The Grassplot.

"Round his bald head the brown leaves drift amain."

Vain, aged gard'ner, is thy toil to clear

The lawn, which while its hue and smoothness vied
With bright green velvet, 'twas thy simple pride
To keep unsullied through the earlier year;
But now, fast fall the leaves, wither'd and sere ;-
Hark! how they crackle in the autumnal breeze,
That strips them countless from their parent trees :-
Still on the grass they lie; then sudden rear
Their shrivell'd forms, and whirl in witch-like dance!
Mocking thy threat'ning broom and tardy pace,
Two truant children seek, with merry glance,

The laden barrow hid in shelter'd place.
Alas! old man, for all thy morning's care;
The loosen'd leaves fly spinning in the air.

*The children of the Warden of Merton.

CCXXXII.

Merton Meadows from the Terrace

Walk.

""Tis raging noon, and vertical the sun

Darts on the head direct his forceful rays."

THOMSON.

Gay with June's livery of liveliest green,
By daisies crimson-edg'd, and cowslip-dyed,
Smile Merton meadows in their summer pride,
While far off Isis glints back steely sheen
Yon stately avenue's tall trees between,

Like flash of casque and spear when warriors ride.
Sweet Cherwell-waters edge the nearer side.
The sleepy cattle seek a shady screen;
For 'tis still sultry noon; the martin wheels,
Like a black spirit of night haunting the day,
His phantom circles high in the upper blue :
Shrill grasshopper clacks loud his whirring peals;
Proud dragon-flies glance by in armour new ;
And the bee hums her homeward roundelay.

The Terrace Wall.—The Cavalier's Death.

"Poor Windebank was shot by sudden Court Martial, so enraged were they at Oxford; for Cromwell had not even foot-soldiers, still less a battering gun. It was his poor young wife, they said, she and other ladies on a visit there, that confounded poor Windebank. He set his back to the wall of Merton College, and received his death-volley with a soldier's stoicism." CARLYLE'S CROMWELL.

Sure Man's heart-anguish ne'er hath broken here
This smiling air of natural repose,

Which over Merton's meadowed landscape glows?
Yes, on this spot where the grey stone walls rear
Their hoary height, fell that poor Cavalier
Who gave his post up to his Monarch's foes,
At iron Cromwell's summons, without blows,
Through gentle courtey, not coward fear.

Perchance beneath where now I stand, he stood:
Setting his back against the College-wall,
Baring his breast, not dabbled yet with blood,

A bold unflinching mark for many a ball,

His young wife's name borne on his latest breath:-
Short trial his, brief shrift, and soldier's death.

* Bletchington House.

The University Volunteers.

“ Si vis pacem, para bellum.”

"Bella suscipienda sunt ob eam causam, ut sine injuriâ in pace vivitur."

" Felix civitas quæ tempore pacis de bello cogitat.”

“ το ξίφος αμφιβαλόν μὴ πρὸς φόνον ἀλλ ̓ ἐς ἄμυνον.”

CICERO.

PSEUDO PHOCILLYDEA.

"Dum desint hostes desit quoque causa triumphi,

Tu, ducibus bello gloria major eris.
Sola gerat miles quibus arma coerceat arma,
Cantetur que ferâ nil nisi pompa tubâ.”—OVID,
ὑμάς δὲ χρὴ νῦν, καὶ τὸν ἐλλείποντ ̓ ἔτι
ἥβης ἀκμαίας, καὶ τὸν ἔξηβον χρόνῳ
βλάστημον ἀλδαίνοντα σώματος πολὺν,
ὥραν τ ̓ ἔχονθ ̓ ἕκαστον, ὥστε συμπρεπές,
πόλει τ' ἀρήγειν καὶ θεῶν ἐγχωρίων
βωμοῖσι, τιμὰς μὴ ἐξαλειφθῆναί ποτε
τέκνοις τε, γῆ τε μητρὶ, φιλτάτῃ τροφῶ·
ἡ γὰρ νέους ἕρποντας εὐμενεῖ πέδῳ,
ἅπαντα πανδοκοῦσα παιδείας ὄτλον,

ἐθρέψατ' οἰκισιῆρας ἀσπιδηφόρους

πιστοὺς ὅπως γένοισθε πρὸς χρέος τόδε.”ÆSCHYLUS.

Never again may Civil Strife lay waste

This England, where fair Peace hath made her nest:
And yet the martial spirit in each breast
Glow warmer: so shall Britain never taste
War's horrors ; so repress the Invader's haste.

Let every free-born youth acquire, unprest,
The use of arms, and safe this land shall rest,
Her elders tranquil, and her daughters chaste.
Defence, not conquest, each just soldier's aim,
Duty his watchword, and its full discharge
His sole ambition, who shall dare attack
This island, girt with belts of rifle-flame?

The foe may land from his night-favoured barge, But who to tell the tale shall e'er get back?

See Note 27-a

The Bifle.

"This England never did and never shall

Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror."-SHAKESPEARE.

"Our country yet remains;

By that dread name we wave the sword on high,
And swear for her to live, with her to die."-CAMPBELL.

"Come the four quarters of the world in arms,

And we shall shock them: nought shall make us rue,
If England to herself remain but true."-SHAKESPEARE.

“ σὺ δ' ὥστε ναὸς κεδνὸς οἰακοστρόφος,

φράξαι πόλισμα, πρὶν καταιγίσαι πνοὰς
Αρεος βοᾶ γὰρ κῦμα χερσαῖον στρατοῦ·

καὶ τῶνδε καιρὸν ὅστις ὤκιστος λαβέ”ÆscHYLUS.
"In our halls are hung

Armoury of the invincible knights of old:

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue

That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held."-WORDSWORTH.

"Twas merry in the days when Robin Hood,

The bugle-baldrick'd, and his outlaw crew,

With cloth-yard shaft and bow of toughest yew, Slaying the king's deer, rang'd the thick green-wood. An English yeoman's eye was ever good

In fight or forest, as his heart was true.

But since our Youth the Queen of Weapons knew,
One hand is worth a hundred, by the rood.
England, her Shakespeare sang, shall never bow,
Humbled before a foreign tyrant's pride
"Twere better far than bear the name of slave,
This land should be her children's common grave :-
Time was, when one and all we might have died
For hearth and altar: we must conquer now.