Godiva passed, but all had disappeared, Each in his dwelling's innermost recess; One would have thought all mortal eyes had feared Sudden her palfrey stopped, and neighed and reared, And here I also must remark, that this is The steed grew quiet, and a piercing cry Shaded his dim eyes with his trembling hand! To see her pass, and there had ta'en his stand; I know not, gentles, whether this be true, If so, you'll own his punishment was just; He was a tinker-but his tools might rust; Alas! poor Peeping Tom!—Godiva kept And fed him.-Reader, now my tale is told; I need not state how all the peasants wept, And laughed, and blest their Countess-young and old That night Godiva very soundly slept— I grieve to add she caught a trifling cold; There stood an ancient Cross at Coventry, Pulled down, of late, by order of the Mayor, Doth make henceforth fair Coventry toll free.” Which being over, I must leave you here; And for Godiva-hope you'll decent think her, Laugh at her husband, and forgive the tinker. The Etonian. THE SEA CAVE. BY THOMAS DOUBLEDAY, ESQ. HARDLY we breathe, although the air be free. IVAN THE CZAR. BY MRS. HEMANS. Ivan le Terrible, etant dejà devenu vieux, assiégoit Novogorod. Les Boyards, le voyant affoibli, lui démanderent s'il ne voulait pas donner le commandement de l'assaut à son fils. Sa fureur fut si grande a cette proposition, que rien ne put l'appaiser; son fils se prosterna à ses pieds; il le repoussa avec un coup d'une telle voilence, que deux jours après le malheureux en mourut. Le père, alors au desespoir, devint indifferent à la guerre comme au pouvoir, et ne survécut que peu de mois a son fils. DIX ANNEES D'EXIL, PAR MAD. DE STAEL. He sat in silence on the ground, Lonely, though princes girt him round, He had cast his jewelled sabre, To the earth beside his youthful dead, With a robe of ermine for its bed, And a sad and solemn beauty On the pallid face came down, Low tones at last of woe and fear Came forth in strange, dull hollow sounds, "There is no crimson on thy cheek, I call thee—and thou dost not speak — That I the deed have done For the honour of thy father's name, "Well might I know death's hue and mien; But on thine aspect, boy! What, till this moment, have I seen, And bravest there of all How could I think a warrior's frame "I will not bear that still, cold look ;— Wake as the storm wakes!-I will brook Lift brightly up and proudly, Once more thy kindling eyes! Hath my word lost its power on earth? I say to thee, Arise! "Didst thou not know I loved thee well? Thou didst not! and art gone, That seemed to thee so stern. "Thou wert the first, the first fair child That in mine arms I pressed, Thou wert the bright one, that has smiled Like summer on my breast!. I reared thee as an eagle, "Lay down my warlike banners here, And bury my red sword and spear, And thus his wild lament was poured He heard strange voices moaning In every wind that sighed; From the searching stars of Heaven he shrank- Literary Souvenir. HOPE. BY THE LATE HENRY NEELE. HOPE still will mount; no timorous fears And if she weeps, those short-lived tears So the gay skylark soars and sings, And even the dews that wet her wings, |