Thirteen hundred and seventy-six :' And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it, the Pied Piper's streetWhere any one playing on pipe or tabor, Was sure for the future to lose his labour. Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn ; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, That in Transylvania there's a tribe The outlandish ways and dress, On which their neighbours lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, XV. So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men-especially pipers: And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise. A Parting Scene (1526 A.D.). PARACELSUS and FESTUS. Par. And you saw Luther? Fest. 'Tis a wondrous soul! Par. True: the so-heavy chain which galled mankind Is shattered, and the noblest of us all Must bow to the deliverer-nay the worker Of our own project-we who long before Had burst our trammels, but forgot the crowd, We would have taught, still groaned beneath the load : This he has done and nobly. Speed that may! Par. 'Tis the melancholy wind astir Within the trees; the embers too are gray; Morn must be near. Fest. Best ope the casement. See, The night, late strewn with clouds and flying stars, Fest. So you shall gaze. Those happy times will come again. Par. Gone! gone! Those pleasant times! Does not the moaning wind Seem to bewail that we have gained such gains And bartered sleep for them? Fest. It is our trust That there is yet another world, to mend All error and mischance. 82 Par. Another world! And why this world, this common world, to be Down to the lowest spirit ministrant, Love, hope, fear, faith-these make humanity, And these I have lost!-gone, shut from me for ever, Like a dead friend, safe from unkindness more !— The shrubs bestir and rouse themselves, as if His hold; and from the east, fuller and fuller, But clouded, wintry, desolate, and cold: how that broad, prickly, star-shaped plant, Half down the crevice, spreads its woolly leaves From My Last Duchess. That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Somehow I know not how-as if she ranked 465 COVENTRY PATMORE-EDWARD ROBERT, LORD LYTTON. The delineation of married love and the domestic affections has been attempted by MR COVENTRY PATMORE, who has deservedly gained reputation from the sweetness and quiet beauty of his verse. His first work was a volume of Poems, 1844. This was republished with large additions in 1853, under the title of Tamerton Church Tower, and other Poems. He then produced his most important work, The Angel in the House, in four parts-The Betrothal, 1854; The Espousal, 1856; Faithful for Ever, 1860; and The Victories of Love, 1862. Mr Patmore has also edited a volume of poetical selections, The Children's Garland, from the Best Poets, 1862. The Angel in the House contains passages of great beauty, both in sentiment and description. Mr Ruskin has eulogised it as 'a most finished piece of writing.' Its occasional felicities of expression are seen in verses like these: A girl of fullest heart she was; Fair was the wife foreshewn- And in this simile: Her soft voice, singularly heard Beside me, in the Psalms, withstood Sole warbling in a windy wood. The Joyful Wisdom. Would Wisdom for herself be wooed, And must not only be, but seem. And, knowing this, I wonder less What's that which Heaven to man endears, Not youth, impatient to disown Were worse than never to have known. Not these; but souls found here and there, Oases in our waste of sin, When everything is well and fair, Drops with a broken sting and dies. But like the bard who freely sings In strictest bonds of rhyme and rule, And finds in them not bonds, but wings. And one more minute's mine! You know She's yours; but I love more than yet Fear comes at first ; but soon, rejoiced, You'll find your strong and tender loves Like holy rocks by Druids poised, The least force shakes, but none removes. . . . Her strength is your esteem; beware of finding fault; her will 's unnerved To make your utmost wishes true: To keep your mistress in your wife, And honour her with arduous life.' Mr Patmore was born at Woodford in Essex, July 2, 1823, son of Mr P. G. Patmore (1786– 1855), author of Personal Recollections of Deceased Celebrities, &c. In 1846 Mr Coventry Patmore was appointed one of the assistant-librarians of the British Museum, but retired from the office about 1868. EDWARD ROBERT, LORD LYTTON, under the name of 'Owen Meredith,' has published two volumes of poetry-Clytemmestra, 1855, and The Wanderer, 1859. There are traces of sentimentalism and morbid feeling in the poems, but also fine fancy and graceful musical language. The