STRAFFORD'S DEFENCE AGAINST THE CHARGE OF HIGH TREASON.

EXTRACT.

MY LORDS, what is my present misfortune may be forever yours! It is not the smallest part of my grief that not the crime of treason, but my other sins, which are exceeding many, have brought me to this bar; and except your lordships' wisdom provide against it, the shedding of my blood may make way for the tracing out of yours. You, your estates, your posterity, lie at the stake!

For my poor self, if it were not for your Lordships' interest and the interest of a saint in heaven, who hath left me here two pledges on earth, I should never take the pains to keep up this ruinous cottage of mine. It is loaded with such infirmities, that in truth I have no great pleasure to carry it about with me any longer. Nor could I ever leave it at a fitter time than this, when I hope that the better part of the world would perhaps think that by my misfortunes I had given a testimony of my integrity to my God, my King, and my country. I thank God I count not the afflictions of the present life to be compared to that glory which is to be revealed in the time to come!

My Lords! my Lords! my Lords! something more I had intended to say, but my voice and my spirit fail me. Only I do in all humility and submission cast myself down at your Lordships' feet, and desire that I may be a lesson to keep you from shipwreck. Do not put such

rocks in your own way, which no prudence, no circumspection can eschew or satisfy but by your utter ruin.

And so, my Lords, even so, with all tranquillity of mind, I submit myself to your decision. And whether your judgment in my case-I wish it were not the case of you all be for life or for death, it shall be righteous in my eyes, and shall be received with a Te Deum laudamus - we give God the praise!

ON THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES FIRST, AT NIGHT, IN ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSOR.

WILLIAM L. BOWLES.

THE castle clock had tolled midnight:

With mattock and with spade-
And silent by the torches' light
His corpse in earth we laid.

The coffin bore his name; that those
Of other years might know,

When earth its secrets should disclose,
Whose bones were laid below.

"Peace to the dead!" no children sung,

Slow pacing up the nave;

No prayers were read, no knell was rung,
As deep we dug his grave.

We only heard the winter's wind,

In many a sullen gust,

As o'er the open grave inclined,
We murmured, "Dust to dust!"

A moonbeam from the arch's height
Streamed, as we placed the stone;
The long aisles started into light,
And all the windows shone.

We thought we saw the banners then
That shook along the walls,
Whilst the sad shades of mailèd men
Were gazing from the stalls.

'Tis gone. Again on tombs defaced
Sits darkness more profound;
And only by the torch we traced
The shadows on the ground.

And now the chilling, freezing air
Without blew long and loud;
Upon our knees we breathed one prayer
Where he slept in his shroud.

We laid the broken marble floor, -
No name, no trace appears!

And when we closed the sounding door,
We thought of him with tears.

THE THREE LIBERTIES.

Јони Рум.

THE greatest liberty of the Kingdom is religion; thereby we are freed from spiritual evils and no impositions are so grievous as those that are laid upon the soul.

The next great liberty is justice, whereby we are preserved from injuries in our persons and estates; from this is derived into the commonwealth peace, order, and safety, and when this is interrupted confusion and danger are ready to overwhelm all.

The third great liberty consists in the power and privilege of parliaments; for this is the fountain of law, the great council of the Kingdom, the highest court; this is enabled by the legislative and counciliary power to prevent evils to come; by the judiciary power to suppress and remove evils present.

THE CAVALIER'S SONG.

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

A STEED, a steed of matchlesse speed!
A sword of metal keene!

All else to noble hearts is drosse,

All else on earth is meane.

The neighynge of the war-horse prowde,

The rowlings of the drum,

The clangor of the trumpet lowde,
Be soundes from heaven that come;
And O! the thundering presse of knightes
Whenas their war-cryes swell,

May toll from heaven an angel bright,

And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mounte! then mounte! brave gallants all,
And don your helmes amaine :
Deathe's couriers, fame and honor, call
Us to the field againe.

No shrewish teares shall fill our eye
When the sword-hilt's in our hand, -
Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe
For the fayrest of the land;
Let piping swaine, and craven wight
Thus weepe and puling crye,
Our business is like men to fight,
And hero-like to die!

"THE REVENGE."

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET. ALFRED TENNYSON.

AT Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,
And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from

66

far away;

Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fiftythree!"

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: "'Fore God, I am no coward!