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Methinks the jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem raug,
On earth deliver'd from the deep,
And the first poet sang.
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
Unraptured greet thy beam:
Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme.
The earth to thee its incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
When glittering in the freshen'd fields
The snowy mushroom springs.
How glorious is thy girdle cast
O'er mountain, tower, and town,
Or mirror'd in the ocean vast
A thousand fathoms down.
As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem,
As when the eagle from the Ark
First sported in thy beam.
For faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,
That first spoke peace to man.

STANZAS.

OH white is thy bosom and blue is thine eye-
The light is a tear, and the sound is a sigh-
Thy love is like friendship, thy friendship is love-
And that is the reason I call thee-my DOVE!
O, sweet to my soul is the balm of thy breath-
As a dew-laden gale from the rich blossom'd heath-
Can it be that all beauty doth fade in an hour?
Then let that be the reason I call thee-my FLOWER!
On the wide sea of life shines one unclouded light-
And still it burns softest and clearest by night-
But its lustre, though lovely, alas! is afar,
And that is the reason I call thee-my STÁR.
But the Dove seeks her nest in the forest so green,
And the Flower in its fragrance is fading unseen;
The Star, in its brightness, the sea mist will hide,
So come to my arms, while I call thee-my BRIDE.

THE merit of this prince, both in private and public life may with advantage be set in opposition to that of any monarch or citizen which the annals of any age or any nation can present to us. He seems, indeed, to be the complete model of that perfect character, which, under the denomination of a sage or wise man, the philosophers have been fond of delineating, rather as a fiction of their imagination, than in hopes of ever seeing it reduced to practice: so happily were all his virtues tempered together, so justly were they blended, and so powerfully did each prevent the other from exceeding its proper bounds. He knew how to conciliate the most enterprising spirit with the coolest moderation; the most obstinate perseverance, with the easiest flexibility; the most severe justice with the greatest lenity; the greatest vigour in command with the greatest affability of deportment; the highest capacity and inclination for science, with the most shining talents for action. His civil and his military virtues are almost equally the objects of our admiration, excepting only, that the former, being more rare among princes, as well as more useful,seem chiefly to challenge our applause. Nature also, as if desirous that so bright a production of her skill should be set in the fairest light, had bestowed on him all bodily accomplishments, vigour of limbs, dignity of shape and air, and a pleasant, engaging, and open countenance. Fortune alone, by throwing him into that barbarous age, deprived him of historians worthy to transmit his fame to posterity; and we wish to see him delineated in more lively colours, and with more particularstrokes, that we may at least perceive some of those small specks and blemishes, from which, as a man, it is impossible he could be entirely exempted. He died in the year 897, at the age of 52.

ORIGIN OF THE ORDER OF THE GARTER.

T the time of the war between Edward the Third, and David, King of Scotland, and after the plunder of the city of Durham by the army of the latter, when the Castle of Werk was so gallantly defended by the nobleminded and beautiful Countess of Salisbury, King William, on the invitation of that lady (as farther pursuit that night would have been but labour lost,) resolved to sojourn at the Castle.

His majesty had not seen her from the days of their childhood, and (says the amusing author of Rothelan,) be was so much ravished by the sight of her beauty, that he stood as if he was enchanted. After expressing his delight at beholding her, forgetting altogether the purport of his visit, he took her by the hand and led her into the Castle; for she had come forth to welcome him at the gates. The king after partaking of a hasty banquet, sat down with his lords enjoying the conversation of his lovely cousin until a late hour at night.

When the King retired to the chamber in which his couch was prepared, he instantly, and without speaking, signified to his attendants to retire. There he continued ruminating till the lights burned dimly, leaning on the table, The grace and loveliness of the lady had taken possession of his bosom, but the remembrance of her dignity checked the indulgence of his wishes, like the Egyptian gum which arrests corruptions,and preserves even the dead in everlasting beauty.

"I am overawed in her presence," said he aloud to himself, the chaste rebuke of her mild religious eye makes me feel more as a worshipper than a lover-Lover!-It is. not a name that may be used towards her by any other than the happy Salisbury-happy indeed-blest in the taste of those lips, with a diviner nectar than the poets have feigned that Hebe pours to Jove. But why do I yield to the suggestion of such unhàllowed wishes, and at this time of night too, when all good men are a-bed, and innocence, smiling in her dreams, clings fondlier to the bosom of the nursing sleep? Saint George, drive off the tempting fiend that works so busily to blot me with dishonour."