poet is the only son of the first Lord Lytton, and was born November 8, 1831. The paternal taste in the selection of subjects from high life, with a certain voluptuous colouring, and a pseudo-melancholy, cynical air, has been reproduced in 'Owen Meredith,' though Tennyson was perhaps the favourite model. The young poet, however, had original merit enough to redeem such faults. He continued to write, and produced in succession Lucile, a novel in verse, 1860; Serbski Pesme, a translation of the national songs of Servia; The Ring of Amasis, a prose romance, 1863; Chronicles and Characters, two volumes of poems, chiefly historical, to which Mr Lytton prefixed his own name; Orval, or the Fool of Time, a dramatic poem, &c. For about twenty years Lord Lytton was engaged in the diplomatic service abroad, and in 1876 was appointed Governorgeneral or Viceroy of India. In 1874 the noble poet published two volumes of Fables in verse. The Chess-board. My little love, do you remember, Ere we were grown so sadly wise, Those evenings in the bleak December, Curtained warm from the snowy weather, When you and I played chess together, Checkmated by each other's eyes? Ah! still I see your soft white hand Hovering warm o'er queen and knight; Brave pawns in valiant battle stand; The double castles guard the wings; The bishop, bent on distant things, Moves sidling through the fight. And checks me unaware. Ah me! the little battle's done, Full many a move, since then, have we This, this, at least-if this alone- And eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, Play chess as then we played together! Changes. Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. My little boy begins to babble now Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. He has his father's eager eyes, I know; And, they say too, his mother's sunny hair. Who might have been-ah, what I dare not think! He sleeps he sleeps, serene, and safe The sea and him in death They did not dare to sever; It was his home when he had breath, 'Tis now his home for ever. Sleep on-sleep on, thou mighty dead! A glorious tomb they 've found thee; The broad blue sky above thee spread, The boundless ocean round thee. No vulgar foot treads here, No hand profane shall move thee, But gallant hearts shall proudly steer, And warriors shout above thee. And though no stone may tell Thy name, thy worth, thy glory, They rest in hearts that love thee well, And they grace Britannia's story. Hymn-Abide with Me!' Abide with me! fast falls the eventide ; Come, not in terrors, as the King of kings, I need Thy presence every passing hour: I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless ; I triumph still, if Thou abide with me! In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me! CHARLES KENT (born in London in 1823) has published Dreamland, with other Poems, 1862; and a collective edition of his Poems was issued in 1870. Mr Kent has also written several prose tales and essays. Love's Calendar. Talk of love in vernal hours, When the landscape blushes With the dawning glow of flowers, While the early thrushes Warble in the apple-tree; When the primrose springing From the green bank, lulls the bee, Talk of love in summer-tide Trills the streamlet-all its side Pranked with freckled mallows; When in mossy lair of wrens Tiny eggs are warming; When above the reedy fens Dragon-gnats are swarming. Talk of love in autumn days, When the fruit, all mellow, Drops amid the ripening rays, While the leaflets yellow Circle in the sluggish breeze With their portents bitter; When between the fading trees Broader sunbeams glitter. Talk of love in winter time, When the hailstorm hurtles, While the robin sparks of rime Shakes from hardy myrtles, Never speak of love with scorn, Such were direst treason; Love was made for eve and morn, And for every season. LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY. One of the best and most prolific of the American poetesses was MRS L. H. SIGOURNEY, born in Norwich, Connecticut, in 1791; died at Hartford in 1865. Maria Edgeworth and a host of critics have borne testimony to the poetic genius and moral influence of this accomplished woman. The Early Blue-bird. Blue-bird! on yon leafless tree, Spring's a maid of mirth and glee, Ask her if, when storms are long, Warm and glad thy heart shall be; Love shall make it Spring for thee. Midnight Thoughts at Sea. Blast and surge, conflicting hoarse, Hearts there are with love that burn Wrecks are darkly spread below, We, with them, should coldly sleep, JOHN G. WHITTIER. The Society of Friends, or Quakers, in America can boast of a poet who more than rivals their English representative, Bernard Barton. