And just before the officers

His loving wife came in.
Weeping unfeigned tears of wo
With loud and dismal din.

"Sweet Florence! now I pray forbear,

In quiet let me die;

Pray God that every Christian soul
May look on death as I.

Sweet Florence! why these briny tears?
They wash my soul away,

And almost make me wish for life,
With thee, sweet dame, to stay.

'Tis but a journey I shall go

Unto the land of bliss;

Now, as a proof of husband's love,
Receive this holy kiss."

Then Florence, faltering in her say,
Trembling these wordis spoke:
"Ah, cruel Edward! bloody king!
My heart is wellnigh broke.

Ah, sweet Sir Charles! why wilt thou go
Without thy loving wife?

The cruel axe that cuts thy neck,
It eke shall end my life."

And now the officers came in
To bring Sir Charles away,
Who turned to his loving wife,
And thus to her did say:

"I go to life, and not to death;
Trust thou in God above,
And teach thy sons to fear the Lord,
And in their hearts him love.

Teach them to run the noble race

That I their father run,

Florence! should death thee take-adien Ye officers, lead on."

Then Florence raved as any mad,

And did her tresses tear;

"Oh stay, my husband, lord, and life!"-
Sir Charles then dropp'd a tear.

Till tired out with raving loud,
She fell upon the floor;

Sir Charles exerted all his might,
And march'd from out the door.

Upon a sled he mounted then,

With looks full brave and sweet. Looks that enshone no more concern Than any in the street.

Before him went the council-men,
In scarlet robes and gold,
And tassels spangling in the sun,
Much glorious to behold.

Then five-and-twenty archers came;
Each one the bow did bend,
From rescue of King Henry's friends
Sir Charles for to defend.

Bold as a lion came Sir Charles,
Drawn on a cloth-laid sled,

By two black steeds in trappings white,
With plumes upon their head.

Behind him five-and-twenty more
Of archers strong and stout,
With bended bow each one in hand,
Marched in goodly rout.

And after them a multitude

Of citizens did throng;

The windows were all full of heads,
As he did pass along.

And when he came to the high cross,
Sir Charles did turn and say,
"O Thou that savest man from sin,
Wash my soul clean this day."

At the great minster window sat
The king in mickle state,
To see Charles Bawdin go along
To his most welcome fate.

Soon as the sled drew nigh enough,
That Edward he might hear,

The brave Sir Charles he did stand up,
And thus his words declare:

"Thou seest me, Edward! traitor vile!
Exposed to infamy;

But be assured, disloyal man,

I'm greater now than thee.

By foul proceedings, murder, blood,
Thou wearest now a crown;
And hast appointed me to die
By power not thine own.

Thou thinkest I shall die to-day;

I have been dead till now,

And soon shall live to wear a crown

For aye upon my brow;

Whilst thou, perhaps, for some few years,

Shalt rule this fickle land,

To let them know how wide the rule

"Twixt king and tyrant hand.

CHATTERTON.

Thy power unjust, thou traitor slave!
Shall fall on thy own head"-
From out of hearing of the king
Departed then the sled.

King Edward's soul rush'd to his face,
He turn'd his head away,
And to his brother Gloucester
He thus did speak and say:

"To him, that so-much-dreaded death
No ghastly terrors bring;
Behold the man! he spake the truth;
He's greater than a king!"

"So let him die !" Duke Richard said
"And may each one our foes
Bend down their necks to bloody axe,
And feed the carrion crows."

And now the horses gently drew
Sir Charles up the high hill;
The axe did glister in the sun,
His precious blood to spill.

Sir Charles did up the scaffold go,
As up a gilded car

Of victory, by valorous chiefs
Gain'd in the bloody war.

And to the people he did say:
"Behold you see me die,
For serving loyally my king,
My king most rightfully.

As long as Edward rules this land,
No quiet you will know;

Your sons and husbands shall be slain,
And brooks with blood shall flow.

You leave your good and lawful king,

When in adversity;

Like me, unto the true cause stick,
And for the true cause die."

Then he, with priests, upon his knees,
A prayer to God did make,
Beseeching him unto himself
His parting soul to take.

