Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly
And her eyes were darkened wholly
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knights and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

-Lord Tennyson.

BILL MASON'S BRIDE

Half an hour till train time, sir,

An' a fearful dark time, too;
Take a look at the switch lights, Tom,
Fetch in a stick when you 're through.

On time? well, yes, I guess so

Left the last station all right;
She'll come round the curve a-flyin';
Bill Mason comes up to-night.

You know Bill? No? He's engineer,
Been on the road all his life-

I'll never forget the mornin'

He married his chuck of a wife. 'T was the day the mill hands struck, Just off work, every one;

They kicked up a row in the village

And killed old Donovan's son.

Bill had n't been married mor'n an hour,
Up comes a message from Kress,
Orderin' Bill to go up there,

And bring down the night express.
He left his gal in a hurry,

And went up on Number One,
Thinking of nothing but Mary,
And the train he had to run.

And Mary sat down by the window
To wait for the night express;
And, sir, if she had n't a' done so,
She'd been a widow, I guess.
For it must a' been nigh midnight
When the mill hands left the Ridge;
They come down the drunken devils,
Tore up a rail from the bridge.

But Mary heard 'em a-workin'

And guessed there was somethin' wrongAnd in less than fifteen minutes,

Bill's train it would be along!

So she jest grabbed up a lantern,
And made for the bridge alone.
Then down came the night express, sir,
And Bill was makin' her climb!
But Mary held the lantern,
A-swingin' it all the time.

Well, by Jove! Bill saw the signal,
And he stopped the night express,

And he found his Mary cryin',

On the track, in her weddin' dress; Cryin' an' laughin' for joy, sir,

An' holdin' on to the light

Hello! here's the train-good-bye, sir,

Bill Mason's on time to-night.

- Bret Harte.

CASSIUS ON HONOUR

Well, honour is the subject of my story.—
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life, but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cæsar, so were you;
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Cæsar said to me, "Dar'st thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,

And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Cæsar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink."
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Cæsar. And this man

Is now become a god; and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him I did. mark

How he did shake: 't is true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their colour fly,
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan;
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried, "Give me some drink, Titinius,"
As a sick girl.-Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,

And bear the palm alone.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Men at some time are masters of their fates;
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Cæsar: what should be in that Cæsar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
"Brutus " will start a spirit as soon as "Cæsar."
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd!
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
When could they say till now that talk'd of Rome
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O, you and I have heard our fathers say,

There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome

As easily as a king!

-William Shakespeare.

THE HUNTERS

In the bright October morning
Savoy's Duke had left his bride;
From the Castle, past the drawbridge,"
Flowed the hunters' merry tide.

Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering.
Gay, her smiling lord to greet,
From her mullioned chamber casement
Smiles the Duchess Marguerite.

From Vienna by the Danube

Here she came, a bride, in spring.
Now the autumn crisps the forest;
Hunters gather, bugles ring.

Hark! the game's on foot, they scatter:
Down the forest riding lone,
Furious, single horsemen gallop.

Hark! a shout a crash — a groan!

Pale and breathless, came the hunters;
On the turf, dead lies the boar,
But the Duke lies stretched beside him,
Senseless, weltering in his gore.

In the dull October evening,

Down the leaf-strewn forest road,
To the Castle, past the drawbridge,
Came the hunters with their load.

In the hall, with sconces blazing,
Ladies waiting round her seat,
Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais
Sat the Duchess Marguerite.

Hark! below the gates unbarring!
Tramp of men and quick commands! -
""T is my lord come back from hunting."
And the Duchess claps her hands.

Slow and tired, came the hunters;
Stopped in darkness in the court.-

"Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters!

To the hall! What sport, what sport?"

Slow they entered with their Master;
In the hall they laid him down.
On his coat were leaves and blood-stains,
On his brow an angry frown.

Dead her princely youthful husband
Lay before his youthful wife;
Bloody 'neath the flaring sconces:
And the sight froze all her life.

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