You may bury the prisoner, it may be, Au spectacle des ombres une loge d'honneur" But a something there is which even the will By no space restrained, to no age confined, The births of which here it has laid the seeds. The Song of the Western Men. A GOOD Sword and a trusty hand, A merry heart and true, King James's men shall understand What Cornish lads can do. And have they fixed the where and when, And shall Trelawney die? Then twenty thousand Cornish men Will know the reason why. What will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen? And shall Trelawney die? Then twenty thousand under ground Will know the reason why. Out spake the captain brave and bold, "Though London's Tower were Michael's hold, We'll cross the Tamar hand to hand, We'll side by side from strand to strand, What will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen? Then twenty thousand Cornish men "And when we come to London wall 'Come forth, come forth, ye cowards all! But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold What will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen? Then twenty thousand under ground Will know the reason why." ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. To a Swallow, Building Under Our Eaves. But much, my little bird, could'st thou but tell, For thou hast passed fair places in thy flight; Of all the varied scenes that met thine eye, Did fortune try thee? was thy little purse Ah no! thou need'st not gold, thou happy one! What was it, then? - some mystic turn of thought, For the world's loveliness, till thou art grown Nay, if thy mind be sound, I need not ask, With wing and beak. A well-laid scheme doth that small head contain, In truth, I rather take it thou hast got And hast small care Whether an Eden or a desert be Thy home, so thou remain'st alive and free God speed thee, pretty bird! May thy small nest I love thee much; For well thou managest that life of thine, JANE WELSH CARLYLE. Carcassonne. "I'M growing old, I've sixty years; Bliss unalloyed there is for none, My prayer would else fulfilment know Never have I seen Carcassonne ! Never have I seen Carcassonne ! "You spy the city from the hill, It lies beyond the mountain blue; And yet to reach it one must still Five long and weary leagues pursue, And, to return, as many more. Had but the vintage plenteous grown But, ah! the grape withheld its store. I shall not look on Carcassonne ! I shall not look on Carcassonne ! "They tell me every day is there Not more or less than Sunday gay; In shining robes and garments fair The people walk upon their way. One gazes there on castle walls As grand as those of Babylon, A bishop and two generals! What joy to dwell in Carcassonne ! "The vicar's right: he says that we Are ever wayward, weak, and blind; He tells us in his homily Ambition ruins all mankind; Yet could I these two days have spent, “Thy pardon, Father, I beseech, Have travelled even to Narbonne ; So crooned, one day, close by Limoux, He never gazed on Carcassonne. Each mortal has his Carcassonne. GUSTAVE NADAUD. Translated by JOHN R. THOMPSON. Crossing the Rappahannock. THEY leaped in the rocking shallops - And the breeze was alive with laughter, Then the shore, where the rebels harbored, |