visited with her displeasure any unseemly conduct or improper intimacy.

WHAT hast thou seen, with thy shining eye,
Thou needle, so subtle and keen?

"I have been in Paradise, stainless and fair,
And fitted the apron of fig-leaves there,
To the form of its fallen queen.

"The mantles and wimples, the hoods and veils,
That the belles of Judah wore,

When their haughty mien and their glance of fire
Enkindled the eloquent prophet's1 ire,

I help'd to fashion of yore.

"The beaded belt of the Indian maid
I have deck'd with as true a zeal

As the gorgeous ruff of the knight of old,
Or the monarch's mantle of purple and gold,
Or the satrap's 2 broider'd heel.

"I have lent to beauty new power to reign,
At bridal and courtly ball;

Or, wedded to fashion, have help'd to bind
Those gossamer links 3 that the strongest mind
Have sometimes held in thrall.

"I have drawn a blood-drop round and red
From the finger small and white
Of the startled child, as she strove with care
Her doll to deck with some gewgaw rare,
But wept at my puncture bright.

"I have gazed on the mother's patient brow
As my utmost speed she plied,

To shield from winter her children dear,
And the knell of midnight smote her ear,
While they slumber'd at her side.

"I have heard in the hut of the pining poor,
The shivering inmate's sigh,

When faded the warmth of her last, faint brand,
As slow from her cold and clammy hand
She let me drop-to die!"

THE PEN.

What dost thou know, thou grey goose-quill?
And methought, with a spasm of pride,

It sprang from the inkstand, and flutter'd in vain,
Its nib to free from the ebon stain,

As it fervently replied:

"What do I know?

4

Let the lover tell,

When into his secret scroll

He poureth the breath of a magic lyre,
And traceth those mystical lines of fire 5
That move the maiden's soul.

"What do I know? The wife can say, As the leaden seasons move,

And over the ocean's wildest sway

6

A blessed missive doth wend its way,
Inspired by a husband's love.

"Do ye doubt my power? Of the statesman ask, Who buffets ambition's blast; 7

Of the convict who shrinks in his cell of care,
A flourish of mine hath sent him there,
And lock'd his fetters fast;

"And a flourish of mine can his prison ope,
From the gallows its victims save;

Break off the treaty that kings have bound,
Make the oath of a nation an empty sound,
And to liberty lead the slave.

Say, what were History, so wise and old,
And Science, that reads the sky;

Or how could Music its sweetness store,
Or Fancy and Fiction their treasures pour,
Or what were Poesy's heaven-taught lore,—
Should the pen its aid deny ?

"Oh! doubt if ye will, that the rose is fair,
And the planets pursue their way;
Go, question the fires of the noontide sun!
Or the countless streams that to ocean run,
But ask no more what the pen hath done;
And it scornfully turn'd away.

THE SWORD.

What are thy deeds, thou fearful thing
By the lordly warrior's side?

And the sword answer'd, stern and slow,
"The hearthstone lone and the orphan know,
And the pale and the widow'd bride.

"The shriek and the shroud of the battle-cloud, And the field that doth reek below,

The wolf that laps where the gash is red,
And the vulture that tears ere the life hath fled,
And the prowling robber that strips the dead,
And the foul hyena know.

“The rusted plough and the seed unsown,
And the grass that doth rankly grow
O'er the rotting limb and the blood-pool dark,
Gaunt Famine that quenches life's lingering spark,
And the black-wing'd pestilence know.

"Death, with the rush of his harpy-brood,
Sad Earth in her pang and throe,

Demons that riot in slaughter and crime,

And the throng of the souls sent, before their time,
To the bar of the judgment-know."

CONCLUSION.

Then the terrible sword to its sheath return'd,
While the needle sped on in peace;
But the pen traced out from a Book sublime'
The promise and pledge of that better time
When the warfare of earth shall cease.

1 The eloquent prophet, Isaiah,
who declaims against his country-
women's love of fine dress and
ornament.

2 Satrap, a governor in the East.
3 Gossamer links, &c., links of a
flimsy nature; in allusion to the
strong hold which fashion in dress
has often over the mind.

4 Ebon, black, like ebony.

5 Lines of fire, lines in a love-letter or poem speaking fervently of love. 6 Missive, a letter or message sent. (Lat. missus, sent.)

7 Who buffets, &c., who contends against the opposition of his ambitious rivals.

8 A flourish of mine, a signature; for instance, a magistrate signs the warrant for "taking up a person suspected of some crime, and when the Queen pardons a criminal, her minister signs the order of his release.

9 Book sublime, the Bible, in which we read of the time when men "shall beat their swords into ploughshares; neither shall they learn war any more."

THE

LAST DAYS OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.

HE last days of Queen Elizabeth were marked by a profound melancholy, which was either the cause or the leading symptom of the last illness of the Queen. For nearly three weeks she lay utterly prostrate under the influence of a morbid melancholy. During all this time she could neither by reasoning,

entreaties, or

artifices, be brought to make trial of any medical aid; and with difficulty was persuaded to take sufficient nourishment to sustain nature. She would not even be put to bed, but lay or sat on cushions, motionless and sleepless.

66

"I found her," says Robert Carey, her kinsman, “in one of her withdrawing chambers, sitting low upon her cushions. She called me to her. I kissed her hand and told her it was my chiefest happiness to see her in safety and in health, which I wished might long continue. She took me by the hand and wrung it hard, and said, 'No, Robin, I am not well!' and then discoursed with me of her indisposition, and that her heart had been sad and heavy for ten or twelve days, and in her discourse she fetched not so few as forty or fifty great sighs."

The cause of the Queen's melancholy is supposed to have been the revelation made to her by the Countess of Nottingham on her death-bed respecting the Earl of Essex, one of the Queen's favourites, who had been beheaded as a traitor, and whose death-warrant Elizabeth had believed it her stern duty to sign. The Countess, feeling her end near, entreated to see the Queen, declaring that she had something to confess to her before she could die in peace.

On her Majesty's arrival the Countess produced a ring which she said the Earl of Essex had sent to her after his condemnation, with an earnest request that she would deliver it to the Queen, as the token by which he implored her mercy; but that in obedience to her husband, to whom she communicated the circumstance, she had hitherto withheld it; for which she entreated the Queen's forgiveness. On sight of the ring, Elizabeth instantly recognised it as one which she had herself