references.

Favourite and most disliked characters

in history.

Favourite

and most disliked characters

in romance

Favourite

and most disliked characters in men and women.

VOL. VII.

SF all the names inscribed on History's

יח

page,

Of king or statesman, soldier or of sage, First in the rank brave William Wallace stands, While infamy the traitor Menteith brands.

If in the pages of Romance you seek
To view reflected mirrored scenes of life:
Go, weep o'er Marguerite, so pure, so meek,
Or shrink with loathing from the Borgia's wife.

The noblest virtues that a man can have
Are these: To be both courteous and brave;
And woman's brightest gems I hold to be,
A loving heart and white-browed modesty;
The soul wrapt in itself alone, and sloth—
The devil's offspring I esteem them both.

I

114

PREFERENCES.

Chief ambition and hindrance in life.

Favourite style of beauty.

Favourite colour.

Favourite flower.

Favourite scent.

Favourite drink.

To do the actions that I would not do,
And leave undone the actions that I would:
These are the greatest let and hindrance to
My chief ambition-to be great and good.

Blue eyes and flaxen hair and cherry lips,
From these sly Cupid sweetest honey sips;
Yet still-forgive me, blondes! I ne'er forget
The thrilling glances of a true brunette.

Blue roll the waves of the eternal sea;
Blue is the vaulted sky's immensity;
Blue reigns supreme-a heaven-awarded prize,
When beaming soft from lovely woman's eyes.

None lovelier bloom, none sweeter scent exhale,
Than thou, white-petal'd Lily of the Vale.

Sweetest the scent that Nature sheds around,
When evening rains refresh the thirsty ground.

Pindar said water, Horace wine was best;
Old wives grow maudlin over weak bohea;
But water, wine, bohea, and all the rest,
Can never, foaming ale, compare with thee!

C.C.C., OXFORD.

S.

Habe Hate of the Wolf.

IGHT laughs the sprightly Zephyr o'er the waters

of the Rhine,

And the summer air is musical with lowing of the

kine;

With laughter gay of vintagers, who crush the fiery grape, In all thy fairy-haunted dells, sweet Vale of Inniscape; With lullaby of rivulets, who sing to sleep the Earth,

As mothers hush with cradle-song their babes beside the hearth:

Full solemnly the convent-bell summons to even-song, And the Agnus Dei faint is heard, then swelling high and strong.

His labour done, the lordly Sun sinks in the purple west, And golden Peace is everywhere, and all the the land has

rest;

VOL. VII.

I 2

116

THE FATE OF THE WOLF.

Forth to his lintel comes that e'en the stalwart Otho Gair, And he leads his buirdly daughter out to breathe the perfumed air.

66

Right merrily his laugh rings out in Gretchen's pearly ear, And his sturdy arm is round her to protect her from all fear. 'Go, fetch me now Bavarian ale, and eke thy sittern bring, And I will troll to thee a song of Love and blushing Spring: A song of Walter Vogelweide, the Minnesinger bold, Who fought the War of Wartburg in the stormy days of old.

Why trembleth thus my Gretchen? why death-pale grows thy face?"

"My father, 'tis the baron, most cruel of his race:

With smile on lip and evil eye his path he hither bends,
And I fear me that his visit here no happiness portends."
A horseman gallops up the vale in pride of armourie,
There is danger in his lowering brow, and lustful is his eye.
"Is this thy daughter, Otho Gair? St. James! a winsome

face;

We bid thee send her to the hall, our revelry to grace."
A curse flew out from Otho's lips; with eyes dilated wide
He looked upon his daughter, all quivering by his side,
Then his one hand clutched his dagger, while he whispered

in her ear,

"Ere that fell wolf shall touch thee, I will stretch thee on thy bier!"

THE FATE OF THE WOLF.

117

The evening shadows fell apace, and murky Night soon

stoled

The purple hills and silvery Rhine and all the barren wold, No time has Otho now for sleep, no time for weary sigh, For a hundred sturdy villagers, with battle-brand on thigh, With clenched hand and lifted eye a solemn oath have ta'en

That they will take nor bite nor sup till the fell wolf is slain.

Next morn soon as the Sun had rent the curtains from the

sky,

The villagers assembled, and their hearts and hopes beat

high;

The stern command to march is given; comes from each a murmured prayer,

"Lord! help us now to battle for our wives and daughters fair!"

Deep wassail had the baron kept in godless company, And the chilly dawn looked in upon their fearsome revelry: Ah! ghastly looked their lemans in that brilliant morning

With perfumes sweet of Araby, with jewels all bedight; These had been stainless maidens once as snow upon the

lea,

Alack! it is a piteous thing such merriment to see!