With this new wind about I steered,

And swore to him allegiance;

Old principles I did revoke,

Set conscience at a distance;

Passive obedience a joke,

A jest was non-resistance.

And this is the law that I'll maintain, etc.

When royal Anne became our queen,

The Church of England's glory, Another face of things was seen, And I became a Tory; Occasional conformists base,

I blamed their moderation,

And thought the church in danger was,

By such prevarication.

And this is the law that I'll maintain, etc.

When George in pudding-time came o'er,
And moderate men looked big, sir,
My principles I changed once more,
And so became a Whig, sir;
And thus preferment I procured
From our new faith's defender;

And almost every day abjured

The Pope and the Pretender.

And this is the law that I'll maintain, etc.

The illustrious house of Hanover,

And Protestant succession,

To these I do allegiance swear,
While they can keep possession:
For in my faith and loyalty,

I nevermore will falter;

And George my lawful king shall be,

Until the times do alter.

And this is the law that I'll maintain, etc.

Anonymous.

Brereton.

THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN TREE.

"Here [at Brereton in Cheshire] is one thing incredibly strange, but attested, as I myself have heard, by many persons and commonly believed. Before any heir of this family dies, there are seen, in a lake adjoining, the bodies of trees swimming on the water for several days." - CAMDEN'S Britannia.

ES! I have seen the ancient oak

YES!

On the dark deep water cast,

And it was not felled by the woodman's stroke,
Or the rush of the sweeping blast;

For the axe might never touch that tree,

And the air was still as a summer sea.

I saw it fall, as falls a chief

By an arrow in the fight,

And the old woods shook, to their loftiest leaf,
At the crashing of its might;

And the startled deer to their coverts drew,

And the spray of the lake as a fountain's flew !

"Tis fallen! But think thou not I weep
For the forest's pride o'erthrown,
An old man's tears lie far too deep
To be poured for this alone:
But by that sign too well I know
That a youthful head must soon be low!

A youthful head, with its shining hair,
And its bright quick-flashing eye;
Well may I weep! for the boy is fair,
Too fair a thing to die!

But on his brow the mark is set,
O, could my life redeem him yet!

He bounded by me as I gazed
Alone on the fatal sign,

And it seemed like sunshine when he raised

His joyous glance to mine.

With a stag's fleet step he bounded by,

So full of life, but he must die!

He must, he must! in that deep dell,
By that dark water's side,

'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell
But an heir of his fathers died.
And he, there's laughter in his eye,
Joy in his voice, yet he must die!

I've borne him in these arms, that now
Are nerveless and unstrung;

And must I see, on that fair brow,

The dust untimely flung?

I must!

yon green oak, branch and crest,

Lies floating on the dark lake's breast!

The noble boy! -how proudly sprung

The falcon from his hand!

It seemed like youth to see him young,

A flower in his father's land!

But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh, For the tree hath fallen, and the flower must die.

Say not 't is vain! I tell thee, some
Are warned by a meteor's light,
Or a pale bird, flitting, calls them home,
Or a voice on the winds by night;
And they must go! And he too, he!
Woe for the fall of the glorious tree!

Felicia Hemans.

Brigham.

NUN'S WELL, BRIGHAM.

HE cattle, crowding round this beverage clear

THE

To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod

The encircling turf into a barren clod,

Through which the waters creep, then disappear,
Born to be lost in Derwent, flowing near;

Yet o'er the brink, and round the limestone cell
Of the pure spring, (they call it the " Nun's Well,"

Name that first struck by chance my startled ear,)
A tender spirit broods, the pensive shade
Of ritual honors to this fountain paid
By hooded votaresses with saintly cheer;
Albeit oft the Virgin-Mother mild
Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled
Into the shedding of "too soft a tear."

William Wordsworth.

0,

Brignall.

BRIGNALL BANKS.

BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,

And Greta woods are green,

And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton hall,
Beneath the turrets high,

A maiden on the castle wall

Was singing merrily,

"O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green :
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen."

"If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town,