Back flew the bolt, uprose the latch, Two hoofs upon the sanded floor, And two upon the bed; And they are breathing side by side, "Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man! Untwisted every winding coil; The shuddering wretch took hold, Till like an icicle it seemed, So tapering and so cold, "Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man !" And open, open, swung the door, Fast fled the darkness of the night, They called full loud, they knocked full long They did not waken him. Straight, straight towards that oaken beam, A ghastly shape was swinging there,— A SCENE FROM THE MARTYR OF ANTIOCH. THE VERY REV. HENRY HART MILMAN, D.D., [Dr. Milman is the youngest son of the late Sir Francis Milman, Bart., physician to George III. He was born Feb. 10, 1791, and educated at Dr. Burney's, Greenwich, at Eton, and at Brasenose College, Oxford. In 1817 he took orders, and was appointed Vicar of St. Mary's, Reading. Previously to this he had written his tragedy of "Fazio," in which the celebrated Miss O'Neill sustained the rôle of the heroine at Covent-garden Theatre. His subsequent works are "Anne Boleyn," "The Martyr of Antioch," and "Belshazzar" (an heroic poem in twelve books), "Samor" (1818), and "The Fall of Jerusalem," a poem (1820). Dr. Milman has also contributed largely to the "Quarterly Review;" and has written in prose a "History of Latin Christianity,” a “History of the Jews," a "Life of Horace,” and other works. As a poet he takes rank with Bowles and Keble, and has made a reputation "that the world will not willingly let die." Having been some years the Rector of St. Margaret's, Westminster, he was presented with the deanery of St. Paul's in 1849.] MARGARITA'S REVELATION TO HER FATHER (CALLIAS, PRIEST of Apollo) of HER CONVERSION TO CHRISTIANITY. Callias. How? What? mine ears Ring with a wild confusion of strange sounds Thou dost, my child. Margarita. In whom my soul hath hope of immortality, Father! I mock not. Call. By Jesus Christ-by Him Lightnings blast-not thee, But those that, by their subtle incantations, Have wrought upon thy innocent soul! Look there! Marg. Father, I'll follow thee where'er thou wilt: Thou dost not mean this cruel violence With which thou dragg'st me on. Call. The offended God! I dare not look again- Marg. I see a silent shape of stone, In which the majesty of human passion Call. Ha! look again, then, There in the East. Mark how the purple clouds From night's dun vapours and fast-scattering mists. The voices of all animate things lift up Tumultuous orisons; the spacious world Lives but in him, that is its life. But he, Holds his calm way, and vindicates for his own Of peerless glory unapproachable. What means thy proud undazzled look, to adore Marg. On yon burning orb I gaze, and say,-Thou mightiest work of Him In the exulting heavens. In thee the light, To thee was given to quicken slumbering nature, And lead the seasons' slow vicissitude Hyperion! and suspend the fiery shaft That quivers on thy string. Ah, not on her, This innocent, wreak thy fury! I will search, And thou wilt lend me light, although they shroud And set them up a mark for all thy wrath- My pure and blameless child. Shine forth, shine forth, [Exit. Marg. 'Tis over now-and oh! I bless thee, Lord, For making me thus desolate below; For severing one by one the ties that bind me To this cold world-for whither can earth's outcasts Yet is no way but this, If thou must smite him, smite him in thy mercy. (By permission of the Author.) INFLUENCE OF BEAUTY. JOHN KEATS. A THING of beauty is a joy for ever: Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour; no, even as the trees |