And bitter hours to come might bring Oh! it was more than grief, to trace That mark'd her pallid brow and face, I marvell'd that the gentle Maid "Leave that mis-shapen, monstrous form! Seek the green earth with me; Come to my home, where lours no storm.". "Stranger it may not be : Alas! from HIM I ne'er can sever, Together link'd, we're link'd for ever! "Yes! through the countless ages past, O'er earth and boundless main, Our hapless fates together cast, Our only birthright pain, We've wander'd far, o'er ev'ry clime, Since Man could note the flight of time. "The east, the west, the north, the south, Together we have ranged, Through winter's cold, and summer's drouth, I loathe my gaunt companion's heart, She ceased, and from her eyes again While throbb'd her breast with boding dread, "Tell me," I cried, "your names—your race ?" The maiden's tearful eye Rose slowly to my burning face, As came the brief reply: While flash'd the Monster's eyes with fire, As thus he spoke with scorn and ire :— "Mortal, depart! thou see'st the bane Thou know'st us, mortal-SIN and SORROW." J. BIRD, ESQ. Bonaparte—Wellington. Sir R. Newdigate's English verse prize, which had been gained by Mr. Arnould, of Wedham, was read by him on the occasion of the recent Installation of the Duke of Wellington at Oxford, from the rostrum. The subject is "The Hospice of St. Bernard." The beautiful sentiments and the polished and elegant numbers of the writer, were applauded highly by the whole audience. The following passage is surpassingly beautiful: BUT when the lamp burns faintly, and the guest Seeks his low cell, and homely couch of rest, Dim with the mists of time before his eyes, Majestic forms of other days arise, And to his ear the night-winds waft along Names that have lived in story or in song. Once more the foe of Rome, from height to height, Cheers his dark host, impatient for the fight, And where yon plains expand in boundless gloom, He bids them seek an empire or a tomb. With nodding plumes, bright helms, and glittering spears, Lo! Gaul's great emperor leads his knightly peers; And there his chief, whose name of terror spread Youth on his cheek, and ardour in his gaze; If, in that hour of pride, and fervid youth, Such were his dreams, mankind has mourned their truth; O'er seas of blood his sun of glory rose, And sunk, at length, 'mid tempest to repose. The Red King's Warning. Historians relate that the death of William Rufus, in the New Forest, was preceded by several predictions clearly announcing his fate. The statement in the second line of this piece, that the hunt commenced at noon, is in accordance with the fact. WITH hound and horn the wide New Forest rung, When the Red William at the bright noon-day, Girt by his glittering train, to saddle sprung, And to the chase spurr'd forth his gallant grey : O'er hill, o'er dale, the hunters held their track; But that grey courser, fleeter than the wind, Was foremost still-and as the king look'd back, Save Tyrrell, all were far and far behind. Slow through a distant pass the train defiled; Alone the king rode on-when in mid course Lo! rush'd across his path a figure wild, And on his bridle-rein with giant force Seized-then swift pointing to a blighted oak, "Curb thy race of headlong speed, Backward, backward turn thy steed! Death is on thy onward track, Turn, oh turn, thy courser back! |