All round a careless-ordered garden Close to the ridge of a noble down.

You'll have no scandal while you dine,
But honest talk and wholesome wine,
And only hear the magpie gossip
Garrulous under a roof of pine:

For groves of pine on either hand,
To break the blast of winter, stand;

And further on, the hoary Channel
Tumbles a breaker on chalk and sand;

Where, if below the milky steep
Some ship of battle slowly creep,

And on through zones of light and shadow Glimmer away to the lonely deep,

We might discuss the Northern sin
Which made a selfish war begin;

Dispute the claims, arrange the chances;
Emperor, Ottoman, which shall win:

Or whether war's avenging rod
Shall lash all Europe into blood;

Till you should turn to dearer matters,
Dear to the man that is dear to God;

How best to help the slender store,
How mend the dwellings, of the poor;
How gain in life, as life advances,
Valor and charity more and more.

Come, Maurice, come: the lawn as yet
Is hoar with rime, or spongy-wet ;

But when the wreath of March has blossomed, Crocus, anemone, violet,

Or later, pay one visit here,

For those are few we hold as dear;

Nor pay but one, but come for many,

Many and many a happy year.

Alfred Tennyson.

Fletching.

THE BELLS OF FLETCHING.

THE Fletching bells, with silver chime,

Come softened o'er the distant shore; Though I have heard them many a time, They never sang so sweet before.

A silence rests upon the hill,

A listening awe pervades the air; The very flowers are shut and still, And bowed as if in prayer.

Anonymous.

Fonthill Abbey.

FONTHILL ABBEY.

THE mighty master waved his wand, and, lo!
On the astonished eye the glorious show
Burst like a vision! Spirit of the place!
Has the Arabian wizard with his mace
Smitten the barren downs, far onward spread,
And bade the enchanted palace rise instead?
Bade the dark woods their solemn shades extend
High to the clouds yon spiry tower ascend?
And starting from the umbrageous avenue
Spread the rich pile, magnificent to view?
Enter! from the arched portal look again
Back on the lessening woods and distant plain!
Ascend the steps! the high and fretted roof.
Is woven by some elfin hand aloof:
Whilst from the painted windows' long array
A mellow light is shed as not of day.
How gorgeous all! O, never may the spell

Be broken that arrayed those radiant forms so well!
William Lisle Bowles.

Fountain's Abbey.

FOUNTAIN'S ABBEY.

ALAS, alas! those ancient towers,

Where never now the vespers ring,

But lonely at the midnight hours
Flits by the bat on dusky wing.

No more beneath the moonlight dim,
No more beneath the planet ray,
Those arches echo with the hymn

That bears life's meaner cares away.

No more within some cloistered cell,
With windows of the sculptured stone,
By sign of cross and sound of bell,

The world-worn heart can beat alone.

How needful some such tranquil place,
Let many a weary one attest,
Who turns from life's impatient race,
And asks for nothing but for rest.

How many, too heart-sick to roam
Still longer o'er the troubled wave,
Would thankful turn to such a home,
A home already half a grave.

Anonymous.

A

FOUNTAIN'S ABBEY.

BBEY! forever smiling pensively,

How like a thing of Nature dost thou rise, Amid her loveliest works! as if the skies, Clouded with grief, were arched thy roof to be, And the tall trees were copied all from thee! Mourning thy fortunes, - while the waters dim Flow like the memory of thy evening hymn; Beautiful in their sorrowing sympathy,

As if they with a weeping sister wept,

Winds name thy name! But thou, though sad, art calm,
And Time with thee his plighted troth hath kept;
For harebells deck thy brow, and at thy feet,
Where sleep the proud, the bee and redbreast meet,
Mixing thy sighs with Nature's lonely psalm.

Ebenezer Elliott.

GOD,

Furness Abbey.

TO FURNESS ABBEY.

I.

OD, with a mighty and an outstretched hand,
Stays thee from sinking, and ordains to be

His witness lifted 'twixt the Irish Sea

And that still beauteous, once faith-hallowed land. Stand as a sign, monastic prophet, stand!