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Living or dead.-When last we heard of him, He was in slavery among the Moors

pon the Barbary coast.-'Twas not a little That would bring down his spirit; and no doubt, Eefore it ended in his death, the Youth Was sadly crossed.-Poor Leonard! when we parted,

He took me by the hand, and said to me,
If e'er he should grow rich, he would return,
To live in peace upon his father's land,
And lay his bones among us.

Leonard.

If that day

Should come, 'twould needs be a glad day for him;

He would himself, no doubt, be happy then
As any that should meet him--

Priest.
Happy! Sir-
Leonard. You said his kindred all were in
their graves,

And that he had one Brother

Priest.

That is but

1 fellow-tale of sorrow. From his youth
Janes, though not sickly, yet was delicate;
And Leonard being always by his side
Had done so many offices about him,

That, though he was not of a timid nature,
Yet still the spirit of a mountain-boy

In him was somewhat checked; and, when his
Brother

Was gone to sea, and he was left alone,
The little colour that he had was soon
Stolen from his cheek; he drooped, and pined,
and pined

Leonard. But these are all the graves of fullgrown men !

Priest. Ay, Sir, that passed away: we took him to us;

He was the child of all the dale-he lived Three months with one, and six months with another:

And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love: Aad many, many happy days were his.

it, whether blithe or sad, 'tis my belief is absent Brother still was at his heart. And, when he dwelt beneath our roof, we found A practice till this time unknown to him) That often, rising from his bed at night, He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping He sought his brother Leonard.-You are moved!

Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you,
I judged you most unkindly.
Leonard.

But this Youth, How did he die at last? Priest. One sweet May-morning, (It will be twelve years since when Spring returns)

He had gone forth among the new-dropped lambs,

With two or three companions, whom their

course

Of occupation led from height to height

ider a cloudless sun-till he, at length, through weariness, or, haply, to indulge The humour of the moment, lagged behind. You see yon precipice-it wears the shape Of a vast building made of many crags: And in the midst is one particular rock That rises like a column from the vale,

Upon its aëry summit crowned with heath," The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades, Lay stretched at ease; but, passing by the place On their return, they found that he was gone. No ill was feared; till one of them by chance Entering, when evening was far spent, the house Which at that time was James's home, there learned

That nobody had seen him al! that day:

The morning came, and still he was unheard of:

The neighbours were alarmed, and to the brook Some hastened: some ran to the lake: ere noon They found him at the foot of that same rock Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day 'after

I buried him, poor Youth, and there he lies! Leonard. And that then is his grave!-Before his death

You say that he saw many happy years?
Priest. Ay, that he did-

Leonard.

And all went well with him?Priest. If he had one, the youth had twenty

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yard gate,

As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned round,
And, looking at the grave, he said, "My
Brother!"

The Vicar did not hear the words: and now,
He pointed towards his dwelling-place, en-
treating

That Leonard would partake his homely fare:
The other thanked him with an earnest voice

Whence by our shepherds it is called THE But added, that, the evening being calm,

PILLAR.

He would pursue his journey. So they parted.

It was not long ere Leonard reached a grove That overhung the road: he there stopped short,

And, sitting down beneath the trees, reviewed
All that the Priest had said: his early years
Were with him:-his long absence, cherished
hopes,

And thoughts which had been his an hour before,
All pressed on him with such a weight that now
This vale, where he had been so happy, seemed
A place in which he could not bear to live:
So he relinquished all his purposes.

He travelled back to Egremont: and thence,
That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest,
Reminding him of what had passed between

them;

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ARTEGAL AND ELIDURE.

(SEE THE CHRONICLE OF GEOFFREY OF MON-
MOUTH AND MILTON'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.)
WHERE be the temples which, in Britain's Isle,
For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised?
Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile
Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed!
Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore,
They sank, delivered o'er

To fatal dissolution; and, I ween,

No vestige then was left that such had ever been.
Nathless, a British record (long concealed
In old Armorica, whose secret springs
No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed
The marvellous current of forgotten things;
How Brutus came, by oracles impelled,

And Albion's giants quelled,

A brood whom no civility could melt,

She flung her blameless child,
Sabrina,-vowing that the stream should bear
That name through every age, her hatred to
declare.

So speaks the Chronicle, and tells of Lear
By his ungrateful daughters turned adrift.
Ye lightnings, hear his voice!-they cannot
hear,

Nor can the winds restore his simple gift.
But One there is, a Child of nature meek,
Who comes her Sire to seek ;

And he, recovering sense, upon her breast
Leans smilingly, and sinks into a perfect rest.
There too we read of Spenser's fairy themes,
And those that Milton loved in youthful years;
The sage enchanter Merlin's subtle schemes;
The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers;
Of Arthur,-who, to upper light restored,
With that terrific sword

Which yet he brandishes for future war,
Shall lift his country's fame above the polar
star!

What wonder, then, if in such ample field
Of old tradition, one particular flower
Doth seemingly in vain its fragrance yield,
And bloom unnoticed even to this late hour?

Now, gentle Muses, your assistance grant,
While I this flower transplant
Into a garden stored with Poesy:
Where flowers and herbs unite, and haply some
weeds be,

That, wanting not wild grace, are from all mischief free!

A KING more worthy of respect and love Than wise Gorbonian ruled not in his day; And grateful Britain prospered far above All neighbouring countries through his righteous

sway;

He poured rewards and honours on the good; The oppressor he withstood;

And while he served the Gods with reverence due

"Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er Fields smiled, and temples rose, and towns and

had felt."

