“Thus he went on, stringing one extravagance upon another, in the style his books of chivalry had taught him, and imitating, as near as he could, their very phrase.”――DON QUIXOTE. (_To be spoken by Mr. Kemble, in a suit of the Black Prince’s armour, borrowed from the Tower._) Survey this shield, all bossy bright―― These cuisses twain behold! Look on my form in armour dight Of steel inlaid with gold: My knees are stiff in iron buckles, Stiff spikes of steel protect my knuckles. These once belong’d to sable prince, Who never did in battle wince; With valour tart as pungent quince, He slew the vaunting Gaul. Rest there awhile, my bearded lance, While from green curtain I advance To yon foot-lights, no trivial dance,[28] And tell the town what sad mischance Did Drury Lane befall. THE NIGHT. On fair Augusta’s[29] towers and trees Flitted the silent midnight breeze, Curling the foliage as it past, Which from the moon-tipp’d plumage cast A spangled light, like dancing spray, Then re-assumed its still array; When, as night’s lamp unclouded hung, And down its full effulgence flung, It shed such soft and balmy power That cot and castle, hall and bower, And spire and dome, and turret height, Appeared to slumber in the light. From Henry’s chapel, Rufus’ hall, To Savoy, Temple, and St. Paul; From Knightsbridge, Pancras, Camden Town, To Redriffe, Shadwell, Horsleydown, No voice was heard, no eye unclosed, But all in deepest sleep reposed. They might have thought, who gazed around Amid a silence so profound, It made the senses thrill, That twas no place inhabited, But some vast city of the dead―― All was so hush’d and still. THE BURNING.