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Far o'er the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of


The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves, The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless


O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew :

He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town;

And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down.

The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill that streak of blood-red


The bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city 15 woke.
At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;
At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires :
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder


And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying


And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down each rousing street;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in : And eastward straight for wild Blackheath the warlike errand 16 went ;

And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent;

Southward for Surrey's pleasant hills flew these bright coursers forth;

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High on black Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still; All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill,

Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Derwent's rocky dales;

Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales; Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely


Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of


Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane, And town and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless


Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of


Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt's embattled pile,

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

1 The Armada. The Spanish fleet equipped for the conquest of England.

2 The richest spoils of Mexico, &c. The
treasures of the New World were
the chief source of Spanish wealth
during the sixteenth and seven-
teenth centuries.

3 Warm summer's day, 19th July 1588.
4 Aurignay's isle, Alderney, one of the
Channel Isles-seven miles west
of Cape La Hogue.

5 Beacon, a fire lighted as a signal of

6 Halberdiers, men armed with axes.
7 Yeomen, freeholders, men of a rank
inferior to gentry, but next to

8 Her Grace, for Her Majesty Queen

9 Royal blazon, the royal arms of Eng


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gay lilies down. The crest of Eng-
land is a lion; that of France the
fleur-de-lis, or three white lilies.

11 On that famed Picard field. The
battle of Creçy (1346), where
Edward III., with only 30,000
men, gained a brilliant victory
over 120,000 French, Genoese,
Bohemians, and Germans.
12 At Agincourt. Here Henry V. de-
feated a French army four times
as numerous as his own, 25th Oct.

13 Semper eǎdem, always the same.
14 From Eddystone to Berwick bounds,
from Lynn to Milford Bay. These
are the extreme or nearly the ex-
treme points to the south, north,
east, and west of England.

15 The royal city, London.

16 Errand, news.


If thou shouldst ever come to Mod'ena,1
Stop at a palace near the Reggio Gate,
Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini.2
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And numerous fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain thee; but before thou go,
Enter the house-prythee, forget it not-
And look awhile upon a picture there.
'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth;
She sits inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half open, and her finger up,
As though she said, 'Beware!' Her vest3 of gold
Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot-
An emerald stone in every golden clasp ;

And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart-
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!-Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion,
An oaken chest half-eaten by the worm.
She was an only child; from infancy
The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire.
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,
That precious gift, what else remained to him?
The young Gine'vra was his all in life;
Still as she grew, for ever in his sight.
She was all gentleness, all gaiety,

Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
And in the lustre of her youth, she gave

Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.

Great was the joy; but at the bridal feast,
When all sat down, the bride was wanting there-
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
""Tis but to make a trial of our love!'

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And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed,
But that she was not! Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
Orsini lived; and long mightst thou have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find-he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained awhile
Silent and tenantless, then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,
When on an idle day, a day of search
Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said
By one as young, as thoughtless, as Ginevra,
'Why not remove it from its lurking-place?'
'Twas done as soon as said; but on the way
It burst-it fell; and lo, a skeleton !
And here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished-save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both-
'Ginevra.' There, then-had she found a grave!
Within that chest had she concealed herself;
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down-for ever!

1 Modena, a finely situated town of Northern Italy.


2 Orsini, the name of a powerful family of Modena.

3 Vest, robe.

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JOSEPH ADDISON (1672-1719) was the son of a Wiltshire clergyman, and was educated chiefly at Charter-House (London) and Oxford. By means of poems suited to the circumstances and events of the time, he raised himself to high political honours. His fame, however, rests chiefly on his brilliant essays, which appeared in the Tatler, Guardian, and Spectator. The Letter from Italy to Lord Halifax; The Campaign; Cato, a tragedy; and one or two Hymns, are his best attempts in poetical literature.

BERNARD BARTON, the 'Quaker Poet,' published a volume of poetry in 1820. The success of this adventure made him think of abandoning his profession (banking) for literature. Charles Lamb, Byron, and others dissuaded him. He therefore continued to write poetry as leisure and inclination offered. The Widow's Tale; Devotional Verses, &c., came from his pen.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT (1797) was born at Cummington, in Massachusetts. He was at first a lawyer, but afterwards became editor of the New York Evening Post. Among his best pieces are-Thanatopsis; The Ages; and The Yellow Violet.

ROBERT BURNS (1759—96), a native of Ayrshire-bred to the humble occupation of a ploughman-and trained in the School of Adversity. This noble son of genius has bequeathed to Scotland as rich a treasury of song as any nation can boast of. His life was a continuous struggle against the changes of fortune. His principal poems are-The Cotter's Saturday Night; Hallowe'en; Tam o' Shanter; The Twa Dogs; and The Jolly Beggars.

LORD BYRON (1788—1824).—George Gordon Byron was the son of a profligate military officer and a capricious Scottish lady. Short lyrics composed during his school-days, and published under the title Hours of Idleness, first made him known as an author. His trenchant reply, in English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, to the editors of the Edinburgh Review, shewed that a satirist of no mean order had arisen. The strength of his genius shines most brilliantly in Childe Harold; Don Juan; Manfred; Sardanapalus: The

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