As the old man toiled along by "Newark's ftately towers," The Duchess mark'd his weary pace, His timid mien and reverend face, And bade her page the menials tell, That they should tend the old man well. The wants of the minstrel were readily fupplied, and the kind attention which he received having pleafed and gratified the poor old man, he would repay the favours which he had received by once more wakening the mufic of his harp; for Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, He thought even yet the sooth to speak; He could make music to her ear. He tried to tune his harp in vain! The pitying Duchess praised its chime, And gave him heart, and gave him time, Till every string's according glee Was blended into harmony. And then, he said, he would full fain He could recall an ancient strain He never thought to sing again. It was not framed for village churls, But for high dames and mighty earls; He had play'd it to King Charles the good, When he kept court in Holyrood; And much he wish'd, yet fear'd, to try The long-forgotten melody. Amid the strings his fingers stray'd, And an uncertain warbling made, And oft he shook his hoary head. But when he caught the measure wild, The old man raised his face and smiled; With all a poet's ecstasy! In varying cadence, soft or strong, He swept the sounding chords along: The present scene, the future lot, What was the burden of that "Lay of the Laft Minstrel" we need not tell; for who has not lingered over "that bright confummate flower, in which all the deareft of Scott's youthful fancies found expansion for their strength, tenderness, and beauty.” CHRISTMAS-TIDE. HEERFULNESS was the characteristic of our fathers, not lefs in the genial spring, the glowing summer, and the grateful autumn, than in the bleak feason, when the smiling plains and valleys Put on their snowy robe of purest white. When winter spread its latest gloom, and " reigned tremendous o'er the conquered year," its rigours were softened by the kindly feeling and generous hospitality which prevailed in the castles, the abbeys, and the mansions of old England. The hoar defpot was defpoiled of half his terrors, though he came in form more grim and terrible than even Chatterton has painted him, Pale, rugged Winter, bending o'er his tread, |