Beneath a bower, where poplar branches long Embracing wove Seclusion o’er the abode Of hermit sage, what time the full moon rode ’Mid spectre clouds her star-paved streets along, Rose on the listening air a plaintive song, Sweet as the harmony of an angel’s lyre, And soft as sweet; breathed heavenward from a quire Of Beauty, hid the encircling shades among. Of mysteries high, I ween, that sage had dreamed— Who now, upstarting, clasps his hands to hear The _mystic notes of Nature’s Anthem_ clear, Which holiest bards have heard and heavenly deemed! ’Tis even thus as to that sage it seemed— ’Tis Beauty makes the dreams of Wisdom, dear! * * * * * THE WIDOW OF NEWBURY. BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE.” ’Twas the eve of Newbury fair, and the time near the close of the long reign of Harry the Eighth, after monasteries were suppressed. Reform stalked through the land—all things were turned topsy-turvy—abbots and monks beggared, that poor lords might thrive—priests permitted marriage, and nuns driven from their pleasant retreats, were forced to spin for a livelihood. But amid the greater marvels, the townspeople of Newbury had often leisure to ask why Mistress Avery remained so long a widow. Sitting in her embowered porch, watching the cavalcade of merchants, buffoons and jugglers, on their way to the encampment and site of the morrow’s revels, she attracted many a longing eye. The merchant, whose wandering vocation led him from ancient Byzantium to the shores of the Thames, who came to Newbury to exchange rich silks and foreign jewelry for broadcloth, as he rode by the capacious square tenement, with its deep, embayed windows of dark chesnut-wood, and caught a glimpse of the fair owner, sighed when contrasting his own desolate, wandering lot with that of the fortunate wooer of the rich, comely widow. Mistress Avery was relict of the richest clothier of Newbury, who, dying, left her in sole possession of looms, lands, tenements and leases. Handsome, young, brisk, with riches unquestionable, she attracted tender regards from all quarters—even the proud gentry of Berkshire, with genealogical tree rooting from Norman marauder, far back as the conquest, disdained not an alliance garnished with broad manors, woods of a century’s growth, and goodly array of tenements, of which our widow held fee-simple. But when pressed successively by belted knight and worshipful esquire, she courteously declined their offers, alleging she was bent on marrying one of her own class in life, (if she should change condition,) one who could take upon himself, without degradation, the task of superintending the looms. High born swains repulsed, the field was open to gallants of lowlier rank. But these faring no better, and incurring the ridicule of neighbors, suitors became shy and reserved, seeking to extract token of