And trembling majesty, Rowena sate.
On Hengist's dropping lip and knitted brow
Was mockery at her fate-opposing prayer,
And that was all. But she-"Proud-hearted
Men,

Ye vainly deem your privilege, your right,
Prerogative of your high-minded race,
The glory of endurance, and the state
Of strong resolving fortitude. Here I,
A woman born to melt and faint and fail,
A frail, a delicate, dying woman, sit

To shame ye." She endured the flashing stroke
Of th' axe athwart her eyesight, and the blood
That sprung around her she endured: still kept
The lily its unbroken stateliness,
And its pellucid beauty sparkled, still,
But all its odours were exhaled-the breath
Of life, the tremulous motion was at rest;
A flower of marble on a temple wall,
'Twas fair but lived not, glitter'd but was cold.
While from the headless corpse t' its great account
Went fiercely forth the Pagan's haughty soul.

View'd the bright conclave of Heaven's blest abode,

And the cold marble leapt to life a God:
Contagious awe through breathless myriads ran,
And nations bow'd before the work of man.
For mild he seem'd, as in Elysian bowers,
Wasting in care less ease the joyous hours;
Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway
Curbing the fierce flame-breathing steeds of day;
Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep
By holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep,
'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove,
Too fair to worship, too divine to love.

Yet on that form in wild delirious trance
With more than rev'rence gazed the Maid of
France,

Day after day the love-sick dreamer stood
With him alone, nor thought it solitude!
To cherish grief, her last, her dearest care,
Her one fond hope-to perish of despair.
Oft as the shifting light her sight beguiled,
Blushing she shrunk, and thought the marble
smiled:

Oft breathless list'ning heard, or seem'd to hear,
A voice of music melt upon her ear.

Slowly she waned, and cold and senseless grown,

THE BELVIDERE APOLLO:

A PRIZE POEM,

RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD, IN THE
YEAR MDCCCXII.

HEARD ye the arrow hurtle in the sky?
Heard ye the dragon monster's deathful cry?
In settled majesty of calm disdain,

Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain,
The heav'nly Archer stands*-no human birth,
No perishable denizen of earth;

Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face,
A God in strength, with more than godlike grace;
All, all divine-no struggling muscle glows,
Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood
flows,

But animate with deity alone,

In deathless glory lives the breathing stone.

Bright kindling with a conqueror's stern delight,
His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight;
Burns his indignant cheek with vengeful fire,
And his lip quivers with insulting ire:

Firm fix'd his tread, yet light, as when on high
He walks th' impalpable and pathless sky :
The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined
In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind,
That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold
Proud to display that form of faultless mould.

Mighty Ephesian!† with an eagle's flight Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light,

*The Apollo is in the act of watching the arrow with which he slew the serpent Python. +Agasias of Ephesus.

Yet love in death a sickly strength supplied: Once more she gazed, then feebly smiled and died.*

THE MERRY HEART.

I WOULD not from the wise require
The lumber of their learned lore;
Nor would I from the rich desire
A single counter of their store.
For I have ease, and I have health,
And I have spirits, light as air;

And more than wisdom, more than wealth,-
A merry heart, that laughs at care.

At once, 'tis true, two 'witching eyes
Surprised me in a luckless season,
Turn'd all my mirth to lonely sighs,
And quite subdued my better reason.
Yet 'twas but love could make me grieve,
And love you know's a reason fair,
And much improved, as I believe,
The merry heart, that laugh'd at care.

So now from idle wishes clear,
I make the good I may not find;
Adown the stream I gently steer,
And shift my sail with every wind.
And half by nature, half by reason,
Can still with pliant heart prepare,
The mind, attuned to every season,
The merry heart, that laughs at care.

Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream, Ye social feelings of the mind,

*The foregoing fact is related in the work of M Pinel sur l'Insanite.

Give, sometimes give, your sunny gleam,
And let the rest good-humour find.
Yes, let me hail and welcome give
To every joy my lot may share,
And pleased and pleasing let me live
With merry heart, that laughs at care.

THE LOVE OF GOD.

TWO SONNETS.

I.

LOVE Thee!-oh, Thou, the world's eternal Sire! Whose palace is the vast infinity,

Time, space, height, depth, oh God! are full of Thee,

And sun-eyed seraphs tremble and admire. Love Thee!—but Thou art girt with vengeful fire,

And mountains quake, and banded nations flee, And terror shakes the wide unfathom'd sea, When the heavens rock with thy tempestuous ire. Oh, Thou! too vast for thought to comprehend, That wast ere time,-shalt be when time is o'er; Ages and worlds begin-grow old-and end, Systems and suns thy changeless throne before, Commence and close their cycles :-lost, I bend To earth my prostrate soul, and shudder and adore!

His righteous acts the hamlets sing upon the open plains,

And enter their deserted gates the people of Jehovah.

Awake, Deborah ! awake!
Awake, uplift the song!

