Which binds with an atoning power
Two great and kindred lands.

In days long gone it caught the sound
Of Cotton's earnest tongue;
Now freshly is his memory found
His wonted haunts among.

Prelatic England drove him forth
Beyond the Western main;
Free-thoughted England owns his worth,
And bids him back again.

Back in the name the chapel wears,
Proscribed and then forgot.
That tablet's face more than repairs
The honors of the spot.

For here from afar the inscription came By our statesman-scholar sent, Reading, "Lest longer such a name Should stay in banishment."

The brazen plate, so simply grand,
Is framed in Norman stone;
The characters from English land,
The writer from our own.

Stand of forgotten feuds a sign,
And the world's brighter age!
Read on, long hence, thy filial line,
Thou quaintly graven page.

Say, that henceforth the soul's full thought

Need not in silence die;

Nor one true man, all conscience-fraught,
Must suffer or must fly.

Say, that two sovereign powers unite,
Each on her ocean shore,

To keep Faith, Friendship, Freedom bright,
From this time evermore.

Hail and farewell, St. Butolph's fane,
Seen in my thoughts so long!
They failed to span your broad domain,
And did your grandeur wrong.

Hail and farewell, St. Butolph's town!
How dear that parent name!
And no ill-favored brow I crown

With that auspicious claim.

Nathaniel Langdon Frothingham.

Bottreau.

THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAU.

INTADGEL bells ring o'er the tide,

TINTADO

The boy leans on his vessel side;

He hears that sound, and dreams of home
Soothe the wild orphan of the foam.

But why are Bottreau's echoes still?
Her tower stands proudly on the hill;
Yet the strange chough that home hath found:
The lamb lies sleeping on the ground.
"Come to thy God in time!"
Should be her answering chime:
"Come to thy God at last!"
Should echo on the blast.

The ship rode down with courses free,
The daughter of a distant sea:

Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored,
The merry Bottreau bells on board.
"Come to thy God in time!"
Rung out Tintadgel chime;
Youth, manhood, old age past,
"Come to thy God at last!"

The pilot heard his native bells
Hang on the breeze in fitful swells;

“Thank God,” with reverent brow he cried,
"We make the shore with evening's tide."
"Come to thy God in time!"
It was his marriage chime:
Youth, manhood, old age past,
His bell must ring at last.

"Thank God, thou whining knave, on land, But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand," The captain's voice above the gale: "Thank the good ship and ready sail." "Come to thy God in time!" Sad grew the boding chime: "Come to thy God at last!" Boomed heavy on the blast.

Uprose that sea! as if it heard
The mighty Master's signal-word:
What thrills the captain's whitening lip?
The death-groans of his sinking ship.
"Come to thy God in time!"
Swung deep the funeral chime:
Grace, mercy, kindness past,
"Come to thy God at last!"

Long did the rescued pilot tell

When gray hairs o'er his forehead fell,

While those around would hear and weep

That fearful judgment of the deep.

"Come to thy God in time!"
He read his native chime:
Youth, manhood, old age past,
His bell rung out at last.

Still when the storm of Bottreau's waves
Is wakening in his weedy caves :
Those bells, that sullen surges hide,

Peal their deep notes beneath the tide :

"Come to thy God in time!
Thus saith the ocean chime:
Storm, billow, whirlwind past,
"Come to thy God at last!"

Robert Stephen Hawker.

Bramble-Rise.

BRAMBLE-RISE.

WHAT wonders greet my waking eyes

At last! Can this be Bramble-Rise,

Once smallest of its shire?

How changed, and changing from my dream;
The dumpy church used not to seem
So dumpy in the spire.

This village is no longer mine;

And though the inn has changed its sign,

The beer may not be stronger:

The river, dwindled by degrees,

Is now a brook, the cottages

Are cottages no longer.

The thatch is slate, the plaster bricks,
The trees have cut their ancient sticks,
Or else the sticks are stunted:
I'm sure these thistles once grew figs,