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See troop on troop outpoured upon the field,
In fierce dispute their wordy weapons wield;
Or in small knots, exclusively select,
Prophetic skill in wagers bold affect,

Where some tall hero, confident and loud,

With vaunts of prowess charms the gaping crowd.
But what enticed them from their narrow bounds?
Was it a bonfire, or a pack of hounds?

A badger-bait, or jump of sixteen feet?
A match at football, or a beagle-meet?

Had Henry's statue, from its sculptured base,
Walked down to view the consecrated place?
Or had the Fair, by necromancer's skill,
Been charmed awhile from Windsor's castled hill?
No! higher hopes the ardent breast inspire,
Quicken the pulse, light up the eye with fire;
"Tis Emulation feeds the smouldering flame,
And blind Ambition paves the way to shame.
But oh! what mortal tongue untaught may trace
The changeful story of that emulous race?
Aid thou, whose touch attuned the Mantuan shell,
Fabling how erst beleaguered Ilium fell;
Hither on lightning speed, Parnassian boy,
Sing" sacks of Eton" for the "sack of Troy ;'
Tell how each warrior, as the strife drew nigh,
Decked his broad back in seamless panoply :
"Tis said, from even to the morning light,
They kept long vigils through the yesternight;
And, as the watchman paced his weary round,
Stretch'd out upon the cold and hallowed ground,
They lay in sackcloth, and with fancy's eye,
Scanned darkling all the morrow's destiny.

The hour is come; each pulls his packthread tight, And stands conspicuous in a "Lilly-white."

Anon the stalwart umpires loudly claim

"Clear course" for runners in the sacred game,
The wands are broken ;-" Off!" the heralds cry;
"Off! off!" the hedgerows and the banks reply.
The chieftains jostle; mummy-like and slow,
Sidelong, diagonal,-every way they go !
With course meandering, and unsteady gait,
Debarred alone from ever moving straight.
So have I seen, adown a highway side,
A gipsy's donkey, with its fore legs tied,
Hobbling along ridiculous, where the ditch
Exposed a tempting mouthful-out of reach.
Tell, (for thou canst) Pierian Clio, tell

How fared the rear, and what the van befell;
How B -h sought with canvass wings to fly,
And C wooed the kiss-of victory.
Lo! where among the foremost in the race
Our Hog in armour claims a victor's place;
Ah! vain his hopes, vain his incipient boast,
That dared to ridicule the distanced host,
Who headlong thrust by gravity of head,
Fall unrecorded 'mong the helpless dead;
In vain, with Fate contending, on the ground
He falls, and, falling, knows he's lost-a pound.

So fell Achilles, breathless on the plain,

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While the fresh tortoise smiled, and bade him try again.
Sing we the man who gave the rest the sack,
And left each white-robed novice at his back;
In vain does Damon follow in the track
Where Pythias first his zigzag course pursues,
Though bellowing multitudes new hopes infuse.
So some proud Galleon on the Spanish main,
Spreading her labouring canvass, spreads in vain,
Deep in the waves her yawning timbers quake,
And ocean trembles foaming in her wake.

The goal is won; the hempen bonds relax,
And liberate the tenants of the sacks;
On Pythias all their noisy welcomes pour
In soul triumphant, nor in body sore.

W.

A NIGHT IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

(Concluded.)

It was

Turn we again to the hall at Herstmonceux. noon, and the tables were groaning under the weight of ancient baronial hospitality. At the dais sat the Lord Dacre, attended only by his wife and the chaplain of his castle; his boon companions had been long since dismissed. There was an air of melancholy on his brow, as if some secret sorrow was ruling in his breast, which not even the anxious affection of his fair lady could chase away. The silence which saddened at least the upper end of the hall was suddenly dispelled by the harsh sound of a horn from without the castle. The cause was

speedily explained by the entrance of a pursuivant, followed by two men at arms.

What

"What would ye here, my masters?" said the Baron, "that ye disturb thus the privacy of my house? would ye with Thomas of Herstmonceux ?"

“I bear you, my Lord," said the officer, "such tidings as better beseem your private car than the public audience of your household. Nevertheless," he continued, on Lord Dacre's beckoning him to proceed, "an it pleases you best to hear them in this place, know that our Lord the King would examine you touching a certain affray in the park of Sir Nicholas Pelham of Laughton. And he wills

you to commit yourself to our custody, that you may be tried by your Peers for the offence for which you stand indicted."

"Mislike not this, dearest Eleanor," he said to his wife, who clung to him, asking by her look, what she feared to know; "mislike not this hasty summons. Believe me I fear not what Pelham can do; and you shall soon receive me back unharmed and absolved from dishonourable charge. And for you, sir," turning proudly to the messenger, "I will follow you forthwith, in obedience to the King's command. Dearest Eleanor, farewell."

So saying, he left the hall, and when he had crossed the outer drawbridge, discovered several horsemen awaiting his appearance. He put himself in the centre, and quickly lost sight of his stately mansion. If there was somewhat of sadness in his countenance as he cast a last look on the well-known turret, it was for her, whom he had loved and wronged, that he was sorrowing; for himself he had no fear.

*

*

It was in truth a prison! the stone walls, inscribed with the rudely-traced name of many a noble captive who had languished in its sad atmosphere, the high and grated window, the humble pallet, and iron-bound door, spoke, but too distinctly, the duresse in which the unhappy inmate was held.

The iron lamp, swinging from the vaulted ceiling, flashed on the worn features of a man extended on the bed. He was sleeping, but his sleep was disturbed; nor was this lost on the fair but mournful lady who watched by his side. The lady of Herstmonceux (for she it was) gently roused her unfortunate husband from his troubled slumbers.

"Alas, Eleanor," he said, "my last sleep in this world

has not been soft or peaceful; I have lived again this month of horrors, I saw the ranger lying wounded on the ground; the officers of the king entering my house; the trial for murder; the solemn mockery in Westminster; I heard the fatal sentence, and methought even now, when you aroused me, they were leading me out to death. Nay, dearest, weep not; I am now no longer sad!"

"Oh! Thomas," she said, with difficulty restraining the tears which burst down her cheeks; "with this day ends the light of my life for ever. Thy sun is put out in blood; one half of my soul is torn from me; why should I, the other, remain? Would I could follow thee!"

"We shall meet again soon," said Lord Dacre; "believe me I mourn nothing now, but that I must bid adieu to thee and my children, and that in the list of my family, my name must be clouded with disgrace. And yet I slew him not, nor was concerned in the affray; I die not to satisfy justice, but that the courtiers may swallow up my broad lands. That they will not enjoy their promised plunders, comforts me even in this sad hour. Believe me, the day which dawns through these wretched gratings shall have no night throughout eternity; and its lustre shall as far exceed the happiness of life on earth, as the glad beams of the sun put to shame that expiring lamp. I regret not now my misfortunes; they have changed the haughty godless baron to a penitent sinner, clinging to the cross, on the confines of the grave. And when we meet again, thou and I, in heaven, I shall not be a penitent criminal, nor thou a mourning saint; both shall be happy together, and for ever.

He hastily threw on a mantle, and seated himself beside his wife. It was now four-he had eight hours to live.

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