Barak, awake! and lead your captives captive,
Thou son of Abinoam!

With him a valiant few went down against the mighty,

With me Jehovah's people went down against the strong.

First Ephraim, from the Mount of Amalek,
And after thee, the bands of Benjamin!
From Machir came the rulers of the people,
From Zebulon those that bear the marshal's staff;
And Issachar's brave princes came with Deborah,
Issachar, the strength of Barak:

They burst into the valley on his footsteps.

By Reuben's fountains there was deep debatingWhy sat'st thou idle, Reuben, 'mid thy herdstalls?

Was it to hear the lowing of thy cattle?
By Reuben's fountains there was deep debating-

And Gilead linger'd on the shores of Jordan-
And Dan, why dwell'd he among his ships?-
And Asser dwell'd in his sea-shore havens,
And sate upon his rock precipitous.
But Zebulon was a death-defying people,
And Napthali from off the mountain heights.

Came the kings and fought, Fought the kings of Canaan,

sword;

In thy wrath thou'st slain them, thou hast had no mercy.

Thou hast summon'd all my terrors, as to a solemn feast;

None 'scaped, and none was left in Jehovah's day of wrath;

All that mine arms have borne and nursed, the enemy hath slain. ii. 20. 1, 2.

Remember, Lord what hath befallen,

Look down on our reproach. Our heritage is given to strangers,

Our home to foreigners,

Our water have we drank for money, Our fuel hath its price-v. 1, 2, 3.

We stretch our hands to Egypt,

To Assyria for our bread. At our life's risk we gain our food, From the sword of desert robbers. Our skins are like an oven, parched, By the fierce heat of famine. Matrons in Sion have they ravish'd, Virgins in Judah's cities. Princes were hung up by the hand, And age had no respect. Young men are grinding at the mill, Boys faint 'neath loads of wood. The Elders from the gate have ceased, The young men from their music. The crown is fallen from her head, Woe! woe! that we have sinn'd. 'Tis therefore that our hearts are faint, Therefore our eyes are dim. For Sion's mountain desolate, The foxes walk on it.

Oh mercy! oh mercy! look down from above, Creator! on us thy sad children, with love! When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven,

May our sanctified souls find a mansion in heaven!

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.

LORD! Thou didst arise and say

To the troubled waters "Peace,"
And the tempest died away,

Down they sank, the foamy seas;
And a calm and heaving sleep
Spread o'er all the glassy deep,
All the azure lake serene
Like another Heaven was seen!

Lord! Thy gracious word repeat
To the billows of the proud!
Quell the tyrant's martial heat,

Quell the fierce and changing crowd!
Then the earth shall find repose
From its restless strife and foes;
And an imaged Heaven appear
On our world of darkness here!

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.
THE angel comes, he comes to reap
The harvest of the Lord!
O'er all the earth with fatal sweep
Wide waves his flamy sword.

And who are they, in sheaves to bide
The fire of Vengeance bound!
The tares, whose rank luxuriant pride
Choked the fair crop around.

And who are they, reserved in store
God's treasure-house to fill?
The wheat a hundred-fold that bore
Amid surrounding ill.

O King of Mercy! grant us power
Thy fiery wrath to flee!
In thy destroying angel's hour,
O gather us to Thee!

SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT.

Он help us, Lord! each hour of need
Thy heavenly succour give;
Help us in thought, and word, and deed,
Each hour on earth we live.

Oh help us, when our spirits bleed
With contrite anguish sore,

And when our hearts are cold and dead,
O help us, Lord, the more.

O help us, through the prayer of faith
More firmly to believe;

For still the more the servant hath,
The more shall he receive.

If strangers to Thy fold we call,
Imploring at Thy feet

The crumbs that from Thy table fall, 'Tis all we dare entreat.

But be it, Lord of Mercy, all,

So Thou wilt grant but this; The crumbs that from Thy table fall Are light, and life, and bliss.

Oh help us, Jesus! from on high,
We know no help but Thee;
Oh! help us so to live and die
As thine in Heaven to be.

SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

RIDE on! ride on in majesty!
Hark! all the tribes Hosanna cry!
Thine humble beast pursues his road,
With palms and scatter'd garments strow'd!

Ride on ride on in majesty !

In lowly pomp ride on to die!
Oh Christ! Thy triumphs now begin
O'er captive death and conquer'd Sin!

Ride on ride on in majesty!
The winged squadrons of the sky
Look down with sad and wondering eyes,
To see the approaching sacrifice!

Ride on ride on in majesty!
Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh;
The father on His sapphire throne
Expects His own anointed Son!

Ride on ride on in majesty !
In lowly pomp ride on to die!

Bow Thy meek head to mortal pain!
Then take, oh God! Thy power, and reign!

GOOD FRIDAY.

BOUND upon th' accursed tree,
Faint and bleeding, who is He?
By the eyes so pale and dim,
Streaming blood and writhing limb,