Sinks, when the summer breeze hath died, Lie down in peace, and lovingly. William Wordsworth. BOLTON ABBEY. ENTRANCED with varied loveliness, I gaze On Bolton's hallowed fane. Its hoary walls, Of princely pomp, their solemn features raise Old Wharf flows sparkling by with pensive sound, Newman Hall. THE FORCE OF PRAYER; OR, THE FOUNDING OF BOLTON PRIORY. A TRADITION. WHAT is good for a bootless bene ? ” "WHAT With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail? “What is good for a bootless bene? The falconer to the lady said; And she made answer, "Endless sorrow! For she knew that her son was dead. She knew it by the falconer's words, -Young Romilly through Barden woods And holds a greyhound in a leash, The pair have reached that fearful chasm, How tempting to bestride! For lordly Wharf is there pent in The striding-place is called the Strid, A name which it took of yore: A thousand years hath it borne that name, And hither is young Romilly come, And what may now forbid That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, Shall bound across the Strid ? He sprang in glee; for what cared he That the river was strong and the rocks were steep? But the greyhound in the leash hung back, And checked him in his leap. The boy is in the arms of Wharf, For never more was young Romilly seen Now there is stillness in the vale, If for a lover the lady wept, From death, and from the passion of death: She weeps not for the wedding-day Her hope was a further-looking hope, He was a tree that stood alone, Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, "Let there be A stately priory !” The stately priory was reared; And the lady prayed in heaviness O, there is never sorrow of heart William Wordsworth. Boston. ST. BOTOLPH'S TOWN. BOSTON in Lincolnshire takes its name from its founder, St. Botolph, who flourished about the middle of the seventh century. At present the chief glory of the town is its church-tower, built after the model of that of Antwerp Cathedral, and renowned as one of the most beautiful in England. ST Hither across the plains T. Botolph's Town! So that thereof no vestige now remains; Survives the sculptured walls and painted panes. Anonymous. IT BOSTON IN LINCOLNSHIRE. is not for what you are or do, That I turn my steps and heart to you, Ancestral name! that must cross the sea It is not that your minster-pile Looks proudly toward the deep, — But that beneath that lordly tower |