He comes, then, as Jarl should, To win thee and wear thee, With glory and pride. So sternly Jarl Egill wooed, and smote his long brand. Thy father, thy brethren, Thy kin, keep from me, The maiden I 've sworn shall Be Queen of the Sea! A truce with that folly— Nay, weep not, pale maid, though In battle should fall The Kemps, who would keep thy So carped Jarl Egill, and kissed the bright weeper. Thou wooest to purpose; Bold hearts love the bold. So shouted Jarl Egill, and clutched the proud maiden. So bravely Jarl Egill did soothe the pale trembler. Ay, gaze on its large hilt, One wedge of red gold; That swart Velint's hammer Death lurks in its bite, Through bone and proof-harness It scatters pale light. Fair daughter of Einar, Deem high of the fate That makes thee, like this blade, Proud Egill's loved mate! So Jarl Egill bore off Torf Einar's bright daughter. THOMAS HOOD. 1798-1845. Hood is chiefly distinguished as a comic poet and humorist, though he has, in some of his writings, evinced a talent for the grave and pathetic. He was a native of London, and for a time editor of the New Monthly Magazine, and also of the Comic Almanac. Whims and Oddities, The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies, and the Song of the Shirt, are among his most popular pieces. A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS. THOU happy, happy elf! (But stop - first let me kiss away Thou tiny image of myself! that tear,) (My love, he 's poking peas into his ear!) With spirits feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin, Thou little, tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Fit playfellow for fays by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!) (He 'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint, Thou young domestic dove! (He 'll have that jug off, with another shove !) (He'll climb upon the table that's his plan!) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Toss the light ball-bestride the stick, (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) I cannot write, unless he 's sent above!) THOMAS NOON TALFOURD. 1796-. Talfourd's early compositions secured for him the friendship of Lord Brougham, through whose influence he was led to make his way to the bar. He was for a number of years a member of Parliament. Wordsworth, Lamb, Hazlitt and Hunt, are reckoned among his particular friends. The tragedy of Ion, which resembles the old Greek drama, is his most distinguished work, though he has produced many others, in poetry and prose, of great purity of thought and tenderness of feeling. EXTRACTS FROM "ION.” [Ion, being declared the rightful heir of the throne, is waited upon by Clemanthe, daughter of the high priest of the temple, wherein Ion had been reared in obscurity.] Ion. What wouldst thou with me, lady? Clemanthe. Is it so ? Nothing, my lord, save to implore thy pardon, Clem. To forget it! Indeed, my lord, I will not wish to lose Ion. Speak not, fair one, In tone so mournful, for it makes me feel Clem. Dost thou yet Esteem it rapture, then? My foolish heart, Be still! Yet wherefore should a crown divide us? This once, at least it could not in my thoughts Increase the distance that there was between us When, rich in spirit, thou, to stranger's eyes, Ion. It must separate us! Think it no harmless bauble; but a curse Will freeze the current in the veins of youth, And from familiar touch of genial hand, From household pleasures, from sweet daily tasks, |