rown, with vizor down, a warrior sheathed in steel;
Then said our Queen--'Was ever seen so stout a knight and tall?
His name--his race?'--'An't please your grace, it is the brave Fitzball.
{162}

'Oft in the Melodrama line his prowess hath been shown,
And well throughout the Surrey side his thirst for blood is known.
But see, the other champion comes!'--Then rang the startled air
With shouts of 'Wordsworth, Wordsworth, ho! the bard of Rydal's there.'

And lo! upon a little steed, unmeet for such a course,
Appeared the honoured veteran; but weak seemed man and horse.
Then shook their ears the sapient peers,--'That joust will soon be done:
My Lord of Brougham, I'll back Fitzball, and give you two to one!'

'Done,' quoth the Brougham,--'And done with you!' 'Now, Minstrels, are
you ready?'
Exclaimed the Lord of Waterford,--'You'd better both sit steady.
Blow, trumpets, blow the note of charge! and forward to the fight!'
'Amen!' said good Sir Aubrey Vere; 'Saint Schism defend the right!'

As sweeps the blast against the mast when blows the furious squall,
So started at the trumpet's sound the terrible Fitzball;
His lance he bore his breast before,--Saint George protect the just!
Or Wordsworth's hoary head must roll along the shameful dust!

'Who threw that calthrop? Seize the knave!' Alas! the deed is done;
Down went the steed, and o'er his head flew bright Apollo's son.
'Undo his helmet! cut the lace! pour water on his head!'
'It ain't no use at all, my lord; 'cos vy? the covey's dead!'

Above him stood the Rydal bard--his face was full of woe.
'Now there thou liest, stiff and stark, who never feared a foe:
A braver knight, or more renowned in tourney and in hall,
Ne'er brought the upper gallery down than terrible Fitzball!'

They led our Wordsworth to the Queen--she crowned him with the bays,
And wished him many happy years, and many quarter-days;
And if you'd have the story told by abler lips than mine,
You've but to call at Rydal Mount, and taste the Laureate's wine!"

The Royal Banquet.

BY THE HON. G--- B--- S---.

The Queen she kept high festival in Windsor's lordly hall,
And round her sat the gartered knights, and ermined nobles all;
There drank the valiant Wellington, there fed the wary Peel,
And at the bottom of the board Prince Albert carved the veal.

"What, pantler, ho! remove the cloth! Ho! cellarer, the wine,
And bid the royal nurse bring in the hope of Brunswick's line!"
Then rose wit