Gaze on yon Arch, and mark the while,

Of all that feudal glory shared,

How war has reft what time had spared.

Oh, for a bard of olden time

To yield thee back thy life in rhyme-
To sing afresh thy glorious prime,
When wassail rout convulsed thy tower,
When banquet shook thy festive halls.
But all is still! thy crumbling walls
No more shall echo back the tread

Of prancing steeds; no more shall War
Roll at thy feet his iron car;

Nor trumpets' clang, nor clashing swords,
Nor prisoner's sigh, nor love's last words,
Whisper amid thy voiceless dead.-LEATHAM.

NE of the most graphic pictures of "Old Kenilworth" which we have met with, occurs in the following passage :-" Where wilde brookes meeting together make a broad poole among the parkes, and so soone as they are kept in with bankes, runne in a chanell, is seated Kenelworth-in times past commonly called Kenelworde, but corruptly Killingworth-and of it taketh name a most ample, beautifull, and strong Castle, encompassed all about with parkes, which neither Kenulph, nor Kenelm, ne yet Kineglise built (as some doe dreame) but Geffrey Clinton, chamberlaine unto Kinge Henrie the First and his sonne with him, as may be shewed by good evidences; when he had founded there before a church for chanons regular. But Henrie, his nephew