WOODSTOCK PARK.

HERE in a little rustic hermitage

Alfred the Saxon King, Alfred the Great,
Postponed the cares of king-craft to translate
The Consolations of the Roman sage.
Here Geoffrey Chaucer, in his ripe old age
Wrote the unrivalled Tales, which soon or late
The venturous hand that strives to imitate
Vanquished must fall on the unfinished page.
Two kings were they, who ruled by right divine,
And both supreme; one in the realm of Truth,
One in the realm of Fiction and of Song.
What prince hereditary of their line,

Uprising in the strength and flush of youth,
Their glory shall inherit and prolong?

BIBLIOR

August.

A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA.

THE sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
Slowly upon the amber air unrolled,

The falling mantle of the Prophet seems. From the dim headlands many a light-house gleams,

The street-lamps of the ocean; and behold, O'erhead the banners of the night unfold; The day hath passed into the land of dreams. O summer day beside the joyous sea!

O summer day so wonderful and white,
So full of gladness and so full of pain!
Forever and forever shalt thou be

To some the gravestone of a dead delight.
To some the landmark of a new domain.