There was a flashing of deep pride, commix'd
So finely with the languishment of love

That half its fire was quench'd: she had long hair,
So wondrously redundant, that it fell

Like a rich golden mantle to her feet;

And the soft voice which wins its way at once
From the wrapt ear to the impassion'd soul,

Like a wild strain of midnight musicking.

Yet what were these to him? All less than nought.—
Love, the mere plaything of a vacant hour,
A bauble for the eye and not the heart;
For he adored a distant deity.

And the bright maid of Scalot was not form'd
To be the pastime of an idle day,

And the spurn'd toy of haughtier intervals.
She loved him deeply, fondly, fearfully-
As woman loves when she makes love her all.-
How vain to risk her fortune on a die,
When she is gambling her soul's peace away
With such a cold antagonist. Alas!
The gentle Ladye play'd this fearful game,
Perill'd the mighty stake of happiness,

And lost

Death was upon her brow; and her shut eye,
With its long sunny lash, was cold; she lay
Like a fair statue, gloriously conceived,
And exquisitely chisell'd; one white arm
Pillow'd her senseless head-it look'd like sleep;
The eye's lost sparkle was replaced by gems,
Even as the sunlight bears similitude
To the inferior moonray: they were strown
Among her tresses, swimming as it were
Upon a gorgeous sea of liquid gold;

Her robe was silken, wrought with wondrous art,
And wreath'd with flowers, perfumed by incenses
Until they mimick'd nature; on her brow
Rested a jewell'd coronal, which mock'd

The coldness it encircled. . . . . . 'Twas a bark
Upon whose deck she lay; its silken sails
Were loop'd with golden roses, and its mast

Was fragrant sandal-wood-and there were none
Save the dead Ladye to inhabit it—

'Twas a strange phantasie! but she had won
Compliance in her dying hour, with this
Her last, her sole request.-She lay in death
Like one who sleeps after some revelrie

Which has outworn her strength: her silver zone
Was clasp'd above a written scroll; her hand
Now chill in death had traced the character,
And thus it ran :

"Bravest, but coldest knight
Who e'er won ladye's love and slighted it-
Sir Lancelot Du Lake, the scroll is thine.
The Maid of Scalot writ, and brings it thee,
The herald of her own dark tale of death-
How she has loved thee read upon her brow,

For there the record is inscribed; her eye
Is now as cold as thine-her love as dead-

Behold the wreck which thine own hand hath wrought,
And weep the Ladye of the broken heart!

They put that vessel forth-she went alone

She with the death-freight, with the lifeless one-
Nor mariner, nor helmsman guided her,
But proudly o'er the ripple, on and on
She glided in her beauty-many a flash
Her jewell'd gear cast back, as gracefully

The foam swell'd round her prow-ah! who to look
On that fair bark, had deem'd it held but death!
On, o'er the boundless waters did she glide,
Away-away-away-diminishing

To a bright star-then lost so utterly,
That the bereaved father on the strand,
Who wrung his hands in utterness of woe,
Wiped off his tears to look on nothingness-
Above, the sky-beneath, the billowy waste-
But nothingness beyond-all desolate,
Dreamless vacuity-and for his child,
But space-shadowless space!"

Gorgeous with silk, and flowers, and trinketrie,
Sped on that Ladye her death-voyage: soon
A quickening breeze swept o'er the swelling waves,
And hasten'd on the bark-enough, to say
It gain'd the destin'd haven; on the shore
Throng'd the astounded populace, and soon
Rumour had reach'd the Monarch, of a sight
So wild and wonderful! and with a train
Of gallant knights, he hurried to the strand.
On came the vessel-hand nor tongue was there,
To rule her course; but, like a light sea-nymph,
She bounded on, and proudly shook away
The foam that gather'd on her gleaming sides!
The monarch sprang on board-could it be sleep?
He touch'd her hand-'twas cold and passionless-
He knelt beside her, but no warm breath fann'd
His regal brow-no heart-throb heaved the robe
That, folded o'er her bosom, hid its snows.
Her silver zone was loosen'd, and the scroll
Proclaim'd her fatal passion, and its price!

There was a wild, unearthly silence then,
And nothing met the ear, save when the breeze
Flapp'd heavily the vessel's silken sails-
For the proud knight-in that appalling hour
He look'd upon the scroll, and grasp'd his steel,
As though some feeling grappled at his heart-
Sudden he started, for conviction came
That He had been the spoiler, and he bent
And look'd upon the ruin he had wrought—

Then murmured out "Dead! dead!!" and fled the scene.

F. F.

TEXTS AND COMMENTS.

BY AN OXFORD BLUE.

No. II.
TEXT.

