The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,

And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of bloodred light,

Then 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 furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring 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 from wild Blackheath the warlike

errand went,

And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.

Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;

High on bleak 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; they sprang from hill to hill:

Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin'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 tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless

plain;

Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of

Trent ;

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

pile,

And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of

Carlisle.

MACAULAY.

Mary Ambree

WHEN captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte,
Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,

They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,
And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.

When the brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight
Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,
Because he was slaine most treacherouslie
Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.

She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe
In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe;
A faire shirt of mail then slipped on shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,
A stronge arminge-sword shee girt by her side,
On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,
Bidding all such, as wold, to bee of her band;
To wayte on her person came thousand and three :
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree ?

'My soldiers,' she saith, soe valliant and bold,
Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde ;
Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee :'
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say,
'Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,
Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree,
Noe mayden was ever like Mary Ambree.'

She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life.
With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fife,
With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

'Before I will see the worst of you all

To come into danger of death or of thrall,
This hand and this life I will venture so free :'
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array,

Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;

Seven howers in skirmish continued shee;

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,
And her enemyes bodyes with bulletts so hott;
For one of her owne men a score killed shee;
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,
Away all her pellets and powder had sent,
Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,
At length she was forced to make a retyre;
Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Her foes they besett her on everye side,
As thinking close siege shee cold never abide ;
To beate down the walles they all did decree :
But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.

Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,
And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,
There daring their captaines to match any three:
O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree !

‘Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?

Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee :' Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.

‘Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,

Whom thinke you before you now you doe beholde?'
‘A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,
Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee.'

'No captaine of England; behold in your sight
Two brests in my bosome, and therefore no knight :
Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,
But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree.'

'But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,
Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre ?
If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee,
Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.'

The Prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne,
Who long had advanced for England's fair crowne;
Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee,
And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree.

But this virtuous mayden despised them all :
''Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall
A mayden of England, sir, never will bee
The wench of a monarcke,' quoth Mary Ambree.

Then to her owne country shee backe did returne,
Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne;
Therfore English captaines of every degree
Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.

RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.

Elizabeth of Bohemia

You meaner beauties of the night,
Which poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light,
You common-people of the skies,
What are you when the Moon shall rise?

τ

Ye violets that first appear,

By your pure purple mantles known, Like the proud virgins of the year,

As if the spring were all your own,What are you when the Rose is blown?

Ye curious chanters of the wood,

That warble forth dame Nature's lays Thinking your passions understood

By your weak accents; what's your praise
When Philomel her voice doth raise?

So when my Mistress shall be seen
In form and beauty of her mind,
By virtue first, then choice, a Queen,
Tell me, if she were not design'd
Th' eclipse and glory of her kind?

Cherry Ripe

SIR H. WOTTON.

THERE is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till Cherry Ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,

Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow :
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till Cherry Ripe themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still;

Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill

All that approach with eye or hand, These sacred cherries to come nigh, —Till Cherry Ripe themselves do cry!

CAMPION.