Yet not a heart to save my pain?
Oh, Venus, take thy gifts again!
Make not so fair to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that's like our own.
JOHN HARRINGTON.

'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.

IS the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud, is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem :
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed Where thy mates of the garden.

Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow

When friendships decay And from love's shining circle The gems drop away: When true hearts lie withered

And fond ones are flown,

Oh, who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

THOMAS MOORE.

THE VICTORY OF BRUNNENBURG.

THE gates were then thrown open,

And forth at once they rushed; The outposts of the Moorish hosts

Back to the camp were pushed;

The

camp was all in tumult.

And there was such a thunder

Of cymbals and of drums

As if the earth would cleave in sunder.

There you might see the Moors
Arming themselves in haste,
And the two main battles

How they were forming fast,
Horsemen and footmen mixt,
A countless troop and vast.
The Moors are moving forward,
The battle soon must join.
My men, stand here in order.
Ranged upon a line;

Let not a man move from his rauk
Before I give the sign."

Pero Bermuez heard the word,

But he could not refrain:

He held the banner in his hand,

He gave his horse the rein: "You see you foremost squadron there, The thickest of the foes?

For there your banner goes!
Let him that serves and honors it

Show the duty that he owes."
Earnestly the Cid called out,
"For Heaven's sake be still!"
Bermuez cried, "I cannot hold,"

So eager was his will.

He spurred his horse, and drove him on Amid the Moorish rout;

They strove to win the banner,

And compassed him about. Had not his armor been so true,

He had lost either life or limb; The Cid called out again,

"For Heaven's sake succor him!" Their shields before their breasts,

Forth at once they go,

Their lances in the rest

Levelled fair and low, Their banners and their crests Waving in a row,

Their heads all stooping down

Toward the saddle-bow. The Cid was in the midst,

His shout was heard afar:

"I am Rui Diaz,

The champion of Bivar-
Strike amongst them, gentlemen,
For sweet mercies' sake!"-
There where Bermuez fought

Amidst the foe they brake;
Three hundred bannered knights,
It was a gallant show;
Three hundred Moors they killed,
A man at every blow.
When they wheeled and turned,

As many more lay slain :

You might see them raise their lances,
And level them again.

There you might see the breastplates,
How they were cleft in twain,
And many a Moorish shield

Lie scattered on the plain,
The pennons that were white
Marked with a crimson stain,
The horses running wild

Whose riders had been slain.

JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE.

THE UNMERCIFUL SERVANT.

A

WARRIOR so bold and a virgin so bright

Conversed as they sat on the green; They gazed on each other with tender delight: Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight

The maiden's, the Fair Imogine.

"And oh," said the youth, "since to-morrow I go

To fight in a far-distant land,

Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to

flow, Some other will court. and you, your

On a wealthier suitor

will bestow you hand."

sought,

But to his fellows mercy would not show:
Although his debts were freely all forgiven,
From others he exacted his full dues
Unto the uttermost.

pride

Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my

side,

May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride,

And bear me away to the grave!"