"The hills returned that lonely sound
Upon the tranquil air:

The only sound it was which then
Awoke the echoes there.

"Thou hear'st that lordly bull of mine,
Neighbor,' quoth Brunskill then :
'How loudly to the hills he crunes,
That crune to him again!

"Think'st thou if yon whole herd at once

Their voices should combine,

Were they at Brough, that we might not
Hear plainly from this upland spot
That cruning of the kine?'

"That were a crune indeed,' replied
His comrade, which, I ween,
Might at the Spital well be heard,
And in all dales between.

"Up Mallerstang to Eden's springs,
The eastern wind upon its wings
The mighty voice would bear;
And Appleby would hear the sound,
Methinks, when skies are fair.'

"Then shall the herd,' John Brunskill cried,

'From yon dumb steeple crune;

And thou and I, on this hillside,

Will listen to their tune.

"So, while the merry Bells of Brough

For many an age ring on,

John Brunskill will remembered be,

When he is dead and gone,

"As one who, in his latter years,

Contented with enough,

Gave freely what he well could spare
To buy the Bells of Brough.'

"Thus it hath proved: three hundred years Since then have passed away,

And Brunskill's is a living name
Among us to this day."

"More pleasure," I replied, "shall I

From this time forth partake, When I remember Helbeck woods, For old John Brunskill's sake.

"He knew how wholesome it would be,
Among these wild, wide fells
And upland vales, to catch, at times,
The sound of Christian bells;

"What feelings and what impulses
Their cadence might convey

To herdsman or to shepherd-boy,
Whiling in indolent employ

The solitary day;

"That, when his brethren were convened
To meet for social prayer,
He too, admonished by the call,
In spirit might be there;

"Or when a glad thanksgiving sound,
Upon the winds of heaven,
Was sent to speak a nation's joy,
For some great blessing given,

"For victory by sea or land,
And happy peace at length;
Peace by his country's valor won,
And stablished by her strength;

"When such exultant peals were borne Upon the mountain air,

The sound should stir his blood, and give An English impulse there."

Such thoughts were in the old man's mind,
When he that eve looked down

From Stanemore's side on Borrodale,
And on the distant town.

And had I store of wealth, methinks,
Another herd of kine,

John Brunskill, I would freely give,
That they might crune with thine.

Robert Southey.

Bude Haven.

A CROON ON HENNACLIFF.

THUS said the rushing raven

Tunto his hungry mate,

"Ho! gossip! for Bude Haven:
There be corpses six or eight.
Cawk! cawk! the crew and skipper
Are wallowing in the sea:
So there's a savory supper
For my old dame and me.”

"Cawk! gaffer! thou art dreaming,
The shore hath wreckers bold;
Would rend the yelling seamen,
From the clutching billows hold.
Cawk! cawk! they'd bound for booty
Into the dragon's den:

And shout, for 'death or duty,'
If the prey were drowning men."

Loud laughed the listening surges

At the guess our grandame gave: You might call them Boanerges, From the thunder of their wave. And mockery followed after

The sea-bird's jeering brood:

That filled the skies with laughter,
From Lundy Light to Bude.

"Cawk! cawk!" then said the raven,
"I am fourscore years and ten,
Yet never in Bude Haven

Did I croak for rescued men.
They will save the captain's girdle,
And shirt, if shirt there be;
But leave their blood to curdle
For my old dame and me.”

So said the rushing raven
Unto his hungry mate,
"Ho! gossip! for Bude Haven:
There be corpses six or eight.
Cawk! cawk! the crew and skipper
Are wallowing in the sea:

O, what a savory supper
For my old dame and me."

Robert Stephen Hawker.

Burton Pynsent.

SUNSET AT BURTON PYNSENT, SOMERSET.

OW bare and bright thou sinkest to thy rest

HOW

Over the burnished line of the Severn sea!
While somewhat of thy power thou buriest
In ruddy mists, that we may look on thee.
And while we stand and wonder, we may see