But tell these bold traitors of London's proud town, That the spears of the North have encircled the crown. There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes; There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Mon trose. Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown, With the barons of England that fight for the crown? Now joy to the crest of the brave cavalier! Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear, Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown In a pledge to fair England, her Church and her crown. SONNET TO MILTON.-(Wordsworth.) And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. THE DOG ARGUS.-(Odyssey, Book xvii. 290-327.) From Maginn's Homeric Ballads. Then, as they spake, upraised his head, The dog whom erst Odysseus bred, He bred him, but his fostering skill To hunt the wild goat, hart and hare, Where store of dung, profusely flung Before the gates it was spread along As rich manure for the lands they tilled There was Argus stretched, his flesh all filled With the dog-worrying flea. But when by the hound his king was known, Backward his close-clapped ears were thrown, Odysseus saw, and turned aside From Eumæus he chose his grief to hide, And “Strange, passing strange, is the sight,” Of such a dog laid here! [he cried, "Noble his shape, but I cannot tell If his worth with that shape may suit: "Or worthless as a household hound, "He is the dog of one now dead In a far land away; But if you had seen," the swineherd said, When Odysseus hence his warriors led "His strength, his plight, his speed so light, You had with wonder viewed; No beast that once had crossed his sight, "But now all o'er, in sorrows sore He pines in piteous wise; The king upon some distant shore And the careless women here no more "For slaves who find their former lord No longer holds the sway, No fitting service will afford, Far-seeing Jove's resistless power From him who of one servile hour Has felt the dire control!" This said, the swineherd passed the gate, And darksome death checked Argus' breath THE CLOUD.-(Percy Bysshe Shelley.) I bear light shade for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; I sift the snow on the mountains below, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fettered the thunder— Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, Lured by the love of the genii that move Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, And I, all the while, bask in heaven's blue smile, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, When the morning-star shines dead; As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle, alit, one moment may sit, In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beIts ardours of rest and love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, [neath, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer; |