But the greyhound in the leash hung back, And checked him in his leap. The boy is in the arms of Wharf, Now there is stillness in the vale, If for a lover the lady wept, From death, and from the passion of death: She weeps not for the wedding-day Her hope was a further-looking hope, He was a tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit, The stately priory was reared; And the lady prayed in heaviness O, there is never sorrow of heart William Wordsworth. Boston. ST. BOTOLPH'S TOWN. BOSTON in Lincolnshire takes its name from its founder, St. Botolph, who flourished about the middle of the seventh century. At present the chief glory of the town is its church-tower, built after the model of that of Antwerp Cathedral, and renowned as one of the most beautiful in England. T. Botolph's Town! Hither across the plains ST And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb austere, There came a Saxon monk, and founded here A priory, pillaged by marauding Danes, So that thereof no vestige now remains; Survives the sculptured walls and painted panes. Anonymous. BOSTON IN LINCOLNSHIRE. T is not for what you are or do, IT Or for any treasures rare, That I turn my steps and heart to you, Ancestral name! that must cross the sea That its proudest branch might grow. It is not that your minster-pile But that beneath that lordly tower Which binds with an atoning power In days long gone it caught the sound Prelatic England drove him forth Back in the name the chapel wears, That tablet's face more than repairs For here from afar the inscription came By our statesman-scholar sent, Reading, "Lest longer such a name Should stay in banishment." The brazen plate, so simply grand, Stand of forgotten feuds a sign, Say, that henceforth the soul's full thought Nor one true man, all conscience-fraught, Say, that two sovereign powers unite, To keep Faith, Friendship, Freedom bright, Hail and farewell, St. Butolph's fane, Hail and farewell, St. Butolph's town! With that auspicious claim. Nathaniel Langdon Frothingham. Bottreau. THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAU. INTADGEL bells ring o'er the tide, TIN The boy leans on his vessel side; He hears that sound, and dreams of home |