American art and American art collections; essays on artistic subjects . e Murcian kings and laterthe property of the Lords of Marmion, ancestors of the hero of Scotts poem, where Mary, Queen ofScots, was once a prisoner; Middleton Hall, the home of Sir Hugh Willoughby, the first Englishexplorer of the Arctic regions; Lutterworth, where Wickliffe preached, wrote, and died; CoombeAbbey, where Elizabeth of Bohemia, the Queen of Hearts, spent her girlhood, and which her AMERICAN ART 377 chivalrous worshipper, Lord Craven, afterwards held for many years; Edge Hill, where the firstbattle between th
American art and American art collections; essays on artistic subjects . e Murcian kings and laterthe property of the Lords of Marmion, ancestors of the hero of Scotts poem, where Mary, Queen ofScots, was once a prisoner; Middleton Hall, the home of Sir Hugh Willoughby, the first Englishexplorer of the Arctic regions; Lutterworth, where Wickliffe preached, wrote, and died; CoombeAbbey, where Elizabeth of Bohemia, the Queen of Hearts, spent her girlhood, and which her AMERICAN ART 377 chivalrous worshipper, Lord Craven, afterwards held for many years; Edge Hill, where the firstbattle between the Royalists and Parliamentarians was fought in 1642; and Sulgrave, of specialinterest to Americans, as the ancestral home of the Washingtons. But far more renowned than allthese places, or those associated with the struggles of the first Charles and his fair queen, HenriettaMaria, the impetuous bravery of his nephew, Prince Rupert, or the wandering fortunes of his son,Charles II., after the battle of Worcester, is of course Stratford-on-Avon, the birthplace of William. At the Gamiwg-Table. Drawn by Peirce. Shakspeare, whose name, mightier than that of any king, makes this place of pilgrimage dear to allof English race. How many Americans have journeyed there and paid willing homage at theshrine of the immortal player-poet, drawn by that attraction which Robert Leightons fine linesacknowledge: — To Stratford-on-the-Avon. And we passedThrough aisles and avenues of the princeliest treesThat ever eyes beheld. None such with usHere in the bleaker north. And as we wentThrough Lucys park, the red day dropt i the west;A crimson glow, like blood in lovers cheeks,Spread up the soft, green sky and passed away;The mazy twilight came down on the lawns,And all those huge trees seemed to fall asleep ;The deer went past like shadows. All the parkLay round us like a dream ; and one fine thoughtHung over us, and hallowed all. Yea, he,The pride of England, glistened like a star,And beckoned us
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