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Now the battle's bursting peal,
Neigh of steed, and clang of steel ;
Now an old man's hollow groan
Echoed from the dungeon stone;
Now the weak and wailing cry
Of a stripling's agony !

Cold, by this, was the midnight air;

But the Abbot’s blood ran colder, When he saw a gasping knight lie there, With a gash beneath his clotted hair,

And a hump upon his shoulder.
And the loyal churchman strove in vain

To mutter a Pater Noster:
For he who writhed in mortal pain,
Was camped that night on Bosworth plain,

The cruel Duke of Glo'ster!

There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, As he took forth a bait from his iron box. It was a haunch of princely size, Filling with fragrance earth and skies. The corpulent Abbot knew full well The swelling form and the steaming smell ; Never a monk that wore a hood Could better have guessed the very wood Where the noble hart had stood at bay, Weary and wounded, at close of day.

Sounded then the noisy glee,
Of a revelling company;
Sprightly story, wicked jest,
Rated servant, greeted guest,
Flow of wine, and flight of cork,
Stroke of knife, and thrust of fork :
But where'er the board was spread,
Grace, I ween, was never said !

Pulling and tugging the Fisherman sate ;

And the Priest was ready to vomit,
When he hauled out a gentleman, fine and fat,
With a belly as big as a brimming vat,

And a nose as red as a comet.
A capital stew,' the Fisherman said,

• With cinnamon and sherry!'
And the Abbot turned away his head,
For his brother was lying before him dead,

The Mayor of St. Edmond's Bury !

There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
It was a bundle of beautiful things,
A peacock's tail, and a butterfly's wings,
A scarlet slipper, an auburn curl,
A mantle of silk, and a bracelet of pearl,
And a packet of letters, from whose sweet fold
Such a stream of delicate odours rolled,
That the Abbot fell on his face, and fainted,
And deemed his spirit was half-way sainted.
Sounds seemed dropping from the skies,
Stifled whispers, smothered sighs,
And the breath of vernal gales,
And the voice of nightingales :
But the nightingales were mute,
Envious, when an unseen lute
Shaped the music of its chords
Into passion's thrilling words.
• Smile, lady, smile!-I will not set
Upon my brow the coronet,
Till thou wilt gather roses white,
To wear around its gems of light.
Smile, lady, smile!-I will not see
Rivers and Hastings bend the knee,
Till those bewitching lips of thine
Will bid me rise in bliss from mine.

Smile, lady, smile !—for who would win
A loveless throne through guilt and sin ?
Or who would reign o'er vale and hill,
If woman's heart were rebel still?'
One jerk, and there a lady lay,

A lady wondrous fair ;
But the rose of her lip had faded away,
And her cheek was as white and cold as clay,

And torn was her raven hair.
• Ah ha!' said the Fisher, in merry guise,

• Her gallant was hooked before; 'And the Abbot heav'd some piteous sighs, For oft he had bless'd those deep blue eyes,

The eyes of Mistress Shore !

There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
As he took forth a bait from his iron box.
Many the cunning sportsman tried,
Many he flung with a frown aside ;
A minstrel's harp, and a miser's chest,
A hermit's cowl, and a baron's crest,
Jewels of lustre, robes of price,
Tomes of heresy, loaded dice,
And golden cups of the brightest wine
That ever was pressed from the Burgundy vine
There was a perfume of sulphur and nitre,
As he came at last to a bishop's mitre !
From top to toe the Abbot shook
As the Fishermen armed his golden hook ;
And awfully were his features wrought
By some dark dream, or wakened thought.
Look how the fearful felon gazes
On the scaffold his country's vengeance raises,
When the lips are cracked, and the jaws are dry,
With the thirst which only in death shall die :
Mark the mariner's frenzied frown,
As the swaling wherry settles down,

When peril has numbed the sense and will,
Though the hand and the foot may struggle still :
Wilder far was the Abbot's glance,
Deeper far was the Abbot's trance :
Fixed as a monument, still as air,
He bent no knee, and he breathed no prayer;
But he signed,- he knew not why or how,-
The sign of the Cross on his clammy brow.
There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
As he stalked away with his iron box.

"Oh ho! Oh ho !

The cock doth crow;
It is time for the Fisher to rise and go.
Fair luck to the Abbot, fair luck to the shrine !
He hath gnawed in twain my choicest line;
Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south-
The Abbot will carry my hook in his mouth!'
The Abbot had preached for many years,

With as clear articulation
As ever was heard in the House of Peers

Against Emancipation :
His words had made battalions quake,

Had roused the zeal of martyrs;
Had kept the Court an hour awake,

And the king himself three-quarters : But ever, from that hour, 'tis said,

He stammered and he stuttered,
As if an axe went through his head,

With every word he uttered.
He stuttered o'er blessing, he stuttered o'er ban,

He stuttered, drunk or dry,
And none but he and the Fisherman

Could tell the reason why!

46.--PROGRESS OF THE MECHANICAL ARTS.

DANIEL WEBSTER. [TAE following is extracted from a Lecture delivered before the Boston Mechanics’ Institution, in 1828. Mr. Webster is one of the most distinguished living orators of the United States, and, what is higher praise, a man of benevolent and pacific views.]

Human sagacity, stimulated by human wants, seizes first on the nearest natural assistant. The power of his own arm is an early lesson among the studies of primitive man. This is animal strength ; and from this he rises to the conception of employing, for his own use, the strength of other animals. A stone, impelled by the power of his arm, he finds will produce a greater effect than the arm itself; this is a species of mechanical power. The effect results from a combination of the moving force with the gravity of a heavy body.. The limb of a tree is a rude but powerful instrument; it is a lever. And the mechanical powers being all discovered, like other natural qualities, by induction, (I use the word as Bacon used it,) or experience, and not by any reasoning à priori, their progress has kept pace with the general civilization and education of nations. The history of mechanical philosophy, while it strongly illustrates, in its general results, the force of the human mind, exhibits, in its details, most interesting pictures of ingenuity struggling with the conception of new combinations, and of deep, intense, and powerful thought, stretched to its utmost to find out, or deduce, the general principle from the indications of particular facts. We are now so far advanced beyond the age when the principal, leading, important mathematical discoveries were made, and they have become so much matter of common knowledge, that it is not easy to feel their importance, or be justly sensible what an epoch in the history of science each constituted. The half frantic exultation of Archimedes, when he had solved the problem respecting the crown of Hiero, was on an occasion and for a cause certainly well allowing very high joy. And so also was the duplication of the cube.

The altar of Apollo, at Athens, was a square block or cube, and to double it required the duplication of the cube. This was a process in. volving an unascertained mathematical principle. It was quite natural,

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