AN ALLEGORY.

In martial sports I had my cunning tried,
And yet to break more staves did me address,
While with the people's shouts, I must confess,
Youth, luck, and praise, e'en fill'd my veins with pride;
When Cupid having me his slave descried

In Mars's livery, prancing in the press,

"What now, Sir Fool?" said he, "I would no less;
Look here, I say.”—I look'd, and Stella spied,
Who hard by made a window send forth light;
My heart then quak'd, then dazzled were mine eyes;
One hand forgot to rule, th' other to fight;
Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries.
My foe came on and beat the air for me,
Till that her blush taught me my shame to see

HAPPY THAMES.

O HAPPY Thames, that didst my Stella bear,
I saw myself, with many a smiling line

Upon thy cheerful face, joy's livery wear,

While those fair planets on thy streams did shine; The boat for joy could not to dance forbear;

While wanton winds, with beauties so divine

Ravish'd, stayed not till in her golden hair
They did themselves, oh sweetest prison! twine;
And fain those Eol's youth there would their stay
Have made, but forc'd by Nature still to fly,
First did with puffing kiss those locks display:
She, so dishevell'd, blush'd:-from window I,
With sight thereof, cried out, O fair disgrace,
Let Honour's self to thee grant highest place..

Raleigh.

THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS.

HEART-TEARING cares and quivering fears,
Anxious sighs, untimely tears,

Fly, fly to courts,

Fly to fond worldling's sports;

Where strained sardonic smiles are glozing still, And Grief is forced to laugh against her will; Where mirth's but mummery,

And sorrows only real be.

Fly from our country pastimes, fly;

Sad troop of human misery!

Come, serene looks,

Clear as the crystal brooks,

Or the pure azured heaven that smiles to see
The rich attendance of our poverty.

Peace and a secure mind,

Which all men seek, we only find.

Abused mortals, did you know

Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow,

You'd scorn proud towers,

And seek them in these bowers;

Where winds perhaps our woods may sometimes shake, But blustering care could never tempest make;

Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us,

Saving of fountains that glide by us.

Blest silent groves!

may ye be

*

For ever mirth's best nursery!

May pure contents

For ever pitch their tents

Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these

mountains,

And peace still slumber by these purling fountains,

Which we may every year

Find when we come a-fishing here!

ant glades of Bedfordshire in the ch

and not far from the pretty intere apthill there stands a fine il m

uated in the basin formed by the pe hills, that vary that ferfilet de

s of the summer com when shaken by

t is a curious and antique fire, fill d oking little recesses, and oldind turnings, and with wining this and

passages, such as might serve in the lady

to half-a-dozen haunted chambers Outil of red brick, wan into the must pi

larity by the hand of Time. Heary clamps of

work rise against its gables; the oddest and