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Or in the empire of thy heart,
And dares to vie with me;
And goest on such a score,
But if thou wilt be constant then,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
I'll crown and deck thee all with bays,
Could it be in woman to resist such promises from such a man?
My dear and only love, take heed
And let all longing lovers feed
But, if thou let thy heart fly out,
Let not their oaths, like volleys shot,
Nor smoothness of their language plot
I think thy virtues be too strong
Which victual'd by my love so long,
That ever I found thy love so light,
Verses written by the Marquis of Montrose with the point of a
diamond upon the glass window of his prison, after receiving his
Let them bestow on every airth a limb;
They who would follow the great Marquis to the last should read the fine ballad called "The Execution of Montrose," in Professor Aytoun's charming volume, "The Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers."
POETRY THAT POETS LOVE.
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR-LEIGH HUNT-PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
To no one can the words that I have placed at the head of this paper apply more perfectly than to Mr. Landor. No poetry was ever dearer to poets than his. Nearly fifty years ago, we find Southey writing of and to the author of "Gebir," with a respectful admiration seldom felt by one young man for another; and, from that hour to the present, all whom he would himself most wish to please have showered upon him praises that can not die. The difficulty in selecting from his works is the abundance; but I prefer the Hellenics, that charming volume, because few, very few, have given such present life to classical subjects. I begin with the Preface, so full of grace and modesty.
"It is hardly to be expected that ladies and gentlemen will leave, on a sudden, their daily promenade, skirted by Turks, and shepherds, and knights, and plumes, and palfreys, of the finest Tunbridge manufacture, to look at these rude frescoes, delineated on an old wall, high up and sadly weak in coloring. As in duty bound, we can wait. The reader (if there should be one) will remember that Sculpture and Painting have never ceased to be occupied with the scenes and figures which we venture once more to introduce in poetry, it being our belief that what is becoming in two of the fine arts, is not quite unbecoming in a third, the one which, indeed, gave birth to them."
And now comes the very first story; with its conclusion that goes straight to the heart.
THRASYMEDES AND EUNÖE.
Who will away to Athens with me? Who
Loves choral songs and maidens crowned with flowers
Unenvious? Mount the pinnace; hoist the sail.
The sea smiles bright before us. What white sail Plays yonder? What pursues it? Like two hawks Away they fly. Let us away in time To overtake them. Are they menaces
We hear? And shall the strong repulse the weak,
Art thou the man? 'Twas Hippias. He had found
"Brother! O brother Hippias! Oh, if love,
Ay, before all the gods,
I dared; and dare again. Arise, my spouse !
The sword was up,
And yet he kissed her twice. Some god withheld The arm of Hippias; his proud blood seethed slower And smote his breast less angrily; he laid
His hand on the white shoulder, and spoke thus: "Ye must return with me. A second time Offended, will our sire Peisistratos