THE PROGRESS OF THE ROSE. THE days of old-the good old days, And claim their share of good and ill. 'Tis true, the cloisters, all throughout The valleys, rais'd their peaceful tow'rs, A shadow darken'd o'er the sward; Hung the rude fortress of the lord; The pow'rless serf's dishonour'd child. Then Safety lit with partial beams And bade them flow but for their Source, That Source from which, meandering down, A thousand streamlets circle now; For then, the monarch's glorious crown But individual force is dead, And link'd opinion late takes birth; And now a woman's gentle head Supports the mightiest crown on earth: A pleasing type of all the change Throughout the realm her rule makes free; Not prison'd in a golden cage, To sigh or sing her lonely state- Or shelter of the noontide groves; And thus the festive summer yields No sight more happy, none so gay, As when amid her subject-fields She wanders on from day to day. Resembling her, whom proud and fond The bard doth sing of-she of old, Who bore upon her snow-white wand All Erin through, the ring of gold. Thus, from her castles coming forth, She wanders many a summer hour, Bearing the ring of private worth Upon the silver wand of Power. Thus musing, while around me flew Sweet airs from Fancy's amaranth bow'rs, Methought, what this fair Queen doth do, Hath yearly done, the Queen of Flow'rs. The beauteous Queen of all the flowers, Whose faintest sigh is like a spell, Was born in Eden's sinless bowers, Long ere our primal parents fell. There, in a perfect form, she grew, Nor felt decay, nor tasted death; Heaven was reflected in her hue, And Heaven's own odours filled her breath. And ere the angel of the Sword Drove thence the founders of our race, They knelt before him, and implor'd Some relic that, while time would last, Proof of the glory that was past, And type of that they yet might win. The angel turn'd; and ere his hands The gates of bliss for ever close, Pluck'd from the fairest tree that stands Within Heaven's walls-the peerless Rose; And as he gave it unto them, Let fall a tear upon its leaves—— The same celestial liquid gem We oft perceive on dewy eves. Grateful, the hapless twain went forth Then first the dreadful curse had power 'Till e'en the sap within the flower They twin'd their trembling hands across Their trembling breasts against the drift, Then sought some little mound of moss, Wherein to lay their precious gift, Some little soft and mossy mound, Wherein the flower might rest till morn; In vain! God's curse was on the ground, For through the moss outgleam'd the thorn! Outgleam'd the forked plant, as if The serpent tempter, in his rage, Had put his tongue in every leaf, To mock them through their pilgrimage. They did their best; their hands eras'd The plant took root; the beams and showers The thorns and moss of earth appear'd. Type of the greater change that then Happy, indeed, and sweet our pain, If, like the rose, our hearts retain Where she upon this colder sphere Found shelter first, she there abode; Let pass the tide, but kept its sheen. No rival sisters had she yet She with the snowy forehead fringed With blushes; nor the sweet brunette Whose cheek the yellow sun has ting'd. Nor all the harbingers of May, Nor all the clustering joys of June; Uncarpeted the bare earth lay, Unhung the branches' gay festoon. But Nature came in kindly mood, And gave her kindred of her own; Knowing full well it is not good For man or flower to be alone. Long in her happy court she dwelt, To share her joy with all the earth. June, 1852. To go from longing land to land A stateless queen-a welcome guest- And thus it is that every year, Ere Autumn dons his russet robe, And makes her progress through the globe. First, sharing in the month-long feast- She sends her heralds on before: The bee rings out his bugle bold, To watch her coming from afar; From out the villages and towns, From all of mankind's mix'd abodes, And some would bear her in their hands, And some would press her to their breast, Her gracious smile dispels the gloom. Doth fill the languid air with joy. But to the Poet she belongs, Dropp'd from the angels' hands above. Then come into his heart and home, Type of ideal beauty, come! Wonder of Nature! queenly Rose! VOL. XVI. E THE TRIAL BY BATTLE. A TALE OF CHIVALRY. CHAPTER I.THE CORONATION. EASTER-EVEN, in the year of our Lord 1099, was held as a high festival in the fine city of Barcelona: it was the coronation-day of the young Count Raymond Berenger the Third, whose twelvemonth's mourning for his