BEVERLEY MINSTER. All speaks a race that nobly, fearlessly On their heart's worship pour'd a wealth of love! And in the crims on gloom from banners thrown, Have made the dust give echoes. Hence vain thoughts! Of the rich organ-harmony bears up Their voice on its high waves! a mighty burst! A forest-sounding music! . . And the old Minster,-forest-like itself, With its long avenues of pillar'd shade, In thine own lowly, trembling consciousness; And thine own solitude, the glorious hymn!" 55 The following beautiful lines attest the impression which a view of this magnificent Minster produced upon the gifted mind of another of England's poetesses,— the late L. E. L. Built in far other times, those sculptur❜d walls How oft hath music rock'd those ancient towers, All these have left his mournful ear. Yet anxious and alive for him. How deep and tender is the debt, Whose seal on that young heart is set; Little, perchance, may be the aid, Not so the fondness which essay'd To help amid this learned coil, And smooth the youthful student's toil. |