Then, kneeling down, he laid his head
Most seemly on the block;
Which from his body fair at once
The able headsman stroke:

And out the blood began to flow,
And round the scaffold twine;
And tears, enough to wash't away,

Did flow from each man's eyne.

[GEORGE

O God, whose thunder shakes the sky,
Whose eye this atom globe surveys;
To Thee, my only rock, I fly,

Thy mercy in thy justice praise.

The mystic mazes of thy will,

The shadows of celestial light,
Are past the power of human skill-
But what the Eternal acts is right.

O teach me in the trying hour,

When anguish swells the dewy tear, To still my sorrows, own thy power, Thy goodness love, thy justice fear.

If in this bosom aught but Thee Encroaching sought a boundless sway, Omniscience could the danger see,

And Mercy look the cause away.

Then why, my soul, dost thou complain?
Why drooping seek the dark recess?
Shake off the melancholy chain,

For God created all to bless.

But ah! my breast is human still-
The rising sigh, the falling tear,

My languid vitals' feeble rill,

The sickness of my soul declare.

But yet, with fortitude resign'd,

I'll thank th' inflicter of the blow;
Forbid the sigh, compose my mind,
Nor let the gush of misery flow.

The gloomy mantle of the night,
Which on my sinking spirits steals,
Will vanish at the morning light,
Which God, my East, my Sun, reveals.

MARK AKENSIDE. 1721-1770.

FEW English poets of the eighteenth century are to be ranked before the author of "The Pleasures of the Imagination." He was born on the 9th of November, 1721, at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and was educated at the University of Edinburgh. His parents designed him for the ministry, but as his educa tion progressed, other views governed him, and he devoted himself to the study of medicine as his future profession. After remaining three years at the Scottish capital, he went to Leyden, where he also studied three years and took his degree of M. D. in 1744. Returning home the same year, he published his poem, "The Pleasures of the Imagination." On offering the copy to Dodsley, he demanded £120 for the manuscript, but the wary publisher hesitated at paying such a price for the work of an unknown youth of twenty. three. He therefore showed the work to Pope, when the latter, having glanced over a few pages, said, "Don't be niggardly about the terms, for this is no every-day writer."

No sooner was it published than it excited great attention, and received general applause. But he could not reap from it "the means whereby to live," and he betook himself to the practice of his profession. He first settled in Northampton; but finding little encouragement there, he removed to Hampstead, and thence finally to London. Here he experienced the difficulty of getting into notice in a large city, and though he acquired several professional honors, he never obtained any large share of practice. He was busy in presenting himself to public notice, by publishing medical essays and observations, and delivering lectures, when his career was terminated by a putrid fever, on the 23d of January, 1770.

The Pleasures of the Imagination is written in blank verse, with great beauty of versification, elegance of language, and splendor of imagery. Its object is to trace the various pleasures which we receive from nature and art to their respective principles in the human imagination, and to show the con nection of those principles with the moral dignity of man, and the final purposes of his creation. This task Akenside has executed in a most admirable manner. If his philosophy be not always correct, his general ideas of moral truth are lofty and prepossessing. He is peculiarly eloquent in those passages in which he describes the final causes of our emotions of taste; he is equally skilful in delineating the processes of memory and association; and he gives an animating view of Genius collecting her stores for works of excellence. Of this poem Dr. Johnson remarks, "It has undoubtedly a just claim to a very particular notice, as an example of great felicity of genius and uncommon amplitude of acquisitions, of a young mind stored with images, and much exercised in combining and comparing them. The subject is well chosen, as it includes all images that can strike or please, and thus comprises every species of poetical delight." He complains, however, with equal justice, of the poet's amplitude of language, in which his meaning is frequently ob scured, and sometimes wholly buried.

In maturer life Akerside intended to revise and alter the whole poem, but he died before he had completed his design. The portion that he did "im prove" is contracted in some parts and expanded in others; but if it be more philosophically correct, it is shorn of much of its beauty and poetic fire; and

1 Campbell's Specimens, vol. vi. p. 128.