Gaze, maiden, gaze on Dupath Well.
Time yet hath spared that solemn cell,
In memory of old love and pride:
Hear how the noble Siward died.

Robert Stephen Hawker.

Durham.

DURHAM.

THIS city is celebrated

In the whole empire of the Britons.
The road to it is steep.

It is surrounded with rocks,
And with curious plants.
The Wear flows round it,
A river of rapid waves;
And there live in it
Fishes of various kinds,
Mingling with the floods.

And there grow
Great forests;

There live in the recesses

Wild animals of many sorts;
In the deep valleys

Deer innumerable.

There is in this city

Also well known to men

The venerable St. Cudberth;
And the head of the chaste King
Oswald, the lion of the Angli;
And Aiden, the Bishop:.
Aedbert and Aedfrid,

The noble associates.
There is in it also
Aethelwold, the Bishop;

And the celebrated writer Bede;
And the Abbot Boisil,

By whom the chaste Cudberth

Was in his youth gratis instructed ;
Who also well received the instructions.
There rest with these saints,

In the inner part of the Minster,
Relicks innumerable,

Which perform many miracles,
As the chronicles tell us,

And which await with them

The judgment of the Lord.

THE AISLE OF TOMBS.

Anglo-Saxon Poem.

THE interior of Chester-le-Street Church, Durham, contains a singular collection of monuments, bearing effigies of the deceased anecstry of the Lumley family, from the time of Liulphus to the reign of Queen Elizabeth.

THE quiet and the chillness

Of the aisle of tombs;

The shadow and the stillness

A rosy light illumes :

Like the memory of the past, On the carvéd arms delaying, On the marble pall

O'er the blood-red scutcheon playing With a crimson fall,

Into sudden sunshine cast

Are the ancient warriors,

The warriors of olden time.

So with kindled heart we love them,
Dwelling on their fame;

So doth memory fling above them
Its shadow of a name,

Noblest shadow flung on earth:

We remember many a story
Of the old chivalric day,
When the red-cross, like a glory,
Shone above the fray;

'T was a glorious age gave birth
To the ancient warriors,

The warriors of olden time.

Though the sword no more be trusted
As it was of old,

Though the shining spear be rusted
And the right hand cold,

They have left their fame behind;

Still a spirit from their slumbers

Rises true and brave,

Asks the minstrel for his numbers,
Music from their grave:

Noble, gentle, valiant, kind,

Were the ancient warriors,

The warriors of olden time.

All their meaner part hath perished,
In the earth at rest;

And the present hour hath cherished
What of them was best.

What a knight should be we keep.
For the present doth inherit
All the glories of the past;
We retain what was its spirit,
While its dust to dust is cast.
All good angels guard the sleep
Of the ancient warriors,

The warriors of olden time.

Anonymous.

Eden, the River.

THE RIVER EDEN, CUMBERLAND.

DEN! till now thy beauty had I viewed

EDEN!

By glimpses only, and confess with shame That verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood,

Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name:

Yet fetched from Paradise that honor came,
Rightfully borne; for Nature gives thee flowers
That have no rival among British bowers,
And thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame.
Measuring thy course, fair Stream! at length I pay
To my life's neighbor dues of neighborhood;
But I have traced thee on thy winding way
With pleasure sometimes by this thought restrained,
For things far off we toil, while many a good
Not sought, because too near, is never gained.

William Wordsworth.

THE MONUMENT,

COMMONLY CALLED LONG MEG AND HER DAUGHTERS, NEAR THE RIVER EDEN.

A

WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne,

Fell suddenly upon my spirit, — cast

From the dread bosom of the unknown past,
When first I saw that family forlorn.

Speak thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn
The

power of years, — pre-eminent, and placed

Apart, to overlook the circle vast,

Speak, giant-mother! tell it to the Morn

While she dispels the cumbrous shades of night;
Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;
At whose behest uprose on British ground
That sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round

Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite,
The inviolable God, that tames the proud!

William Wordsworth.