e.--LOVER.

L. TO HELEN.[K]

JULY 7, 1839.

WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.--1802-1839.

Dearest, I did not dream, four years ago,
When through your veil I saw your bright tear shine,
Caught your clear whisper, exquisitely low,
And felt your soft hand tremble into mine,

That in so brief--so very brief a space,
He, who in love both clouds and cheers our life,
Would lay on you, so full of light, joy, grace,
The darker, sadder duties of the wife,--
Doubts, fears, and frequent toil, and constant care
For this poor frame, by sickness sore bested;
The daily tendance on the fractious chair,
The nightly vigil by the feverish bed.

Yet not unwelcom'd doth this morn arise,
Though with more gladsome beams it might have shone:
Strength of these weak hands, light of these dim eyes,
In sickness, as in health,--bless you, My Own!

FOOTNOTES:

[K] Praed died on the 15th of July.

LI. HORATIUS.[L]

A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX.

LORD MACAULAY.--1800-1859.

Lars Porsena of Clusium by the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it, and named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers ride forth, east and west and south
and north,
To summon his array.

East and west and south and north the messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage have heard the trumpet's blast.
Shame on the false Etruscan who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium is on the march for Rome.

The horsemen and the footmen are pouring in amain
From many a stately market-place; from many a fruitful plain;
From many a lonely hamlet, which, hid by beech and pine,
Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest of purple Apennine;
From lordly Volaterrae, where scowls the far-famed hold
Piled by the hands of giants for godlike kings of old;
From seagirt Populonia, whose sentinels descry
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops fringing the southern sky;
From the proud mart of Pisae, queen of the western waves,
Where ride Massilia's triremes heavy with fair-hair'd slaves;
From where sweet Clanis wanders through corn and vines and
flowers;
From where Cortona lifts to heaven her diadem of towers.

Tall are the oaks whose acorns drop in dark Auser's rill;
Fat are the stags t