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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 embat

tled pile,

And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.

T. B. Macaulay.

VI.

LUCY.

HE dwelt among the untrodden ways ·
Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love :

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

-Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and oh,

The difference to me!

W. Wordsworth.

VII.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

HEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He, returning, chide;
'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?'
I fondly ask: But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies :-'God doth not need
Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.'

J. Milton.

VIII.

TO EVENING.

F aught of oaten* stop or pastoral song
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear
Like thy own solemn springs,

Thy springs, and dying gales;

O Nymph reserved,-while now the bright-haired sun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts
With bredet ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed,

Oaten, consisting of an oat straw or stem. Oat is often used for a tune

ful instrument made of oat-straw.

+ Brede, braid.

Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum,-
Now teach me, maid composed,

To breathe some softened strain

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale,
May not unseemly with its stillness suit ;
As musing slow I hail

Thy genial loved return.

For when thy folding-star * arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves

Who slept in buds the day,

And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still

The pensive Pleasures sweet

Prepare thy shadowy car.

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene;
Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells,
Whose walls more awful nod

By thy religious gleams.

Or if chill blustering winds or driving rain
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut
That, from the mountain's side,

Views wilds and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires;
And hears their simple bell; and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.

* Folding-star, Hesperus, the evening star.

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train

And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,
Thy gentlest influence own,

And love thy favourite name!

W. Collins.

IX.

JAFFAR.

AFFAR, the Barmecide, the good Vizier,
The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer.
Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust;

And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust
Of what the good, and e'en the bad might say,
Ordained that no man living from that day
Should dare to speak his name on pain of death.
All Araby and Persia held their breath;

All but the brave Mondeer.-He, proud to show
How far for love a grateful soul could go,
And facing death for very scorn and grief,
(For his great heart wanted a great relief,)
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily in the square
Where once had stood a happy house, and there
Harangued the tremblers at the scymitar
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar.

Bring me this man,' the caliph cried: the man

Was brought, was gazed upon.

The mutes began

To bind his arms. 'Welcome, brave cords,' cried he; 'From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me;

'From wants, from shames, from loveless household

fears;

'Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears;

'Restored me, loved me, put me on a par

'With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?'

Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss,
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate
Might smile upon another half as great.
He said, 'Let worth grow frenzied if it will;
'The caliph's judgment shall be master still.
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem,

"The richest in the Tartar's diadem,

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And hold the giver as thou deemest fit.'

'Gifts!' cried the friend. He took; and holding it

High towards the heavens, as though to meet his star,
Exclaimed, 'This, too, I owe to thee, Jaffar.'

Leigh Hunt.

X.

THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.

ITH fingers weary and worn,

With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,

Plying her needle and thread

Stitch stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the 'Song of the Shirt!'

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