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O, happy Britain ! region all too fair
For self-delighting fancy to endure
That silence only should inhabit there,
Wild beasts, or uncouth savages impure!
But, intermingled with the generous seed,

Grew many a poisonous weed;
Thus fares it still with all that takes its birth
From human care, or grows upon the breast of
earth.

Hence, and how soon! that war of vengeance waged

By Guendolen against her faithless lord;
Till she, in jealous fury unassuaged

Had slain his paramour with ruthless sword:
Then, into Severn hideously defiled,

cities grew.

He died, whom Artegal succeeds-his son;
But how unworthy of that sire was he!
A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun,
Was darkened soon by foul iniquity.
From crime to crime he mounted, till at length
The nobles leagued their strength
With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased;
And, on the vacant throne, his worthier
brother placed.

From realm to realm the humbled Exile went,
Suppliant for aid his kingdom to regain;
In many a court, and many a warrior's tent,
He urged his persevering suit in vain.
Him, in whose wretched heart ambition failed,
Dire poverty assailed;

And, tired with slights his pride no more could brook,

He towards his native country cast a longing look.

Fair blew the wished-for wind-the voyage

sped;

He landed; and, by many dangers scared, "Poorly provided, poorly followed,'

To Calaterium's forest he repaired.

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How changed from him who, born to highest | Were this same spear, which in my hand I place,

Had swayed the royal mace,
Flattered and feared, despised yet deified,
In Troynovant, his seat by silver Thames's side!
From that wild region where the crownless King
Lay in concealment with his scanty train,
Supporting life by water from the spring,
And such chance food as outlaws can obtain,
Unto the few whom he esteems his friends
A messenger he sends;

And from their secret loyalty requires
Shelter and daily bread, -the sum of his desires.
While he the issue waits, at early morn
Wandering by stealth abroad, he chanced to hear
A startling outcry made by hound and horn,
From which the tusky wild boar flies in fear;
And, scouring toward him o'er the grassy plain,

Behold the hunter train!

He bids his little company advance

grasp,

The British sceptre, here would I to thee
The symbol yield; and would undo this clasp,
If it confined the robe of sovereignty.
Odious to me the pomp of regal court,
And joyless sylvan sport,

While thou art roving, wretched and forlorn, Thy couch the dewy earth, thy roof the forest thorn!"

Then Artegal thus spake: "I only sought
Within this realm a place of safe retreat;
Beware of rousing an ambitious thought;
Beware of kindling hopes, for me unmeet!
Thou art reputed wise, but in my mind
Art pitiably blind:

Full soon this generous purpose thou may'st rue,
When that which has been done no wishes can

undo.

Who, when a crown is fixed upon his head, With seeming unconcern and steady counte- Would balance claim with claim, and right with

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But thou-I know not how inspired, how ledWouldst change the course of things in all men's sight!

And this for one who cannot imitate

Thy virtue, who may hate:

For, if, by such strange sacrifice restored, He reign, thou still must be his king and sovereign lord;

Lifted in magnanimity above

Long, strict, and tender was the embrace he Aught that my feeble nature could perform,

gave,

Feebly returned by daunted Artegal ;.
Whose natural affection doubts enslave,
And apprehensions dark and criminal.
Loth to restrain the moving interview,

The attendant lords withdrew;
And, while they stood upon the plain apart,
Thus Elidure, by words, relieved his struggling
heart.

"By heavenly Powers conducted, we have met; -O Brother! to my knowledge lost so long, But neither lost to love, nor to regret, Nor to my wishes lost;-forgive the wrong, (Such it may seem) if I thy crown have borne, Thy royal mantle worn:

I was their natural guardian; and 'tis just
That now I should restore what hath been held
in trust."

A while the astonished Artegal stood mute,
Then thus exclaimed: "To me, of titles shorn,
And stripped of power! me, feeble, destitute,
To me a kingdom! spare the bitter scorn:
If justice ruled the breast of foreign kings,
Then, on the wide-spread wings
Of war, had I returned to claim my right;

This will I here avow, not dreading thy despite."
"I do not blame thee," Elidure replied;
"But, if my looks did with my words agree,
I should at once be trusted, not defied,
And thou from all disquietude be free.
May the unsullied Goddess of the chase,
Who to this blessed place

At this blest moment led me, if I speak
With insincere intent, on me her vengeance

wreak !

Or even conceive; surpassing me in love
Far as in power the eagle doth the worm:
I, Brother! only should be king in name,
And govern to my shame;

A shadow in a hated land, while all
Of glad or willing service to thy share would
fall."

"Believe it not," said Elidure; "respect
Awaits on virtuous life, and ever most
Attends on goodness with dominion decked,
Which stands the universal empire's boast;
This can thy own experience testify:

Nor shall thy foes deny

That, in the gracious opening of thy reign,
Our father's spirit seemed in thee to breathe
again.

And what if o'er that bright unbosoming
Clouds of disgrace and envious fortune past!
Have we not seen the glories of the spring
By veil of noontide darkness overcast?
The frith that glittered like a warrior's shield,
The sky, the gay green field,
Are vanished; gladness ceases in the groves,
And trepidation strikes the blackened moun-

tain coves.

But is that gloom dissolved, how passing clear
Seems the wide world, far brighter than before!
Even so thy latent worth will re-appear,
Gladdening the people's heart from shore to
shore:

For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone;
Re-seated on thy throne,

Proof shalt thou furnish that misfortune, pain, And sorrow, have confirmed thy native right to reign

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