Or who would reign o'er vale and hill, One jerk, and there a lady lay, A lady wondrous fair; But the rose of her lip had faded away, And her cheek was as white and as cold as clay, 'Ah, ha!' said the Fisher, in merry guise, There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, And golden cups of the brightest wine That ever was pressed from the Burgundy vine. There was a perfume of sulphur and nitre, As he came at last to a bishop's mitre ! From top to toe the Abbot shook, As the Fisherman armed his golden hook, On the scaffold his country's vengeance raises, As the swirling wherry settles down, When peril has numbed the sense and will, Though the hand and the foot may struggle still : Wilder far was the Abbot's glance, Deeper far was the Abbot's trance: Fixed as a monument, still as air, He bent no knee, and he breathed no prayer But he signed-he knew not why or how,- There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, 'Oho! O ho! The cock doth crow; It is time for the Fisher to rise and go. Fair luck to the Abbot, fair luck to the shrine ! Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south, The Abbot had preached for many years With as clear articulation As ever was heard in the House of Peers His words had made battalions quake, As if an axe went through his head He stuttered o'er blessing, he stuttered o'er ban, And none but he and the Fisherman Could tell the reason why! Boadicea AN ODE PRAED. WHEN the British warrior-queen, Sage beneath a spreading oak 'Princess! If our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. 'Rome shall perish--write that word 'Rome, for empire far renown'd, 'Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name ; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame. 'Then the progeny that springs 'Regions Cæsar never knew Such the bard's prophetic words, She, with all a monarch's pride, Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heav'n awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us bestow'd, Shame and ruin wait for you. Cowper. On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford for Naples [1831] A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height; Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows, Be true, Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, WORDSWORTH. LIVES OF AUTHORS OF POEMS RICHARD BARNFIELD (1574-1627) was born at Norbury, in Shropshire. His father was a gentleman, and he went in due course to Oxford, and was a friend of the poet Drayton, and of Francis Meres, who gives us interesting information about Shakespeare. In 1594 Barnfield published a small volume of poems entitled The Affectionate Shepherd, and dedicated them to Penelope Lady Rich, the Stella whom Sir Philip Sidney's sonnets have made so famous. In 1595 he published another volume entitled Cynthia, and in 1598 a third, wherein occur two beautiful poems which in the following year appeared again as part of The Passionate Pilgrim with the name of William Shakespeare as author. The two poems are, the one beginning 'If music and sweet poetry agree,' and the other beginning 'As it fell upon a day.' There is little doubt that they are both the work of Barnfield, and they well show the richness of his fancy, and the power and sweetness of his language. The ascription of the name of Shakespeare is the device of the publisher, and there is good evidence that other parts of The Passionate Pilgrim belong to Christopher Marlowe and to Sir Walter Raleigh. WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1828) was born in Broad Street, Soho, where his father was a well-to-do hosier. The boy gave his heart to sketching and writing poetry, and his father apprenticed him to an engraver in Lincoln's Inn Fields. His first volume of Poetical Sketches appeared in 1783. It |