And I can view this mimic show of thee, 8.-RIDING TOGETHER. WILLIAM MORRIS. [Mr. Morris, who has evidently taken Chaucer for his model, is one of the purest and most thoroughly English of any of our recent poets. He was born at Walthamstow, March 24, 1834, and educated at Marlbro' College and Exeter College, Oxford, where he took his degree about 1850. His principal works are his "Defence of Guenevere, and other Poems," 1856; "The Life and Death of Jason," 1867; and "The Earthly Paradise," 1868. Of the latter work the second and concluding volume will appear in Nov. 1869.] FOR many, many days together the wind blew steady from the east; For many days hot grew the weather, about the time of our Lady's Feast; For many days we rode together, yet met with neither friend nor foe; Hotter and clearer grew the weather, steadily did the east wind blow. We saw not the trees in the hot bright weather, clear cut with shadows very black, As freely we rode on together with helms unlaced and bridles slack. And often as we rode together, we, looking down the green-bank'd stream, Saw flowers in the sunny weather, and saw the bubble-making bream; And in the night lay down together, and hung about our heads the rood, Or watch'd night-long in dewy weather, the while the moon did watch the wood. Our spears stood bright and thick together, straight out the banners streamed behind, As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather, with faces turned towards the wind. Down sank our threescore spears together, as thick we saw the Pagans ride; His eager face in the clear fresh weather shone out that last time by my side. Up the sweep of the bridge we dashed together-it rocked to the crash of the meeting spears; Down rained the buds of the dear spring weather, the elm-tree flowers fell like tears. There, as we rolled and writhed together, I threw my arms above my head, For close by my side, in the lovely weather, I saw him reel and fall back dead. I and the slayer met together, he waited the death-stroke there in his place, With thoughts of death in the lovely weather, gapingly mazed at my madden'd face. Madly I fought as we fought together; in vain: the little Christian band The Pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather the river drowns lowlaying land. They bound my blood-stained hands together; they bound his corpse to nod by my side; Then on we rode, in the bright March weather, with clash of cymbals did we ride. We ride no more, no more together-my prison bars are thick and strong; I take no heed of any weather; the sweet saints grant I live not long! (By permission of the Author.) 9.-THE SOUL'S ERRAND. SIR WALTER RALEIGH. [Raleigh, the poet, soldier, navigator, politician and courtier, was born 1552, and beheaded 1618. His poetry is very beautiful, and expressed in the quaint but vigorous style of the period. Among his political and other works may be mentioned his "Maxims of State," the "Cabinet Council," and his "Advice to his Son." His unfinished work, the "History of the World," was written during his twelve years' imprisonment in the Tower.] Go, soul, the body's guest, Upon a thankless errand! And truth shall be thy warrant; Go, tell the court it glows What's good and doth no good: Tell potentates they live Not strong but by their factions. Tell men of high condition Tell them that brave it most, Tell zeal it lacks devotion, Tell age it daily wasteth, Tell wit how much it wrangles And when they do reply, Tell physic of her boldness, Tell charity of coldness, 10.-THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. [Mrs. Browning wrote and published the greater portion of her poetry while she was yet Elizabeth Barrett; she married Mr. Browning, the poet, in 1846. All her works evince intellectual power of the highest order, and they suffer nothing by comparison with the sublimest efforts of masculine genius: she combines the philosophy of Tennyson with the grace of Shelley and the force of Milton. Her principal works are, "Poems," two vols., 1844; "The Drama of Exile;""The Vision of Poets ;" "Lady Geraldine's Courtship;" "Casa Guidi Windows," written in Florence, 1848; "Aurora Leigh," 1856, a novel in blank verse; besides numerous contributions to the periodicals. Messrs Chapman and Hall publish her works in a collected form. She died in 1861.] Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,- The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, They are weeping in the playtime of the others, Do you question the young children in their sorrow, The old man may weep for his to-morrow The old tree is leafless in the forest- But the young, young children, O my brothers, Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers, They look up with their pale and sunken faces, For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses "Your old earth," they say, 66 66 is 66 very dreary;" Our young feet," they say, are very weak! Few paces have we taken, yet are weary Our grave-rest is very far to seek. Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children, And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering, "True," say the children, "it may happen Little Alice died last year-the grave is shapen We looked into the pit prepared to take her- If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, |