He then started from his seat, threw his sword on the table,and with long strides, sometimes drooping his head till his chin almost touched his breastplate,and sometimes

looking aloft, walked twice or thrice across the chamber in great visible perturbation. Then summoning bis attendants to unlace his mail, he soon after lay down upon his couch: but the virtue of his endeavours to compose himself to sleep was rewarded with no slumber.

The meditations of the Lady Salisbury were that night, though of a different kind, not more happy than those of her kinsman, the King. Fear was in her sleep, and horror her dreams. She thought of her absent lord, abroad in the service of his royal master; of Uriah, ordered to the front of the battle, and while bravely defying the enemy, falling pierced in the back with many wounds. Sometimes she fancied that she did the King injustice by her apprehensions, and committing herself to the care of the holy virgin, composed herself to rest; but as soon as sleep, hovering over her pillow, attempted to fold his downy pinions, and alight upon her weary eyelids, fear, standing at her bedside, drove the dumb cherub away.

As soon as she saw the dawn breaking through the casement of her chamber, she rose and went down into the pleasants of the castle, with the hope of there, in the freshness of the morning air, tasting some solace to cool the anxieties which fevered her spirit; but she had not advanced many steps beyond the hedge of yew, which, like a screen, parted the garden in the middle, when she beheld the King coming towards her with his arms folded, and his eyes cast upon the ground.

Her first intent was to return and retire back to her chamber; but in the same instant, she discarded the weak and unworthy thought, and went on with a serene countenance and a firm step towards the King. “I am grieved," said she, "to see your majesty so early abroad, and withal so thoughtful; it says little for the hospitality of Werk." He looked at her for nearly the space of a minute, and then replied, with some hesitation,-"I have sustained a great wrong, lady,since I came into this castle." "Heaven forbid!-From whom?-How?" She would have added more, but the ardent glance of his for a moment disconcerted her resolution,-it was, however, only for a moment, for she presently added gravely-"Who has done thee wrong? tell me, that I may remedy the fault." "To what extent will you, fair cousin, apply the remedy?" said the King, advancing and taking her by the hand. "To all in the power of a lady to do." "Then is the redress of my wrong not far off. But are you indeed so ready?'

"Can your majesty doubt the sincerity of my words?" replied the lady with some degree of embarrasment in her air, her eyes thrown to the ground, and her voice somewhat tremulous. "Say then," exclaimed the King, "that you will swear to me that you will." She cast on him, for a moment, a glance that made him drop her hand, which in that instant she raised solemnly to heaven, and said "I do swear." After a brief pause, the King looked doubtfully at her and then added, with a smile that but sparkled and vanished,-"I dote upon you, and you can make me happy; the wrong I have suffered is the peace that you have yourself stolen from me. Your love alone can be the requital." In making this declaration, he dropped upon his knee, and would have again taken her by the hand, but she retired back, and said

"All power of love in my power to give, your Majesty has freely, and with all obedience,-employ me as you will in proof of what I say.'

"I dote upon you," replied the King rising. "If it is on my beauty," said the lady mildly, "take it if you can; but it is the sunshine of the summier of my life. You may take the blush from the rose and the light from the lily as easily as I can dispossess myself of it." She then paused, and said more earnestly,-"If it is any little virtue of which I am supposed to be in possession, take it too; for the store of virtue, like the widow's cruse, is augmented by the distribution."

The King was perplexed, and knew not well what answer to make; but, putting on a more familiar air, he said, with a laugh,-"I would not dispossess you of your beauty; I would but have you lend it. In sooth, I wish for no more than you may freely give; and have you not sworn to give me what I would?" "Yes; and with all faith and sincerity I did swear; but before I can give, I must have to give." A truce, lady, with this. I do not ask any thing. I would barter with you love for love.'

The Countess retreated about the length of a pace from him, for he again knelt; and she then said, after regarding him with a sad and compassionate look,

Your Grace offers what is not your own, and were not the lips sacred which have uttered it, I would say they have profaned the name of love. What you would give belongs of right to the Queen. O marvel of a guilty mystery! to behold him to whom all others are bound to kneel, sunk to such prostration! Rise my lord; ill ac