A

GLORIOUS day! The village is afield:

Her pillow'd lace no thrifty housewife weaves Nor platters sit beneath the flow'ry eaves: The golden fields an ample harvest yield; And every hand, that can a sickle wield,

Is busy now. Some stoop to bind the sheaves, While to the o'erburden'd waggon one upheaves The load, among its streamers half conceal'd. We heard the ticking of the lonely clock

Plain through each open door-all was so still. For, busily dispersed near every shock

Their hands with trailing ears the urchins fill. Where all is clear'd, small birds securely flock, While full on lingering day the moon shines from the hill.

II.

Now that the flowers have faded, 'tis the turn
Of leaves to flaunt in all their gayest dyes.
'Tis Autumn's gala: every dryad vies
In decking out her bower. How richly burn
The gorgeous masses in the amber skies,
Where to the West, the valley, with its stream,
Is shut with woods that drink the setting beam!
There-by its crimson foliage one descries
The cherry, thrown out by the auburn shades
Of beech, with russet oak, and hoary sallow,
And greenest ash, bearing its golden keys,

With here and there wych-elm of paler yellow. How gracefully the waning season fades!

So Nature's every dress and every look can please.

Henry Hart Milman.

1791-1868.

HENRY HART MILMAN, poet, scholar, historian, and divine, was born on the 10th of February, 1791. He was the youngest son of Sir Francis Milman, Bart., physician to George III., and was educated at Etor and Brasenose College, Oxford. He gained the Newdegate prize for his poem "The Belvidere Apollo," in 1812, and graduated B.A. 1814, and M.A. 1816. He was elected a fellow of his college in 1814, and was ordained in the following year. He became Vicar of St. Mary's, Reading (1818), Professor of Poetry at Oxford (1821), Bampton Lecturer (1827), Rector of St. Margaret's, Westminster (1835), and Dean of St. Paul's (1849). His first published work was his " 'Apollo Belvidere" (1812), which was followed by "Fazio,” a tragedy (1815), performed without his permission at several theatres, and at Covent Garden in 1818; a religious epic entitled "Samor, the Lord of the Bright City" (1818), and four dramas, "The Fall of Jerusalem" (1820), "The Martyr of Antioch " (1822), "Belshazzar” (1822), and "Anne Boleyn " (1826). He also published "Poems" (1821), "Nala and Damayanti," with other poems (1835), and a collected edition of his poems (1839). His prose works include "The History of the Jews" (1829), "The History of Christianity under the Empire" (1840), and "The History of Latin Christianity" (1854-5).

Milman's poetical works were received with enthusiasm, but they cannot be said to have retained a moiety of the interest they excited upon their appearance. Though he so frequently adopted the dramatic form he lacked dramatic instinct, and was wanting in passion and imagination. There are fine passages in all his works, passages in which elevated thought is clothed in ornate language, and adorned with picturesque imagery. But it is as an historian that he achieved his success in letters-as an historian that he will live in literature, and it was probably the operation of the very qualities which made him so sound an historian that limited his achievements as a poet. He has been instanced as "a noble example of ecclesiastical liberalism": and the characteristation is no more than just. He was a sound scholar, a broad thinker, and an untiring worker. Some of his hymns, "Ride on, ride on in Majesty," "When our heads are bowed with woe," and others are still in use, but his longer poems have ceased to attract attention or are only read in selections.

ALFRED H. MILES.

HYMNS.

HENRY HART MILMAN.

1.-RIDE ON, RIDE ON IN MAJESTY.

IDE on, ride on in majesty;

RIDE

Hark, all the tribes Hosanna cry;

Thine humble beast pursues his road,

With palms and scattered garments strewed.

Ride on, ride on in majesty;

In lowly pomp ride on to die :

O 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
Awaits 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, O God, Thy power and reign.

II.-BOUND UPON TH' ACCURSÈD TREE.

BOUND upon th' accursed tree,
and bleeding,

who is He?

By the eyes so pale and dim,

Streaming blood, and writhing limb,
By the flesh with scourges torn,

By the crown of twisted thorn,

By the side so deeply pierced,
By the baffled burning thirst,
By the drooping death-dew'd brow,
Son of Man! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou!
Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is He?
By the sun at noon-day pale,
Shivering rocks, and rending veil,
By earth that trembles at His doom,
By yonder saints who burst their tomb,
By Eden promised ere He died

To the felon at His side,

Lord our suppliant knees we bow,
Son of God! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou.

Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Sad and dying, who is He?
By the last and bitter cry;
The ghost giv'n up in agony;
By the lifeless body laid
In the chamber of the dead;
By the mourners come to weep
Where the bones of Jesus sleep;
Crucified! we know Thee now,
Son of Man! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou.
Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and awiul, who is He?
By the prayer for them that slew,
"Lord! they know not what they do!"
By the spoil'd and empty grave,
By the souls He died to save,
By the conquest He hath won,
By the saints before His throne,
By the rainbow round His brow,
Son of God! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou!