In there came old Alice the nurse,

Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me."

"O God be thanked!" said Alice the nurse,
"That all comes round so just and fair,
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare."

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?"
Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?"
"As God's above," said Alice the nurse,
"I speak the truth; you are my child."

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth as I live by bread;
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead.”

"Falsely, falsely have ye done,

O mother," she said, "if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due."

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse,
"But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
When you are man and wife."

"If I'm a beggar born," she said,

"I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off the broach of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by."

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret all ye can.'

She said "Not so: but I will know

If there be any faith in man."

"Nay now, what faith ?" said Alice the nurse, "The man will cleave unto his right." "And he shall have it," the lady replied, "Tho' I should die to-night.'

"Yet give one kiss to your mother dear!
Alas, my child, I sinned for thee."
"O mother, mother, mother," she said,
"So strange it seems to me.

"Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go."

She clad herself in a russet gown,
She was no longer Lady Clare,
She went by dale and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand
And followed her all the way.

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower,

'Lady Clare, you shame your worth, Why come you drest like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth?"

"If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are;
I am a beggar born," she said,
"And not the Lady Clare."

"Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"For I am yours in word and deed;
Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"Your riddle is hard to read."

Oh, and proudly stood she up;

Her heart within her did not fail: She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes And told him all her nurse's tale.

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn,

He turned and kissed her where she stood.

"If you are not the heiress born,

And I," said he, "the next of blood,"

"If you are not the heiress born,
And I," said he, "the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare."

Tennyson.

THE TAMING OF BUCEPHALUS.

"BRING forth the steed!" It was a level plain, Broad and unbroken as the mighty sea

When in their prison-caves the winds lie chained.

There Philip sat, pavilioned from the sun;

There, all around, thronged Macedonia's hosts,
Bannered, and plumed, and armed—a vast array !
Then Philip waved his sceptre. Silence fell
O'er all the plain. "Twas but a moment's pause;
"Obey my son, Pharsalian! bring the steed!"
The monarch spoke. A signal to the grooms,
And on the plain they led Bucephalus.

"Mount, vassal, mount! Why pales thy cheek with fear?

"Mount!-ha! art slain? Another: mount

again!"

'Twas all in vain. No hand could curb a neck, Clothed with such might and grandeur, to the rein.

No thong or spur could make his fury yield. Now bounds he from the earth; and now he

rears

Now madly plunges-strives to rush away,
Like that strong bird, his fellow-king of air!

Then Alexander threw

His light cloak from his shoulders, and drew

nigh.

The brave steed was no courtier; prince and

groom

Bore the same mien to him. He started back; But with firm grasp the youth retained, and turned

His fierce eyes from his shadow to the sun.

Then, with that hand, in after times which hurled The bolts of war among embattled hosts, Conquered all Greece, and over Persia swayed

Imperial command-which on Fame's temple
Graved, ALEXANDER, VICTOR OF THE WORLD!—
With that bold hand he smoothed the flowing
mane,

Patted the glossy skin with soft caress,
Soothingly speaking in low voice the while,
Lightly he vaulted to his first great strife.
How like a Centaur' looked the steed and youth!
Firmly the hero sat; his glowing cheek
Flushed with the rare excitement: his high brow
Pale with a stern resolve: his lip as smiling,
And his glance as calm, as if, in dalliance,
Instead of danger, with a girl he played.
Untutored to obey, how raves the steed!
Champing the bit, and tossing the white foam,
And struggling to be free, that he might dart,
Swift as an arrow from a shivering bow.
The rein is loosened. "Now, Bucephalus !"
Away! away!-he flies, away-away!

The multitude stood hushed, in breathless awe,
And gazed into the distance.

Lo! a speck

A darksome speck, on the horizon! "Tis-
'Tis he! Now it enlarges; now are seen
The horse and rider; now, with ordered pace,
The horse approaches, and the rider leaps

1 The first men who tamed horses and rode them were supposed to be part of the horse, and were called Centaurs. Prescott, in his History of the Conquest of Mexico, says that the Mexicans, who had never seen a horse before, made the same mistake in regard to the cavalry of the Spanish invaders.