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THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX.
(A Cornish Legend.)
[Bottreaux, in Cornwall, better known by the name of Boscastle, is so called from the ancient family of Bottreaux, one of whom built a strong castle there in early times. Tintagel, or Tintadgel, which stands on the same coast, is likewise remarkable for its "marvellous stronge and notable fortress," as Leland describes it. The following verses, which purport to be nothing more than the paraphrase of an old legendary story, have nevertheless so striking a moral, and are so characteristic of their subject, that we should act unfairly in withholding them from our young readers. Without cherishing any feelings allied to a blind and superstitious devotion, we can readily allow, that we should be glad to see similar incidents in our own day, pointed with such inferences as must, we think, be drawn from this well-told tale.]
TINTADGEL bells ring o'er the tide
The boy leans on his vessel's side,
He hears that sound; and dreams of home
Thus saith their pealing chime:
But why are Bottreaux' echoes still?
Her tower stands proudly on the hill-
Yet the strange chough that home hath found;
Should be her answering chime:
Should echo on the blast.
The pilot heard his native bells
Hang on the breeze in fitful swells;
-It was his marriage chime :
"Thank God, thou whining knave, on land,
Uprose that sea, as if it heard
-The death-groans of his sinking ship.
Long did the rescued pilot tell,
When grey hairs o'er his forehead fell,
That fearful judgment of the deep!
He read his native chime :
Youth, manhood, old age, past;
His bell rung out at last!
Still when the storm of Bottreaux' waves
Thus saith the ocean-chime
THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.
"It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory."
TREAD Softly-bow the head
In reverent silence bow; No passing bell doth toll,
Yet an immortal soul
Is passing now.
Stranger! however great,
With lowly reverence bow; There's one in that poor shed, One by that paltry bed, Greater than thou!
Beneath that beggar's roof,
Lo! Death doth keep his state.
Enter! no guards defend
The pavement, damp and cold,
No smiling courtiers tread ;
One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hands,
A dying head.
No mingling voices sound
An infant wail alone;
A sob suppressed-again
That short deep gasp, and then
The parting groan.
O change! O! wondrous change!
Burst are the prison bars
This moment there, so low,
So agonized; and now
O! change-stupendous change!
There lies the soulless clod.
The new immortal wakes
Wakes with his God!
GOD IS LOVE.
(From Nelson's "Lot of Mortality," &c.)
PASSING mortal, tell me why
Suns and planets deck the sky,
Why the troubled ocean roars,
Why the clouds by zephyrs driven,
Why the rivers, as they flow,
Cried, "thy work is finished, Death!"
-'Tis because our God is love.
So strong is man, that with a gasping breath