ON SIR JOHN ELIOT.

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Sir Bevill Grenville.

THE following epitaph to the memory of Sir Bevill Grenville, killed at Lansdown, 1643, was written by MARTIN LLEWELLYN. The ancestor referred to is the great Sir Richard Grenville.

HUS slain thy valiant ancestor did lye,

When his one bark a navy did defy;

When now encompassed round the victorstood, And bathed his pinnace in his conquering blood, Till, all his purple current dried and spent, He fell, and made the waves his monument. Where shall the next famed Grenville's ashes standThy grandsire fills the seas, and thou the land?

On Sir John Eliot.

JOHN POLWHELE (died 1672), one of the ancient Cornish family of Polwhele of Polwhele. Sir John Eliot was one of the ancestors of the Earl of St. Germans, and one of the chief patriots of the time of Charles I., dying in prison in the Tower.

EER a musitian lyes whose well-tuned tongue
Was great Apollo's harpe, so sweetly strunge
That every cadence was an harmonye.
Noe crotchets in his musicke! onlye hee
Charmed the attentive burgesses alonge,
Ledde by the eares to listen to his songe.

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For innocence, sad widdowes' orphans' teares
(The dumbe petitioners of unfeigned feares),
How smoothly could thine eloquence alone
Create a helpinge pittie where was none.

To Chloris.

JOHN BULTEEL. The family of Bulteel is of French origin, and has long been settled in Devonshire.

HLORIS, 'twill be for either's rest
Truly to know each other's breast;
I'll make the obscurest part of mine
Transparent, as I would have thine :
you will deal but so with me,

If

We soon shall part, or soon agree.

Know then though you were twice as fair,
If it could be, as now you are,

And though the graces of your mind

With a resembling lustre shined;

Yet if you loved me not, you'd see,
I'd value that as you do me.

Though I a thousand times had sworn
My passion should transcend your scorn,
And that your bright, triumphant eyes
Create a flame that never dies;

Yet if to me you proved untrue,

These oaths should prove as false to you.

If love I vowed to pay for hate,
'Twas, I confess, a mere deceit ;

Or that my flame should deathless prove,
'Twas but to render so your love;

HYMNUS VESPERTINUS.

I bragged as cowards use to do
Of dangers they'll ne'er run into.

And now my tenets I have showed,
If you think them too great a load;
T' attempt your charge were but in vain,
The conquest not being worth the pain:
With them I'll other nymphs subdue;
'Tis too much to lose time and you.

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Hymnus Hespertinus.

HENRY GRENFIELD, born at Truro, Master of Truro Grammar
School, 1685-1693.

HRICE blest, my God and King,
The only spring

Of every good and perfect thing.

Thou hast preserved my ways;
Accept my praise :

This and all other my past days.

And now the shades come on:

O living Sun,

Go not out of my horizon!

Stream forth thy glorious light,

That I by night

May count my past day's sins aright.

But how shall I recall

These errors all,

Which under numbers will not fall?

Oh, hide them in that night

Which from our sight

Did take and hide the world's great light!

To thy all-piercing sight

My darkest night

Is clearer than to us noon-light.

Oh, let this thought me bring

To keep within,

My heart and hand from secret sin!

When I my clay undress,

Do thou me bless

From rags of all unrighteousness.

Who knows where I may have

My bed for grave?

Oh, then, receive my soul, and save!

Great Watch, on whom no sleep

Doth ever creep,

In grateful rest I pray me keep

From all malignant things

Which darkness brings—

Under the shadow of thy wings;

HYMNUS VESPERTINUS.

Dart forth thy healthful beams,

Dispel those steams

Which cause or cherish hurtful dreams.

Pitch round me angels' tent:

And from thee sent,

Let them blest visions represent:

As on thy Jacob's night

A ladder bright

Thee on the top, my shield and light;

Whilst they to thee ascend,

And from thee bend

By turns thy jewels to defend.

So shall I, in thy arms,

Circled from harms,

Be lulled to bliss with sweetest charms.

Whilst gently from above

Thy favours prove

My safeguard and my bed of love.

When I awake, move me

To sing of thee,

And meditate on thy mercy.

And with the morning's wings,

As light begins,

To flie to thee, great King of kings.

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