Gave to the garbaging war-hawk to gorge it, and

That gray beast, the wolf of the weald.

XV.

Never had huger
Slaughter of heroes

Slain by the sword-edge

Such as old writers

Have writ of in histories-
Hapt in this isle, since
Up from the East hither
Saxon and Angle from
Over the broad billow

Broke into Britain with

Haughty war-workers who
Harried the Welshman, when
Earls that were lured by the
Hunger of glory gat

Hold of the land.

VOL. VII.

0

ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH.

ILIAD, xviii. 202.

So saying, light-foot Iris pass'd away.
Then rose Achilles dear to Zeus; and round
The warrior's puissant shoulders Pallas flung
Her fringed ægis, and around his head
The glorious goddess wreath'd a golden cloud,
And from it lighted an all-shining flame.
As when a smoke from a city goes to heaven
Far off from out an island girt by foes,

All day the men contend in grievous war
From their own city, but with set of sun

Their fires flame thickly, and aloft the glare
Flies streaming, if perchance the neighbours round
May see, and sail to help them in the war;

So from his head the splendour went to heaven.
From wall to dyke he stept, he stood, nor join'd
The Achæans—honouring his wise mother's word-
There standing, shouted, and Pallas far away
Call'd; and a boundless panic shook the foe.

For like the clear voice when a trumpet shrills,
Blown by the fierce beleaguerers of a town,
So rang the clear voice of Æakidês ;
And when the brazen cry of Æakidês

Was heard among the Trojans, all their hearts
Were troubled, and the full-maned horses whirl'd
The chariots backward, knowing griefs at hand;
And sheer-astounded were the charioteers

To see the dread, unweariable fire

That always o'er the great Peleion's head

Burn'd, for the bright-eyed goddess made it burn. Thrice from the dyke he sent his mighty shout, Thrice backward reel'd the Trojans and allies; And there and then twelve of their noblest died Among their spears and chariots.

TO PRINCESS FREDERICA ON HER

MARRIAGE.

O you that were eyes and light to the King till he

past away

From the darkness of life

He saw not his daughter-he blest her: the blind

King sees you to-day,

He blesses the wife.

SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.

ON THE CENOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

NOT here! the white North has thy bones; and thou, Heroic sailor-soul,

Art passing on thine happier voyage now

Toward no earthly pole.