton

Down. The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, that streak of blood

red light. The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the deathlike silence

broke, And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke; At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires; At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice

of fear, And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder

cheer: And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurry

ing feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down

each rousing street; And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in; And eastward straight, for wild Blackheath, the warlike

errand went; And roused, in many an ancient hall, the gallant squires

of Kent: Southward, for Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright

coursers forth; High on black Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started

for the north; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still; All night from tower to tower they sprang, all night from

hill to hill; Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o’er Derwent's rocky

dales; Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of

Wales; Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely

height; Till streamed in crimson, on the wind, the Wrekin's crest

of light. Till, broad and fierce, the star came forth, on Ely's stately

fane, And town and hamlet rosc in arms, o'er all the boundless

plain :

Till Belvoir's lordly towers the sign to Lincoln sent,
And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale of

Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt's embattled

pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.



Ou, weep for Moncontour! O weep for the hour
When the children of darkness and evil had power;
When the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod
On the bosoms that bled for their rights and their God.

O weep for Moncontour! ( weep for the slain !
Who for faith and for freedom lay slaughtered in vain;
O weep for the living, who linger to bear
The renegado's shame, or the exile's despair !

One look, one last look to the cots and the towers,
To the rows of our vines, and the beds of our flowers;
To the church where the bones of our fathers decayed,
Where we fondly had deemed that our own should be laid.

Alas! we must leave thee, dear desolate home,
To the spearmen of Uri, the shavelings of Rome;
To the serpent of Florence, the sultan of Spain;
To the pride of Anjou, and the guile of Lorraino.

Farewell to thy fountains, farewell to thy shades,
To the song of thy youths, the dance of thy maids;

To the breath of thy gardens, the hum of thy bees,
And the long waving line of the blue Pyrenees !

Farewell and for ever! The priest and the slave
May rule in the halls of the free and the brave;
Our hearths we abandon-our lands we resign-
But, Father, we kneel to no altar but thine.



A BUTTERFLY basked on an infant’s grave,

Where a lily had chanced to grow; “Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye? Where she of the bright and sparkling eye

Must sleep in the churchyard low."

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Then it lightly soared through the sunny air,

And spoke from its shining track: “I was a worm till I won my wings, And she whom thou mourn’st, like a seraph singsWould thou call the blest one back?"


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A KING is standing there,

And, with uncovered head,
Receives him in the name of France :

Receiveth whom?- The dead!

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