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A moment's pause--and then she deeply blushed,

As, trembling, she unclasped her rich attire, And, shrinking from the sun-light, shone confest The ripe and dazzling beauties of her breast.

And when her white and radiant limbs lay bare,

The fillet from her brow the dame unbound, And let the traces of her raven hair

Flow down in wavy lightness to the ground,
Till half they veiled her limbs and bosom fair,

In dark and shadowy beauty floating round,
As clouds, in the still firmament of June,
Shade the pale splendours of the midnight moon.

But then her spirit fell, when thus alone

She stood in the deep silence of her bower;
And felt that there she was beheld by none

Save one unknown, supreme, eternal Power.
She dared not raise her meek eyes, trembling one,

Again from earth; she could have wished that hour
Rather in view of thousands to have stood,
Than in that still and awful solitude.

Away- away! with wild and hurried pace,

Through many a long and echoing room she stole; No voice arrests her ear, no human face

Bursts on the dreary wildness of her soul. All silent now is that proud dwelling place,-

On-on she presses, till she reach the goal ; The portal past — she sees her palfrey stand, Held by a weak and weeping maiden's hand.

Away, away!—the lady hath departed;

The freedom of the land will soon be won:Rejoice, ye wronged, and spurned, and broken-hearted,

Rejoice!-- for your deliverance is begun. It's full five minutes since Godiva started,

She 'll be among you before half-past one ; Therefore, take care, both bachelors and spouses, AU but the blind, to keep within your houses.

Godiva passed, but all had disappeared,

Each in his dwelling's innermost recess;
One would have thought all mortal eyes had feared

To gaze upon her dazzling loveliness.
Sudden her palfrey stopped, and neighed and reared,

And pricked his ears — as if he would express
That there was something wicked in the wind;
Godiva trembled, and held fast behind.

And here I also must remark, that this is

With ladies very frequently the case, And beg to hint to all equestrian misses,

That horses' backs are not their proper place.
A woman's forte is music-love- or kisses,

Not leaping gates, or galloping a race;
I used sometimes to ride with them of yore,
And always found them an infernal bore.

The steed grew quiet, and a piercing cry

Burst on Godiva's ear;—she started, and Beheld a man, who, in a window high,

Shaded his dim eyes with his trembling hand !
He had been led by curiosity

To see her pass, and there had ta’en his stand;
And as he gazed ('t is thus the story's read),
His eye-balls sunk and shrivelled in his head !

I know not, gentles, whether this be true,

If so, you 'll own his punishment was just; Poor wretch!- full dearly had he cause to rue

His prying temper, or unbridled lust.
No more could he his daily toi) pursue-

He was a tinker - but his tools might rust;
He might dispose of all his stock of metal,
For ne'er, thence-forward, could he mend a kettle.

Alas! poor Peeping Tom!— Godiva kept

And fed him.- Reader, now my tale is told; I need not state how all the peasants wept,

And laughed, and blest their Countess — young and old

That night Godiva very soundly slept —

I grieve to add she caught a trifling cold;
Leofric's heart was so extremely full,
He roasted for the populace a bull.
There stood an ancient Cross at Coventry,

Pulled down, of late, by order of the Mayor,
Because 't was clear its downfall must be nigh,

And 't would be too expensive to repair ;
It bore two figures carved --- and you might spy

Beneath them 'graved, in letters large and fair,
“Godiva! Leofric, for love of thee,
Doth make henceforth fair Coventry toll free."
The tale 's believed by all the population,

And still a sham Godiva, every year,
Is carried by the Mayor and Corporation

In grand procession - and the mob get beer.
Gentles, I've spent my fit of inspiration,

Which being over, I must leave you here; And for Godiva- hope you 'll decent think her,

Laugh at her husband, and forgive the tinker. The Etonian.


HARDLY we breathe, although the air be free.
How massively doth awful nature pile
The living rock, like some cathedral aisle,
Sacred to silence and the solemn sea !
How that clear pool lies sleeping tranquilly,
And under its glassed surface seems to smile,
With many hues, a mimic grove the while,
Of foliage submarine — shrub, flower, and tree!
Beautiful scene! and fitted to alure
The printless footsteps of some sea-born maid ;
Who here, with her green tresses disarrayed,
'Mid the clear bath, unfearing and secure,
May sport, at noontide, in the caverned shade,
Cold as the shadow, as the waters pure,



Ivan le Terrible, etant dejà devenu vieux, assiégoit Novogorod.

Les Boyards, le voyant affoibli, lui demanderent s'il ne voulait pas donner le commandement de l'assaut à son fils. Sa fureur fut si grande a cette proposition, que rien de put l'appaiser : son fils se prosterna à ses pieds ; il le repoussa avec un coup d'une telle voilence, que deux jours après le malheureux en mourut. Le père, alors au desespoir, devint indifferent à la guerre comme au pouvoir, et ne survécut que peu de mois a son fils.


He sat in silence on the ground,

The old and haughty Czar;
Lonely, though princes girt him round,

And leaders of the war:
He had cast his jewelled sabre,

That many a field had won,
To the earth beside his youthful dead,

His fair and first-born son.

With a robe of ermine for its bed,

Was laid that form of clay,
Where the light a stormy sunset shed,

Through the rich tent made way:
And a sad and solemn beauty

On the pallid face came down,
Which the lord of nations mutely watched

In the dust with his renown.

Low tones at last of woe and fear

From his full bosom broke;-
A mournful thing it was to hear

How then the proud man spoke!
The voice that through the combat

Had shouted far and high,
Came forth in strange, dull hollow sounds,

Burthened with agony.

“There is no crimson on thy cheek,

And on thy lip no breath,
I call thee--and thou dost not speak —

They tell me this is Death!
And fearful things are whispering

That I the deed have done -
For the honour of thy father's name,



up, my son!

“Well might I know death's hue and mien;

But on thine aspect, boy!
What, till this moment, have I seen,

Save pride and tameless joy?
Swiftest thou wert to battle,

And bravest there of all-
How could I think a warrior's frame

Thus like a flower should fall?

“I will not bear that still, cold look ;

Rise up, thou fierce and free!
Wake as the storm wakes !-I will brook

All, save this calm, from thee.
Lift brightly up and proudly,

Once more thy kindling eyes!
Hath my word lost its power on earth ?

I say to thee, Arise !

“ Didst thou not know I loved thee well?

Thou didst not! and art gone, In bitterness of thought, to dwell

Where man must dwell alone.
Come back, young fiery spirit !

If but one hour, to learn
The secrets of the folded heart,

That seemed to thee so stern.

“Thou wert the first, the first fair child

That in mine arms I pressed, — Thou wert the bright one, that has smiled

Like summer on my breast!

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