"I RISE, sir, to announce to the house an act of splendid liberality on the part of an individual, Mr. Marsden late secretary to the admiralty. No words of mine can express the feelings which dictated this act of generosity so adequately as the letter of the individual himself, addressed to my noble friend the chancellor of the exchequer." The letter is read which states that Mr. Marsden in the year 1807, "finding his constitution materially injured" by his official duties, applied for, and obtained, leave to retire on a pension of 1500l. per annum ; but now," finding his means adequate to all the comforts required at his time of life, he did not mean to draw his pension after Midsummer." (Speech of Sir James Graham, June 28th.)

COMMENT.

Mr. Marsden retires in 1807 with what he calls an impaired constitution, and during four-and-twenty years his impaired constitution is nursed with THIRTY-SIX THOUSAND FOUNDS of the public money. He retires under a whig administration, (famous, by the by, for impaired constitutions,) and waits for another whig administration to perform this act of splendid liberality;" to give this "noble example," as the Times calls it. I do not know Mr. Marsden's age; but assuming he was at least fifty when his impaired constitution (which has lasted so well ever since) made it necessary for him to retire, he probably gives up half a year's pension! There are few men who would not be glad to imitate Mr. Marsden's "splendid liberality" for a much smaller sum than six-and-thirty thousand pounds.

TEXT.

"At present it must be confessed that the political horizon of the French monarchy is rather gloomy. The fruits of the seditious and factious principles promulgated through the journals are every where apparent in the contempt of authority, the disorganization of society, the terrors of street riots, the insults offered to religion, the disturbances to obstruct the course of justice, the menaces to provoke civil war. In more than twenty places lawless mobs have planted trees of liberty in the presence of the civil and military authorities. In one case a band of wretches who chose to erect and dance around this memorial of revolutionary excesses, appropriately enough, proceeded from the scene of riot to attack and massacre a body of unarmed citizens who chose to entertain a different opinion from them on such subjects and proceedings." (Times, June 29th.)

COMMENT.

These are a few of the natural consequences of the "glorious days" of July. The Times says, "glorious days they must always be called whatever may afterwards arise from them in French history." This is much such nonsense as if a man should say, "the soil of that field shall be called rich and productive, though it yield nothing but weeds and nettles." How a thing which is in itself great and glorious, can lead only to every thing vile and infamous, I must leave to the great and glorious booby of the Times to explain.

"Sir,

TEXT.

"Downing Street, June 30th.

"I have had the honour of receiving your letter enclosing a memorial of the council of the Birmingham Political Union, in which objections are stated to limiting the 107. franchise to persons paying their rents half-yearly.

"It is with great satisfaction I have to inform you that the words so limiting the franchise were inadvertently inserted and will be altered in committee, the only object in contemplation being that of ensuring a bona fide holding of 101. per

annum.

15007. per annum for 24 years, with interest at 5 per cent,, amounts to upwards of sixty-six thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds.-Ed.

"The memorial also refers to another supposed alteration as to the division of counties. You will find by referring to the bill of last session that on this point no alteration whatever has been made.

"Thomas Attwood, Esq."

"I have the honour to be,
Sir,

COMMENT.

"Your obedient servant,
"GREY."

Earl Grey is the prime minister of England. Who is Thomas Attwood, Esq.? The chairman, or leader, or mouth-piece, of ten thousand journeyinen mechanics at Birmingham, associated for political purposes. These men have their council, it seems-and this council, it further seems, calls upon Earl Grey to satisfy them, and through them, the said ten thousand journeymen machanics, as to the intentions of the cabinet touching a clause in the revolution bill!

This is the impudent side of the picture. Now let us look at its degrading side. The prime minister pleads to the authority of this self-constituted body! He enters into humble explanations with them! He has "the honour of receiving their letter, and "the great satisfaction of answering it!" I do not ask would Pitt, or Liverpool, or Canning have endured to be so catechised-it is sufficient to ask would ANY English minister, EXCEPT Earl Grey, have so derogated from himself and his office? Perhaps, however, I am wrong even in thus limiting my exception. The same, probably, might be expected from any whig, whose reverence for the sovereignty of the people is superior to his reverence for the constitutional principle that a minister can be questioned upon affairs of state only in his place in parliament.

TEXT.

"In the words of an able writer in the New Monthly Magazine, As well might we expect, Canute-like, to arrest the progress of the ocean tide at the bidding of a maniac, &c. &c.'" (Maiden Speech of Lord William Lennox on the Reform Bill.)

COMMENT.