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, born near Haverhill, Massachusetts, in 1808, passed his early years on his father's farm; but after he came of age was chiefly engaged in literary pursuits. He edited several newspapers, and was an active opponent of negro slavery. He has published Legends of New England, in prose and verse, 1831 ; a volume of Ballads, 1838; The Stranger in Lowell (prose essays), 1845; Voices of Freedom, 1849; Songs of Labour, 1850; National Lyrics, 1865; Maud Müller, 1866; and various other poetical tales and sketches. There is a neat compact edition of his collected poetical works in two small volumes (the 'Merrimack Edition'), 1869. In 1873 he published The Pennsylvanian Pilgrim, and other Poems, which shewed that his fine vein of thought and melody was unimpaired. The Robin. My old Welsh neighbour over the way Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped, "Nay!' said the grandmother, 'have you not heard, My poor, bad boy, of the fiery pit, And how, drop by drop, this merciful bird Carries the water that quenches it? 'He brings cool dew in his little bill, And lets it fall on the souls of sin : You can see the mark on his red breast still 'My poor Bron rhuddyn! my breast-burned bird, Is he who pities the lost like Him!' 'Amen!' I said to the beautiful myth; Up from the meadows, rich with corn, Round about them orchards sweep, To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. On that pleasant morn of the early fall, Forty flags with their silver stars, Up rose old Barbara Fritchie then, She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic window the staff she set, Under his slouched hat, left and right, It shivered the window, pane and sash; She leaned far out on the window sill, A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 'Who touches a hair of yon gray head, All day long the free flag tossed And through the hill-gaps sunset light And the rebel rides on his raid no more. Honour to her and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier! Peace, and order, and beauty draw ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH (1819-1861) was the son of a merchant in Liverpool. He was one of the pupils of Dr Arnold of Rugby, to whom he was strongly attached; and having won the Balliol scholarship in 1836, he went to Oxford. The Tractarian movement was then agitating the university, and Clough was for a time under its influence. He ultimately abandoned the Romanising party; but his opinions were unsettled, and he never regained the full assurance of his early faith. In 1843 he was appointed tutor as well as Fellow of Oriel College, and laboured successfully for about five years, usually spending the long vacation among the Welsh mountains, the Cumberland lakes, or the Scotch Highlands. His most important poem, The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich (1848), which he terms a long-vacation pastoral, commemorates one of these holiday tours in the Highlands by the Oxford tutor and his pupils. It is written in hexameter verse, of which Southey had given a specimen in his Vision of Judgment, and contains a faithful picture of Highland scenes and character. Clough grafts a love-story on his descriptive sketch, and makes one of the reading-party marry a Highland maiden and migrate to New Zealand. In 1848, from conscientious motives, the poet resigned his tutorship, and also gave up his fellowship. Next year he accepted the appointment of Principal of University Hall, London, but held it only for two years, at the end of which he went to America, and settled (October 1852) at Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was drawn thence in less than a twelvemonth by the offer of an examinership in the Education Office, which he accepted; and to this was added, in 1856, the post of Secretary to a Commission for examining the scientific military schools on the continent. He took a warm interest in the philanthropic labours of Miss Nightingale; and thus his life, though uneventful, was, as his biographer remarks, 'full of work.' Ill health, however, compelled him to go abroad, and he died at Florence, November 13, 1861. Besides the Highland pastoral of The Bothie, Clough produced a second long poem, Amours de Voyage, the result of a holiday of travel in Italy, and of the impressions made upon him in Rome. His third long poem of Dipsychus was written in Venice in 1850, and is much superior to the Amours. Another work, Mari Magno, consists of a series of tales on love and marriage, supposed to be related to each other by a party of |