"Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill, And, the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still? So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will." 'Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop?" Canute cried; "Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride? If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command the tide. "Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign?" Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, "Land and sea, my lord, are thine. Canute turned towards the ocean-"Back!" he said, "thou foaming brine. "From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat; Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's seat: Ocean, be thou still! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet !" But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar, And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore; Back the Keeper and the Bishop, back the King and courtiers bore. And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay, But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey: And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day. King Canute is dead and gone: Parasites exist alway. FRIAR'S SONG. SOME love the matin-chimes, which tell My pulpit is an alehouse bench, A smiling rosy country wench And in her willing ear I speak And if I'm blind, yet Heaven is kind, For sure he leads a right good life Above, they say, our flesh is air, Oh, grant! 'mid all the changes there, ATRA CURA. BEFORE I lost my five poor wits, Who sang how Care, the phantom dark, And though he gallop as he may, No knight am I with pennoned spear, And laugh at Grief and ride a mule. REQUIESCAT. UNDER the stone you behold, Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France, Doughtly with sword and with lance. Famous in Saracen fight, Rode in his youth the good knight, Scattering Paynims in flight. Brian, the Templar untrue, Fairly in tourney he slew, Now he is buried and gone, Long time his widow deplored, When she was eased of her pain, THE WILLOW-TREE. KNOW ye the willow-tree Wander not near it : Once to the willow-tree A maid came fearful; Pale seemed her cheek to be, |