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There are Hot Gospellers even among our guards

And Charles, the lord of this low world, Nobles we dared not touch. We have

is gone;

And all his wars and wisdoms past away; And in a moment I shall follow him.

Lady Clarence. Nay, dearest Lady, see your good physician.

but burnt

The heretic priest, workmen, and women and children.

Wet, famine, ague, fever, storm, wreck, wrath,

Mary. Drugs- but he knows they We have so play'd the coward; but by

cannot help me-says

That rest is all-tells me I must not

think

That I must rest-I shall rest by and by. Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he springs

And maims himself against the bars, say ' rest':

Why, you must kill him if you would have him rest

Dead or alive you cannot make him happy. Lady Clarence. Your Majesty has lived so pure a life,

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And done such mighty things by Holy 'Tis out-mine flames.

Church,

I trust that God will make you happy yet. Mary. What is the strange thing happiness? Sit down here :

Tell me thine happiest hour.

Lady Clarence. I will, if that May make your Grace forget yourself a little.

There runs a shallow brook across our field For twenty miles, where the black crow

flies five,

Holy Father

Women, the

Has ta'en the legateship from our cousin

Pole

Was that well done? and poor Pole pines of it,

As I do, to the death. I am but a woman, I have no power.-Ah, weak and meek old man,

Seven-fold dishonour'd even in the sight Of thine own sectaries-No, no. No pardon !

And doth so bound and babble all the way Why that was false: there is the right

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By slaughter of the body? I could not, Sunk rocks-they need fine steering—

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Alice. Madam, you have but cut the canvas out; We can replace it.

Mary. All is well then; restI will to rest; he said, I must have rest. [Cries of Elizabeth' in the street. A cry! What's that? Elizabeth? revolt? A new Northumberland, another Wyatt? I'll fight it on the threshold of the grave.

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Lady Clarence. Madam, your royal She thank'd her father sweetly for his

sister comes to see you. Mary. I will not see her.

Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sister?

I will see none except the priest. Your [To Lady Clarence.

arm.

book

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A DRAMA.

TO HIS EXCELLENCY

THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTON,

Viceroy and Governor-General of India.

MY DEAR LORD LYTTON,-After old-world records-such as the Bayeux tapestry and the Roman de Rou,-Edward Freeman's History of the Norman Conquest, and your father's Historical Romance treating of the same times, have been mainly helpful to me in writing this Drama. Your father dedicated his 'Harold' to my father's brother; allow me to dedicate my 'Harold' to yourself. A. TENNYSON.

SHOW-DAY AT BATTLE ABBEY, 1876.

A GARDEN here-May breath and bloom of spring—
The cuckoo yonder from an English elm
Crying with my false egg I overwhelm
The native nest:' and fancy hears the ring
Of harness, and that deathful arrow sing,
And Saxon battleaxe clang on Norman helm.
Here rose the dragon-banner of our realm:
Here fought, here fell, our Norman-slander'd king.
O Garden blossoming out of English blood!
O strange hate-healer Time!

We stroll and stare

Where might made right eight hundred years ago;

Might, right? ay good, so all things make for good--
But he and he, if soul be soul, are where

Each stands full face with all he did below.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

ALDRED, Archbishop of York.

TOSTIG, Earl of Northumbria

GURTH, Earl of East Anglia

KING EDWARD THE Confessor.

STIGAND, created Archbishop of Canterbury by the Antipope Benedict.

HAROLD, Earl of Wessex, afterwards King of England

THE NORMAN BISHOP OF LONDON.

Sons of
Godwin.

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THE QUEEN, Edward the Confessor's Wife, Daughter of Godwin.

ALDWYTH, Daughter of Alfgar and Widow of Griffyth, King of Wales.

EDITH, Ward of King Edward.

Courtiers, Earls and Thanes, Men-at-Arms, Canons of Waltham, Fishermen, etc.

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