It shall blot out the marks of infamy,
And when the warriors of the days to come
Shall speak of Chimalpoca, they shall say
He died the brave man's death!

Not of the God

Unworthy, do I seek his altar thus,
A voluntary victim. And perchance
The sacrifice of life may profit you
My people, tho' all living efforts fail'd
By fortune, not by fault.

Cease your lament! And if your ill-doom'd King deserved your love, Say of him to your children, " he was one "Who bravely bore misfortune; who when life "Became dishonour, shook his body off,

"And join'd the Spirits of the heroes dead.”
Yes! not in *Miclanteuctli's dark abode
With cowards shall your King receive his doom;
Not in the icy caverns of the North

Suffer thro' endless ages! he shall join

The Spirits of the brave, with them at morn
Shall issue from the eastern gate of Heaven,

*The Mexican God of Hell.

And follow thro' his fields of light the Sun;
With them shall raise the song and weave the dance,
Sport in the stream of splendour, company

Down to the western palace of his rest

The Prince of Glory, and with equal eye
Endure his centered radiance. Not of you
Forgetful, O my people, even then,

But often in the amber cloud of noon

Diffused, will I o'erspread your summer fields,
And on the freshened maize and brightening meads
Shower plenty.

Spirits of my valiant Sires,

I come! Mexitli, never at thy shrine

Flow'd braver blood! never a nobler heart

Steam'd up its life to thee! Priests of the God,
Perform your office!

S.

Merrily merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife Arrived at the church-door.

Richard Penlake was a chearful man,

Chearful and frank and free,

But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife,
For a terrible shrew was she.

Richard Penlake a scolding would take
Till patience availed no longer,

Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would take,
And shew her that he was the stronger.

Rebecca his wife had often wish'd
To sit in St. Michael's chair;

For she should be the mistress then
If she had once sat there.

It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick,
They thought he would have died;
Rebecca his wife made a vow for his life
As she knelt by his bed-side.

Now hear my prayer, St. Michael ! and spare
My husband's life, quoth she,

And to thine altar we will go,
Six marks to give to thee.

Richard Penlake repeated the vow,
For woundily sick was he-
Save me St. Michael and we will go
Six marks to give to thee.

When Richard grew well Rebecca his wife

Teized him by night and by day:

O mine own dear! for you I fear,

If we the vow delay.

Merrily merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife Arrived at the church door.

Six marks they on the altar laid,
And Richard knelt in prayer:
She left him to pray and stole away
To sit in St. Michael's chair.

Up the tower Rebecca ran,
Round and round and round;
'Twas a giddy sight to stand a-top
And look upon the ground.

A curse on the ringers for rocking
The tower! Rebecca cried,

As over the church battlements
She strode with a long stride.

A blessing on St. Michael's chair!
She said as she sat down:
Merrily merrily rung the bells

And Rebecca was shook to the ground.