Where waters fall and flow. Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep? All sounds that might bestow What cause hast thou to show Of sacrifice unsped? Of all thy slaves below I most have laborèd With service sung and said; Have culled such buds as blow, Soft poppies white and red, Where thy still gardens grow, And Lethe's waters weep. Why, then, art thou my foe? Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep? ENVOY. Prince, ere the dark be shred Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep! 21 BALLADE OF HIS CHOICE OF A SEPULCHRE. HERE I'd come when weariest ! Here the breast Of the Windburg 's tufted over Deep with bracken; here his crest Takes the west, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover. Silent here are lark and plover; In the cover Deep below the cushat best Loves his mate, and croons above her O'er their nest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover. Bring me here, Life's tired-out guest, To the blest Bed that waits the weary rover, Here should failure be confessed; Ends my quest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover! ENVOY. Friend, or stranger kind, or lover, Ah, fulfil a last behest, Let me rest Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover! IN ITHACA. 'And now I am greatly repenting that ever I left my life with thee, and the immortality thou didst promise me.'-Letter of Odysseus to Calypso. Luciani Vera Historia. 'Tis thought Odysseus when the strife was o'er And still would watch the sunset, from the shore, Thou too, thy haven gained, must turn thee yet The life that might have been is lost to thee. HENRY CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL. THE NIGHT MAIL NORTH. EUSTON SQUARE, 1840. Now then, take your seats! for Glasgow and the North; Chester! Carlisle ! - Holyhead,—and the wild Frith of Forth: 'Clap on the steam and sharp's the word, You men in scarlet cloth: For the Night-Mail-to the North!' Are there any more passengers? Yes three but they can't get in, — Too late, too late! - How they bellow and knock, As the heart of that fellow in green. For the Night Mail North? what ho Whither away from the gorgeous town? For the lake and the stream and the heather brown, And the double-barrelled gun!' 'From a ruined hearth and a starving brood, A Crime and a felon's gaol!' For the Night Mail North, old man?· Old statue of despair Why tug and strain at the iron gate? 'My daughter!!' Ha! too late, too late, She is gone, you may safely swear; -- She has given you the slip, d' you hear? She has left you alone in your wrath, And she's off and away, with a glorious start, To the home of her choice, with the man of her heart, Wh-ish, R—ush What's all that hullabaloo? 'Keep fast the gates there- who is this That insists on bursting thro'?' A desperate man whom none may withstand, He waves it wildly to and fro, And hark! how the crowd are shouting below – 'Back!' And back the opposing barriers go, 'A reprieve for the Cannongate murderer, Ho! In the Queen's name — STOP. Another has confessed the crime.' Whish-rush-whish-rush The Guard has caught the flutt'ring sheet, |