her early death, some thought it might be so indeed. Thus coming to the grave in little knots, and glancing down, and giving place to others, and falling off in whispering groups of three or four, the church was cleared, in time, of all but the sexton and the mourning friends.

They saw the vault covered, and the stone fixed down. Then, when the dusk of evening had come on, and not a sound disturbed the sacred stillness of the place, when the bright moon poured in her light on the tomb and monument, on pillar, wall, and arch, and most of all (it seemed to them) upon her quiet grave-in that calm time when all outward things and inward thoughts teem with assurances of immortality, and worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before them, then, with tranquil and submissive hearts, they turned away, and left the child with God.

XXXVII.

CARCASSONNE.

FROM THE FRENCH.

I'm growing old; I've sixty years;
I've labored all my life in vain :
In all that time of hopes and fears,
I've failed my dearest wish to gain.

I see full well that here below

Bliss unalloyed there is for none;
My prayer will ne'er fulfilment know, -
I never have seen Carcassonne,
I never have seen Carcassonne !

You see the city from the hill;

It lies beyond the mountains blue,
And yet, to reach it, one must still
Five long and weary leagues pursue.
And to return, as many more!

Ah! had the vintage plenteous grown!
The grape witheld its plenteous store!
I shall not look on Carcassonne,
I shall not look on Carcassonne !

They tell me every day is there

Not more or less than Sunday gay; In shining robes and garments fair, The people walk upon their way. One gazes there on castle walls

As grand as those of Babylon,
A bishop and two generals!

I do not know fair Carcassonne,
I do not know fair Carcassonne !

The vicar's right: he says that we

Are ever wayward, weak, and blind; He tells us, in his homily,

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179

Yet could I there two days have spent,
While yet the autumn sweetly shone,
Ah me! I might have died content,

When I had looked on Carcassonne,
When I had looked on Carcassonne !

Thy pardon, father, I beseech
In this my prayer, if I offend:
One something sees beyond his reach,
From childhood to his journey's end.
My wife, our little boy Aignan,

Have travelled even to Narbonne;
My grandchild has seen Perpignan,
And I have not seen Carcassonne,
And I have not seen Carcassonne !

So crooned, one day, close by Limoux,
A peasant, double-bent with age.
"Rise up, my friend," said I; "with you
I'll go upon this pilgrimage."

We left next morning his abode,

But Heaven forgive him— half-way on The old man died upon the road: He never gazed on Carcassonne ;

Each mortal has his Carcassonne !

CARDINAL WOLSEY'S FArewell.

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XXXVIII.

CARDINAL WOLSEY ON BEING CAST OFF BY KING HENRY VIII.

SHAKSPEARE.

NAY, then, farewell!

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness,
And, from that full meridian of my glory,

I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.

*

So farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;

And when he thinks, good, easy man, - full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have,
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again!

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear

In all my miseries: but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of,

say I taught thee, Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me! Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; By that sin fell the angels: how can man, then,

The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?

Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate. thee,

Corruption wins not more than honesty;

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.