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“ He has conned the lesson now,

He has read the book of pain; There are furrows on his brow,

I must make it smooth again.

“ Lo, I knock the spurs away;

Lo, I loosen belt and brand; Hark! I hear the courser neigh

For his stall in Fairy-land.

“ Bring the cap, and bring the vest,

Buckle on his sandal shoon; Fetch his memory from the chest

In the treasury of the Moon.

“ I have taught him to be wise,

For a little maiden's sake ;Look, he opens his bright eyes,

Softly, slowly ;-minstrel, wake!”

The sun has risen, and Wilfrid is come
To his early friends, and his cottage home.
His hazel eyes and his locks of gold
Are just as they were in the time of old ;
But a blessing has been on the soul within,
For that is won from its secret sin;
More loving now, and worthier love
Of men below and of Saints above.

He reins a steed with a lordly air,
Which makes his country cousins stare;
And he speaks in a strange and courtly phrase,
Though his voice is the voice of other days :
But where he has learned to talk and ride,
He will tell to none but his bonny bride.

THE LOLLARDS' TOWER.

OPPRESSION—anguish-scorn--obdurate might-
Endurance, wasted by the strife of years,
And Patience, smiling through its silent tears,
With hopes of glory and unearthly light,-
These stand engraven on thy mouldering height,
Thou time-worn Tower! where misery hath made
Her bleak abode; and hopes, which dawned to fade,
Mocked, day by day, the dimmed and sickening sight!
Stranger !—as borne upon that sun-lit wave,
Thy bark with joyous sail is gliding by,
To Him be praise, whose guardian power could save
From thrall, and turn to thanks the sufferer's cry!
Nor be the Might forgot, whose influence gave
The unshrinking heart, when none to aid was nigh.

H.

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LADY OLIVIA'S DECAMERONE.

Story, God bless you! I have none to tell, Sir.

Anti-Jacobin.

The great contest for the county, between Sir Jacob Dunder, of Dunder-Park, and Colonel Parrot, of Bencoolen Hall, will not speedily be forgotten by those who witnessed, or shared its horrors. It was then that the awful pestilence of party-spirit began its ravages in our ancient town. Years have rolled away; and Time, the universal physician, has passed through our streets with healing on his wings: but there is not, among us, one family in which you may not trace the vestiges of the dismal visitation.

The first symptoms of the disorder were, absence of mind, neglect of business, forgetfulness of the dinnerhour, and a disposition to haunt the market-place, or loiter on the Exchange. Soon, the voice of the sufferer became loud and hoarse, the step hurried and unsteady,

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