ALFRED TENNYSON was born in 1810 in a village in

Lincolnshire, where he passed his boyhood till he went to Trinity College at Cambridge. It was there that, in the study of the ancient poets, his own poetical talents were developed, and already in 1830 he produced the first volume of his poems. His intimate friendship with Arthur Hallam, a young man of the most highly gifted intellect, served also to cultivate his mind, and two years after he published his second volume. In 1834, Hallam died, which event gave a serious and rather sad turn to his character and his writings. In 1842 be gave the public a new volume of his poems, and a book

THE MAY QUEEN.
I.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

entitled 'In Memoriam,' consisting of a series of plaintive ditties written when he was still oppressed with grief by the death of Hallam. Three years before he had also published a work called "The Princess," a fantastical narration in poetry. He is now poet laureate, to which office he was appointed on the death of Wordsworth. His later works were: 'Enoch Arden,' 'The Idylls of the King, and two dramas, entitled respectively "Mary Tudor and Harold. In his erotic poetry, Tennyson ap pears to the best advantage; he possesses much poetical talent, and a vast deal of genius, yet in his higher aspirations he seldom attains the elevation he desires to reach.

Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

all the glad New-year;

but none so bright as mine; 5

green and still,

over all the hill,

and Caroline:

cowslip and the crowfoot are

land they say,

And the

rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill

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So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother,
I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break:

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But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,

For I'm to be &c.

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Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you'll be there too, mother, to see me made the Queen; For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away,

And I'm to be &c. The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers,

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers; 30 And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,

And I'm to be &c. The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass,

And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;

There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day,

And I'm to be &c

Herrig, British Auth.

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merrily glance and play,

For I'm to be &c.

Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me.

To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind

The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind; 50 And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see

The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day;

Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May; And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel-copse,

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Till Charles's Wain (1) came out above the tall white chimney-tops.

There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane:

I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again:

I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high:

I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

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The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree,

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,

(1) Popular name of the Great Bear.

LOVE AND DEATH.

What time the mighty moon was gathering light,

Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise, And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes; When, turning round a cassia, full in view, Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, 5 And talking to himself, first met his sight: 'You must begone,' said Death, 'these walks are mine.' Love wept and spread his sheeny vans (1) for flight;

Yet, ere he parted, said,-This hour is thine:

Thou art the shadow of life; and as the tree
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath;
So in the light of great eternity
Life eminent creates the shade of death,
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,
But I shall reign for ever over all!

THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.

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90

(1) Wings.

He froth'd his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But though his eyes are waxing dim,
And though his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.

Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die, across the waste

His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.

Every one for his own.

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The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,

Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:

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But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And a sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.

BUGLE SONG.

The splendour falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory-
Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying,
dying!

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, further going!

O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 10
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:

"Tis nearly twelve o'clock.

Shake hands, before you die.

Old year, we'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.
There's a

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new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door.

dying.

MISS WARD, afterwards Mrs. Anna Radcliffe, was born

in London in 1764. She wrote her first work, 'The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne,' at the age of twentyone; it did not, however, meet with much success. Her next composition, The Sicilian Romance,' was a great improvement upon her first production, and attracted more attention. But the powers of the authoress were not fully shown until the year 1791, when she published "The Romance of the Forest,' in which her high imagination is displayed to great advantage. In 1794 she brought out her most popular work: The Mysteries of Udolpho.

THE PROVENÇAL TALE. There lived, in the province of Bretagne, a noble baron, famous for his magnificence and courtly hospitalities. His castle was graced with ladies of exquisite beauty, and thronged with illustrious knights; for the honours he paid to feats of chivalry invited the brave of distant countries to enter his lists, and his court was more splendid than those of many princes. Eight minstrels were retained in his service, who used to sing to their harps romantic fictions taken from the Arabians, or adventures of chivalry that befell knights during the crusades, or the martial deeds of the baron, their lord;-while he, surrounded by his knights and ladies, banqueted in the great hall of his castle, where the costly tapestry that adorned the walls with pictured exploits of his ancestors, the casements of painted glass enriched with armorial bearings, the gorgeous banners that waved along the roof, the sumptuous canopies, the profusion of gold and silver that glittered on the sideboards, the numerous dishes that covered the tables, the number and gay liveries of the attendants, with the chivalric and splendid attire of the guests, united to form a scene of magnificence, such as we may not hope to see in these degenerate days.

Of the baron the following adventure is related. One night, having retired late from the banquet to his chamber, and dismissed his attendants, he was surprised by the appearance of a stranger of a noble air, but of a sorrowful and

In 1797 the Italian,' the last of her works, appeared, and this indeed attested that her powers were in no way diminished. She died in 1823. Although Mrs. Radcliffe possesses almost no ability in painting human character and the passions, yet she is able to fascinate the readers of her books, by means of horror and mystery, and sustains the interest surprisingly from the beginning to the end. Her style has been imitated by many authors, but none have been able to compete with her in the description of terrible and awful adventures.

dejected countenance. Believing that this person had been secreted in the apartment, since it appeared impossible he could have lately passed the anteroom unobserved by the pages in waiting, who would have prevented this intrusion on their lord, the baron, calling loudly for his people, drew his sword, which he had not yet taken from his side, and stood upon his defence. The stranger, slowly advancing, told him that there was nothing to fear; that he came with no hostile design, but to communicate to him a terrible secret, which it was necessary for him to know.

The baron, appeased by the courteous manners of the stranger, after surveying him for some time in silence, returned his sword into the scabbard, and desired him to explain the means by which he had obtained access to the chamber, and the purpose of this extraordinary visit.

Without answering either of these inquiries, the stranger said, that he could not then explain himself, but that, if the baron would follow him to the edge of the forest, at a short distance from the castle walls, he would there convince him that he had something of importance to disclose.

This proposal again alarmed the baron, who would scarcely believe that the stranger meant to draw him to so solitary a spot, at this hour of the night, without harbouring a design against his life; and he refused to go, observing, at the same time, that, if the stranger's