The "able writer" in the New Monthly Magazine is Lord William himself! And a very able writer no doubt he is, from the specimen he quoted: but I wish his lordship had studied a little more diligently Goldsmith's Abridgment of the History of England. He would not then have talked of expecting Canute-like, to arrest the tide. That sensible monarch expected no such thing, as any school-boy could have informed his lordship, who has been misled I am afraid, by the engraving which is to be found in some editions of Goldsmith's and Mavor's histories, representing the philosophical Dane seated on the sea-shore, with these words beneath it: "Canute commanding the waves to retire." Hence, no doubt, Lord William Lennox's mistake.

THE "TIMES" v. OURSELVES.

"AN editor of a trumpery compilation, published with the title of a Magazine, has sent us his book, and pointed our attention to a stupid passage of gross abuse against ourselves. This is a stale trick of incipient scribblers to provoke us to notice them; but we are not so easily caught. We shall not even mention the name of his magazine. We furthermore give him leave to rail at us till the crack of doom; at all events, till the death of his own miscellany of rubbish."(A notice to Correspondents in the Times of Wednesday, July 13th).

One of the editors of the Times has sent us the paper with the above notice, and pointed "our attention to the stupid passage of gross abuse against ourselves." This is a "new trick" of the "Thunderer" to provoke us to repeat the offence, which we shall accordingly do by copying the following paragraph from p. 34 of

our last number.

"A despicable attempt, by the most despicable journal in the country, as far as principle of any kind is concerned (we mean the Times), was made to fling

contempt upon the profession of an actor, the day after the death of Mrs. Siddons, because some one had suggested the idea of a public funeral in Westminster Abbey. Garrick had a public funeral; and wherein was Mrs. Siddons inferior to Garrick? But the Times has a sort of vampire-like delight in feeding upon insults to the dead. No sooner does the grave close over monarch, prince, or statesman, than it riots in mean slanders upon them. It was so with George III. It was so with George IV. It will be so with William IV. It was so with the Duke of York. It was so with the Marquis of Londonderry. It would be difficult to account for this revolting propensity, if we did not know that malignity and cowardice are twin vices; and that a blow struck at the dead provokes no danger."

Why should the Times wince under this passing blow? It looks as if it were ashamed of its principles. But it should remember there is something still more degrading in pandering to vice, than in vice itself. We can pity a man who outrages the better feelings of our nature from sheer ignorance of their existence, and feel a sort of respect for one who has trained his mind into a perverted conviction that he is right in what he does: but the deliberate, calculating, conscious knave, who knows he is wallowing in dishonour, and yet delights in the filth, is an object of utter loathing and contempt. Now the only inference that can be drawn, when an accusation is answered by abuse is, that the accused hopes to intimidate, because he feels he cannot contradict, his accuser.

Our accusation against the Times stands thus:

1. That it is the most despicable journal in the country, as far as principle of any kind is concerned."

2. That "

dead."

it has a sort of vampire-like delight in feeding upon insults to the

3. That "no sooner does the grave close over monarch, prince, or statesman, than it riots in mean slanders upon them.”

4. That it pursued this course when George III. died; and we might have added when Queen Charlotte died.

5. That it did the same, when George IV. was dead.

6. That it did the same when the Duke of York was dead.

7. That it did the same when the Marquis of Londonderry was dead. And, 8. That it WILL do the same when William IV. is dead.

Does the Times, or does any advocate of the Times, DENY these things as relating to George III., Queen Charlotte, George IV., the Duke of York, and the Marquis of Londonderry? If so, let the denial appear; and we PLEDGE ourselves to produce our evidence from the columns of the Times itself.

Will any one affirm, if these things cannot be disproved, that the second and third accusations are not legitimately deduced?

As to the first accusation (or, as it may perhaps be more fitly called, assertion), we allow it resolves itself, to a certain degree, into matter of opinion. All we can say is, that it is our opinion; and that we have never heard any other opinion, even from those who do use the Times for their own purposes, or from those who like the Times because they can use it.

There remains the eighth accusation,-"It will do the same when William IV. is dead." Why should it not? "What can we reason but from what we know?" asks the poet. We know what the Times has done; is it so very improbable it will repeat what it has done? We should like to be informed what security there is, that a man who has committed six murders will not commit a seventh, when he has the opportunity and the motive. However, we would not presumptuously limit the power of Heaven, to which all things are possible. We will therefore believe it possible that when William IV. descends to the tomb (supposing he should escape, till then, the common fate of all whom the Times supports or praises), it will not revile him, as it did when His Most Gracious Majesty was Duke of Cla

rence.

And now, a word at parting. The Times will perceive it was not necessary to be so very delicate about naming us; and that we have availed ourselves of its permission to rail. It calls us "incipient scribblers." No matter. Every thing must