Though your body be ed
And soft love a prisoner bound,
Yet the beauty of your mind
her cheor hath found.
Look out nobly, then, and dare
Eveters that you wear.
FLETCHER.
ON a soft sunny m in the genial month of May I made an excursion to Windsor Castle. It is a place full of storied and poetical associations. The very external aspect of the proud old pile is enough to inspire high thought. It rears its irregular walls and massive towers, like a mural around the brow of a lofty ridge, waves its royal banner in the clouds, and looks down with a lordly air upon the surrounding world.
On this m, the weather was of that voluptuous vernal kind which calls forth all the latent romance of a mans temperament, ?lling his mind with musid disposing him to quote poetry and dream of beauty. In wandering through the mag saloons and long eg galleries of the castle I passed with indifference by whole rows of portraits of warriors and statesmen, but lingered in the chamber where hang the likenesses of the beauties which graced the gay court of Charles the Sed; and as I gazed upon them, depicted with amorous, half-dishevelled tresses, and the sleepy eye of love, I blessed the pencil of Sir Peter Lely, which bad thus enabled me to bask in the re?ected rays of beauty. In traversing also the "large green courts," with sunshine beaming on the gray walls and glang along the velvet turf, my mind was engrossed with the image of the tehe gallant, but hapless Surrey, and his at of his ls about them in his stripling days, when enamoured of the Lady Geraldine--
"With eyes cast up unto the maidens tower,
With easie sighs, such as men draw in love."
In this mood of mere poetical susceptibility, I visited the a keep of the castle, where James the First of Scotland, the pride and theme of Scottish poets and historians, was for many years of his youth detained a prisoner of state. It is a large gray tower, that has stood the brunt of ages, and is still in good preservation. It stands on a mound which elevates it above the other parts of the castle, and a great ?ight of steps leads to the interior. In the armory, a Gothic hall furnished with ons of various kinds and ages, I was shown a coat of armor hanging against the wall, which had once beloo James.
Hence I was ducted up a staircase to a suite of apartments, of faded magni?ce, hung with storied tapestry, whied his prison, and the se of that passionate and fanciful amour, which has woven into the web of his story the magical hues of poetry and ?.
The whole history of this amiable but unfortunate prince is highly romantic. At the tender age of eleven, he was sent from home by his father, Robert III., ained for the French court, to be reared uhe eye of the French monarch, secure from the treachery and dahat surrouhe royal house of Scotland. It was his mishap, in the course of his voyage, to fall into the hands of the English, and he was detained prisoner by Henry IV., notwithstanding that a truce existed betweewo tries.
The intelligence of his capture, ing irain of many sorrows and disasters, proved fatal to his unhappy father. "The news," we are told, "was brought to him while at supper, and did so overwhelm him with grief that he was almost ready to give up the ghost into the hands of the servants that attended him. But being carried to his bedchamber, he abstained from all food, and in three days died of hunger and grief at Rothe