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(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
Soothe the wild orphan of the foam.


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;
The lamb lies sleeping on the ground.

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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."


-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 shouts above the gale-
"Thank the good ship, and ready sail."
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.


Swung deep the funeral chime-


Long did the rescued pilot tell,

When grey hairs o'er his forehead fell,
-While those around would hear and weep,-

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
Is wakening in his weedy caves;
Those bells that sullen surges hide,

Peal their deep notes beneath the tide ;


Thus saith the ocean-chime


"6 Come-to-thy-God-at-last!"-Hawker's Ecclesia.


"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 crowds attend

Enter! no guards defend

This palace-gate.

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
Beyond the stars!

O change-stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod.

The sun eternal breaks

The new immortal wakes

Wakes with his God!



(From Nelson's "Lot of Mortality," &c.)

PASSING mortal, tell me why

Suns and planets deck the sky,
Why the seasons ever shew
Summer's sunshine, winter's snow,

Why the troubled ocean roars,
Beating on its sandy shores,

Why the clouds by zephyrs driven,
Fly to every point of heaven,
Why those cisterns of the sky
Water earth in passing by,

Why the rivers, as they flow,
Onward to the ocean go,
Why the chariot of the sun
Does its daily circuit run,
Why the rosy fingered morn
Wakes the skies at early dawn,
Why the eve, with twilight grey,
Closes to the gates of day,

Why the moon with silvery light
Shines sole empress of the night,
Why the vast and vaulted skies
Gaze on earth with myriad eyes,
Why the prophets suffered, bled,
Why the Saviour bowed his head,
Why he with his dying breath

Cried, "thy work is finished, Death!"
Why we sinners live and move?
-'Tis because our God is love.


So strong is man, that with a gasping breath
He totters, and bequeaths his soul to death;
So wise is man, that if with death he strive
His wisdom cannot teach him how to live:

So young
is man, that, broke with care and sorrow,
He's old enough to-day, to die to-morrow.-Quarles.

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