Unvexed with dream of the rough briers that pull From his strayed lambs the wool! O, star, that tremblest dim Upon the welkin's rim, Send with thy milky shadows from above Tidings about my love; If that some envious wave Made his untimely grave, Or if, so softening half my wild regrets, Some coverlid of bluest violets Was softly put aside, What time he died! Nay, come not, piteous maids, Out of the murmurous shades; But keep your tresses crowned as you may With eglantine and daffodillies gay, And with the dews of myrtles wash your cheek, When flamy streaks, Uprunning the gray orient, tell of morn-- While I, forlorn, Pour all my heart in tears and plaints, instead, FOR LYRA, DEAD. From Fraser's Magazine. MY NOVEL: OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON. _Continued from page 126._ PART VIII.--CHAPTER XIII. Mr. Dale had been more than a quarter of an hour conversing with Mrs. Avenel, and had seemingly made little progress in the object of his diplomatic mission, for now, slowly drawing on his gloves, he said,-- "I grieve to think, Mrs. Avenel, that you should have so hardened your heart--yes--you must pardon me--it is my vocation to speak stern truths. You cannot say that I have not kept faith with you, but I must now invite you to remember that I specially reserved to myself the right of exercising a discretion to act as I judged best, for the child's interests, on any future occasion; and it was upon this understanding that you gave me the promise, which you would now evade, of providing for him when he came into manhood." "I say I will provide for him. I say that you may 'prentice him in any distant town, and by-and-by we will stock a shop for him. What would you have more, sir, from folks like us, who have kept shop ourselves? It ain't reasonable what you ask, sir!" "My dear friend," said the Parson, "what I ask of you at present is but to see him--to receive him kindly--to listen to his conversation--to judge for yourselves. We can have but a common object--that your grandson should succeed in life, and do you credit. Now, I doubt very much whether we can effect this by making him a small shopkeeper." "And has Jane Fairfield, who married a common carpenter, brought him up to despise small shopkeepers?" exclaimed Mrs. Avenel, angrily. "Heaven forbid! Some of the first men in England have been the sons of small shopkeepers. But is it a crime in them, or their parents, if their talents have lifted them into such rank or renown as the haughtiest duke might envy? England were not England if a man must rest where his father began." "Good!" said, or rather grunted, an approving voice, but neither Mrs. Avenel nor the Parson heard it. "All very fine," said Mrs. Avenel, bluntly. "But to send a boy like that to the university--where's the money to come from?"