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At length the ten years siege of Troy
Did end; in flames the city burn'd;
And to the Grecians was great joy,

To see the towers to ashes turn'd:
Then came Ulysses home to see
His constant, dear, Penelope.

O blame her not if she was glad,
When she her lord again had seen.
Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said,
A long time absent thou hast been:
The wars shall never more deprive
Me of my lord whilst I'm alive.

Fair ladies all, example take;

And hence a worthy lesson learn,

All youthful follies to forsake,

And vice from virtue to discern:

And let all women strive to be
As constant as Penelope.

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XI.

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.

By Col. Richard Lovelace: from the volume of his poems, intitled "Lucasta, Lond. 1649," 12mo. The elegance of this writer's manner would be more admired if it had somewhat more of simplicity.

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkinde,

That from the nunnerie

Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,

To warre and armes I flie.

True, a new mistresse now I chase,

The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

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Yet this inconstancy is such,

As you too shall adore;

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I could not love thee, deare, so much,

XII.

VALENTINE AND URSINE.

The old story-book of Valentine and Orson (which suggested the plan of this tale, but it is not strictly followed in it) was originally a translation from the French, being one of their earliest attempts at romance. See "Le Bibliotheque de Romans, &c."

The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old metrical legend of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied in the Seven Champions. The original lines are,

"Over the dyke a bridge there lay,

"That man and beest might passe away:
"Under the brydge were sixty belles;
"Right as the Romans telles;
"That there might no man passe in,
"But all they rang with a gyn.'

Sign. E. iv.

In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a wretched corrupt state, unworthy the press: from which were taken such particulars as could be adopted.

PART THE FIRST.

WHEN Flora 'gins to decke the fields.

With colours fresh and fine,

Then holy clerkes their mattins sing

To good Saint Valentine!

The king of France that morning fair

He would a hunting ride:

In all his princelye pride.

To Artois forest prancing forth

To grace his sports a courtly train

Of gallant peers attend ;

And with their loud and cheerful cryes

The hills and valleys rend.

Through the deep forest swift they pass,

Through woods and thickets wild;

When down within a lonely dell

They found a new-born child;

All in a scarlet kercher lay'd

Of silk so fine and thin:

A golden mantle wrapt him round,
Pinn'd with a silver pin.

The sudden sight surpriz'd them all;
The courtiers gather'd round;
They look, they call, the mother seek;

No mother could be found.

At length the king himself drew near,
And as he gazing stands,

The pretty babe look'd up and smil❜d,

And stretch'd his little hands.

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Now, by the rood, king Pepin says,
This child is passing fair:

I wot he is of gentle blood;
Perhaps some prince's heir.

Goe bear him home unto my court
With all the care ye may :
Let him be christen'd Valentine,
In honour of this day:

And look me out some cunning nurse;
Well nurtur'd let him bee;

Nor ought be wanting that becomes

A bairn of high degree.

They look'd him out a cunning nurse;

And nurtur'd well was hee;

Nor ought was wanting that became

A bairn of high degree.

Thus grewe the little Valentine,

Belov'd of king and peers;

And shew'd in all he spake or did

A wit beyond his years.

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But chief in gallant feates of arms
He did himself advance,
That ere he grewe to man's estate
He had no peere in France.

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