their radiant approach, even as Night's gloomy shadow flies before the chariot of Phoebus.

If happily these humble effusions should cheer one fainting heart-revive one drooping spirit, or infuse comfort in the bosom of one sad sufferer, then shall I be amply rewarded; but if they should be the means of alluring to Wisdom's paths the wanderer, or of arresting evil in its stained and staining career, how will my heart swell with Heaven-directed gratitude!

But be it remembered-and I now address myself more especially to the despotic censors of the press, who with one hand dispense the laurel-wreaths of Fame, and with the other strew around the baneful nightshade of Oblivion-that I crave no peculiar indulgence. I can conceive nothing more degrading to an author-nothing more distasteful to a man of right feeling, than the hackneyed pleas so frequently put forward for the purpose of propitiating the critic. Quod potui perfeci: I have done my best;-and having dared appeal to the world, I will endeavour to extract the honey of instruction, from the strictures of honest criticism.

And now, gentle reader, I must bid thee farewell. Believe me, it is the dearest wish of my heart, that thou mayest ever meet me with a smile, and leave me with a sigh.

BRISTOL.

March 28th, 1849.

VINCENT PIKE.

THE MINSTREL'S LAY;

OR, LOVE'S WAGER.

THERE stood a minstrel at the gate
Of Farley's ancient keep ;- *
Now, warder, ope-the night grows late,
The snow is falling deep."

The warder threw the gateway wide,

The pantler spread the board; Ne'er was the wanderer denied By Farley's honored lord.

Then drew the minstrel forth his lyre,
And touch'd the quiv'ring strings,
And sounds of deep and thrilling fire
Thorough the castle rings.

Now as he sings, before him stands
A gentle youth, and tall;

Quoth he, "My lord, the Earl, commands
Thy presence in the hall.

* See note A.

B

For he this night a feast doth hold;-
Right noble are his guests,—

And fain would hear thy story told,—
Obey thou his bebests! "

The minstrel stood amidst the throng
Of lords and ladies gay,

He struck his lyre-he trill'd his song,
And this that minstrel's lay.-

Young Love he roam'd far through city and wild, And he many a trusting heart beguiled;

Some cleaved he in twain, but oh! what cared he? He laughed at his mischief with elfin glee :"Ha! ha!" he exclaimed,

"How truly I aim'd ;—

Oh! where is the heart is proof against me?"

He aim'd at the rich-he aim'd at the poor,
He knock'd-not in vain-at the miser's door,
He flew to the palace-the king was there,
The monarch he bow'd to his subject fair.
And wherever he went,

And his bow he bent,

Of the pleasing pain had the inmate share.

As the urchin thus roam'd, at length he came
By some strange mischance to a battle plain,

Where encounter'd the rival hosts in fight,

While the demon of Discord shriek'd with delight,
And hovering o'er,

Hate batten'd on gore,

And kingly Ambition soar'd with pleas'd flight.

"Ho! ho!”—then quoth Hate;-"What doest thou here?” "Ho! ho!"-cried Ambition ;-"Hast thou no fear ?The battle is surely no place for thee."

Stay-stay yet a moment you both shall see;

For" quoth the blind god

"There's one on yon

sod

Who shall love ere I from this field will flee."

"How vainly thou speakest!"-they both then cried; "Now shoot thou thy shaft-thy skill shall be tried; Against thy best arrow a spear we wage,— Not one in the host shall thy skill engage. Ho! ho! thou art young

Thy bow is unstrung;

And thou dar'st not accept the proffer'd gage."

Then outspake young Love, enraged at the taunt,-
"I accept your challenge-deny your vaunt."
He drew from his quiver his longest shaft,-
He shot it at random-his rivals laughed;
For they saw it light

On a noble Knight,

In whose fallen frame was a falchion's haft.

And they loudly cried-" We the wage have won! "Yet stay," quoth young Love" till the fight is done :