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With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes;
Behind him march the halberdiers, before him beat the drums
Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales
Sweet the lengthening April day

O'er the wild waters labouring, far from home

BIRKET FOSTER

257

BIRKET FOSTER

259

J. GODWIN.

261

E. H. CORBOULD..

263

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A thing of beauty is a joy for ever

There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud

Alone she cuts and binds the grain

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For God forbid thy gladsome heart should grow less glad for me...

We buried him darkly, at dead of night

"This heart's sleeping-is not dead"

Fill the air with wild-fowl

I never felt the kiss of love,

Nor maiden's hand in mine

The splendour falls on castle walls

'Neath his gaze her pale cheek flushes

Fold thy little hands in prayer
By thy list'ning mother's knee

All night the moonbeams pale
Steal round and round me

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow
From strife that in a far-off future lies

Do not call each glorious change decay

"Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew,

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"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through

Named softly as the household name

Of one whom GOD hath taken !

Give me the Saxon girls;

Who will may have the Grecks

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}F. W. LAWSON

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HERE was not yet then here,

except gloom like a cavern,

anything made.

But the wide ground

stood deep and dim

for a new lordship,

shapeless and unsuitable.

On this with his eyes he glanced,

the King stern in mind,

And the joyless place beheld.

He saw the dark clouds

perpetually pass

black under the sky,

void and waste;

till that this world's creation

thro' the word was done

of the King of Glory.

THE CREATION OF LIGHT.

.:

Here first made

the Eternal Lord,

the Patron of all creatures, heaven and earth.

He reared the sky,

and this roomy land established

with strong powers, Almighty Ruler !

The earth was then yet

with grass not green; with the ocean covered, perpetually black;

far and wider

the desert ways.

There was the glory-bright

Spirit of the Heaven's Wonder borne over the watery abyss with great abundance.

The Creator of angels commanded,

the Lord of life!

Light to come forth

over the roomy ground.

Quickly was fulfilled

the high King's command: the sacred light came over the waste

as the Artist ordered. Then separated

the Governor of victory

over the water-flood light from darkness,

shade from shine:

he made them both be named, Lord of life!

Light was first,

thro' the Lord's word called day:

creation of bright splendour

pleased well the Lord, At the beginning,

the birth of time,

the first day,

He saw the dark shade

black spread itself

over the wide ground,

when time declined

over the oblation-smoke of the earth. The Creator after separated

from the pure shine,

(our Maker,)

the first evening.

To him ran at last

a throng of dark clouds.
To these the King himself
gave the name of night:
our Saviour

These separated.

Afterwards, as an inheritance, the will of the Lord

made and did it

eternal over the earth.

Translated by S. TURNER.

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The Grendel.

FROM "BEOWULF," THE GREATEST ANGLO-SAXON POEM. DATE UNCERTAIN.

THE Grendel was a giant, said to have been descended from Cain, and therefore exiled by Heaven to the wildest waste in Jutland. In the reign of Hrothgar, King of Denmark, he determined to destroy the nobles of his Court, and at the hour when the Danes, after "quaffing their beer," were asleep in the royal hall, according to the fashion of those days, this fiend stalked into it and slew thirty of the sleeping Ethelings. Then he returned to his mysterious abode. These visits were frequently renewed, and always with the same success. The King was in despair, when a famous Gothic champion, Beowulf-the hero of the poemhearing of this mysterious horror, came to his assistance, resolved to defy the giant. He arrived in Denmark; the King accepted his offer to encounter the Grendel, and after an entertainment, left him and his friends to keep guard in the hall where the nobles slept. Here in a short time all were asleep save Beowulf.

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VER the moor, beneath his misty hills,

The Grendel stalked,-the fiend by Heaven accursed!-
And well he hoped, this foe to human-kind,-
Within that lofty hall to seize his victims.

In darkness wrapt, the silent fiend approached,
Until that festive hall, that golden seat

Of high-born warriors, rich with goblets strewn,
Before him lay. Nor this the only time

That he the courts of princely Hrothgar sought.

But never in the days of yore had he

Leaders more brave, or thanes more dauntless found
Than in that hall reposed.

Onward he stalked,

That being joyless. Swift the wrathful fiend
With arm of might the massive bulwarks rent,
That vainly stopt his entrance. O'er the floor
With shining stones resplendent strode the fiend;
Dark was his mood, and terrible the flame
Which from his lurid eyeballs flashed around.
Many the sleepers in that festive hall,

By friendship, or by nearer kindred joined:

Great was the demon's joy; for well he thought,
That prowler awful, ere the morning dawned,
Of each the soul and frame to rend asunder.

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