A good man there was of religion, And such he was yproved often times; GEOFFREY CHAUCER. ON SOME SKULLS IN BEAULEY ABBEY NEAR INVERNESS. IN silent, barren synod met Within these roofless walls, where yet The severed arch and carved fret The brethren's skulls mourn, dewy wet, The mitered ones of Nice and Trent But ye, poor tongueless things, were meant Your chronicles no more exist, And may do better. Ha! Here is undivulged crime ! Until their monkish pantomime A younger brother this; a man It smacked of power, and here he ran This idiot skull belonged to one, Who, penitent ere he'd begun To taste of pleasure, And hoping Heaven's dread wrath to shun, There is the forehead of an ape, A robber's mark; and here the nape, That bone O'erpicturing that Venus, where we see AGRIPPA. O, rare for Antony! AGR. Rare Egyptian! ENO. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, Invited her to supper: she replied, fie on 't! - just bears the shape It should be better he became her guest; Of carnal passion; O, he was one for theft and rape ANONYMOUS. GODIVA. CLEOPATRA. FROM "ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA." NOT only we, the latest seed of Time, New men, that in the flying of a wheel ENOBARBUS. The barge she sat in, like a bur- Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, nished throne, And loathed to see them overtaxed; but she Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Did more, and underwent, and overcame, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The woman of a thousand summers back, The winds were lovesick with them; the oars Godiva, wife to that grim Earl who ruled were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made In Coventry for when he laid a tax She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode His beard a foot before him, and his hair Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed, For such as these?" "But I would die," said she. He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul: Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity: And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, The fatal byword of all years to come, Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Peeped but his eyes, before they had their will, Were shriveled into darkness in his head, And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; And she, that knew not, passed and all at once, With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers, ALFRED TENNYSON. PEACE IN ACADIE. FROM "EVANGELINE." IN the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand Pré Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway. There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels | Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the and the songs of the maidens. bell from its turret upon them, Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest and the children with his hyssop Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings to bless them. Reverend walked he among them; and up rose Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet matrons and maidens, of beads and her missal, Hailing his slow approach with words of affec- Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of bluc, tionate welcome. and the ear-rings, Then came the laborers home from the field, and Brought in the olden time from France, and since, serenely the sun sank as an heirloom, Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon Handed down from mother to child, through long from the belfry generations. Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs But a celestial brightness, a more ethereal beauty, Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of in But their dwellings were open as day and the BEAUTIFUL was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, hearts of the owners; There the richest were poor, and the poorest lived Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. in abundance. On the river Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer Fell here and there through the branches a tremuthe Basin of Minas, lous gleam of the moonlight, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened Grand-Pré, and devious spirit. Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, direct- Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers ing his household, of the garden Poured out their souls in odors, that were their Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with with snow-flakes; shadows and night-dews, White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and as brown as the oak-leaves. the magical moonlight Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on As, through the garden gate, and beneath the the thorn by the wayside, Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses ! Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows, When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers shade of the oak-trees, Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in at noontide |