lamented father and sovereign was to close with his own solemn inauguration. The count had accordingly, by his letters patent, convoked to his good city of Barcelona the bishops, barons, knights, and also the ambassadors from foreign courts, to witness him take his knighthood, and receive from the altar, and place upon his head, the garland of golden roses which formed the coronet of the Counts of Arragon. At the appointed day, not only the prelates, barons, and chivalry of Spain repaired to the festival, but a great many foreign lords and princes: the Judge and the Archbishop of Albera, from Sardinia; the King of Arragon, from Saragossa; and the King of Castile, from Madrid. The Moorish sovereigns of Tlemecen and Granada, not being able to come in person, had sent rich presents to the count, with congratulatory epistles by the hands of their ambassadors. Indeed, so great was the concourse to Barcelona on this day, that thirty thousand stirrups belonging to gentlemen of condition. were counted in the city and its environs. This concourse was too great for the count to receive at his own palace of Aljaferia, which stood a short distance from Barcelona: he was therefore compelled to limit the number of his guests to kings, prelates, princes, ambassadors, and their suites; and there were present in Barcelona at that time four thousand persons who claimed his hospitality as their right. Throughout the day an immense crowd traversed the streets, visited the churches, or *This tale of chivalry is a free translation from one entitled Pracède, by Alexandre Dumas, and presents a complete description of the ancient trial, or appeal by battle, as formerly practised in the middle ages. The champion was supposed to depend upon God for making the cause he had undertaken good, provided the party he represented were clear of the crime of which he or she was accused. This law remained on the statute book of Great Britain unrepealed until a few years since, when it was finally abolished. To those who love ancient customs, this translation from an eminent living author, deeply versed in such lore, may not prove either unacceptable or uninteresting.-JANE STRICKLAND. amused themselves with the tricks of the jugglers and mountebanks, passing from devotion to mirth, and from mirth to devotion; but towards evening every one took his way to the palace, for the count was to watch his arms that evening in the church of St. Saviour. The whole road to the palace, two miles from the city, was illuminated by torches, which were kindled before the close of the day, the moment the vesper-bell was rung. This broad avenue of light defined the route to the church of St. Saviour, and as soon as this was effected, the heralds appeared with the banners of the Count of Barcelona, and marshalled the people on each side, that the cortége might have room to pass, unobstructed by the pressure of the crowd. At the last stroke of the vesper-bell, the gates of the palace opened, amidst the joyful shouts of the multitude, who had been awaiting that event since the hour of noon. The first who appeared in the procession were the noble knights of Catalonia, on horseback, wearing the swords of their forefathers; valiant blades, gapped by hard service in battle or tournament, bearing names like those of Charlemagne, Roland, and Réné. Behind them came their squires, bearing the arms and naked swords of their masters, which, unlike the ancestral brands the knights had displayed, were bright and unstained; but they knew that in the hands of their owners they would soon lose their virgin brightness and lustre in the turmoil of battle. Next appeared the sword of the lord count, made in the form of a cross, to recal continually to his mind that he was the soldier of God before he became an earthly prince. Neither emperor, king, nor count had ever before worn a sword better tempered, or more richly embossed with jewels on the handle. It was in the hands of Don Juan Ximenes de la Roca, one of the bravest knights in the world, who held it till the time should arrive when it would pass into those of its master. He was supported on each side by the Baron Gulielmo di Cervallo and Sir Otto de Monçada. After the sword of the lord count came his equerries, in two chariots, bearing lighted torches, and charged with ten quintals of wax, to be offered as a gift to the church of St. Saviour, because the count had vowed a taper to the altar, to expiate the fault his filial duty had obliged him to commit, since, detained in his |