CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER.

TORCHES were blazing clear,
Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier
In the church of Fontevraud.
Banners of battle o'er him hung,
And warriors slept beneath,
And light, as noon's broad light was flung
On the settled face of death.

On the settled face of death

A strong and ruddy glare,

Though dimm'd at times by the censer's breath,
Yet it fell still brightest there :

As if each deeply furrow'd trace
Of earthly years to show,-
Alas! that sceptred mortal's race
Had surely closed in woe!

The marble floor was swept
By many a long dark stole,

As the kneeling priests, round him that slept,
Sang mass for the parted soul:

And solemn were the strains they pour'd

Through the stillness of the night,

With the cross above, and the crown and sword, And the silent king in sight.

There was heard a heavy clang,
As of steel-girt men the tread,
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
With a sounding thrill of dread;

And the holy chant was hush'd awhile,
As, by the torch's flame,

A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle,
With a mail-clad leader came.

He came with haughty look,
An eagle-glance and clear;

But his proud heart through its breastplate shook,
When he stood beside the bier!

He stood there still with a drooping brow,

And clasped hands o'er it raised ;—

For his father lay before him low,
It was Cœur de Lion gazed!

And silently he strove

With the workings of his breast;
But there's more in late repentant love
Than steel may keep suppress'd!

And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain,—
Men held their breath in awe,

For his face was seen by his warrior train,
And he reck'd not that they saw.

He look'd upon the dead,
And sorrow seem'd to lie,

A weight of sorrow, even like lead,
Pale on the fast-shut eye.

He stoop'd-and kiss'd the frozen cheek And the heavy hand of cla

Till bursting words-yet all too weak-
Gave his soul's passion way.

"Oh, father! is it vain,
This late remorse and deep?
Speak to me, father! once again,
I weep-behold, I weep!
Alas! my guilty pride and ire!

Were but this work undor.e

I would give England's crown, my sire! To hear thee bless thy son.

"Speak to me! mighty grief

Ere now the dust hath stirr'd! Hear me, but hear me !-father, chief, My king! I must be heard!Hush'd, hush'd-how is it that I call, And that thou answerest not? When was it thus, woe, woe for all The love my soul forgot!

"Thy silver hairs I see,
So still, so sadly bright!
And father, father! but for me,

They had not been so white!
I bore thee down, high heart! at last,
No longer could'st thou strive ;-
Oh! for one moment of the past,
To kneel and say—'forgive!'

"Thou wert the noblest king,
On royal throne ere seen :

And thou didst wear in knightly ring,
Of all, the stateliest mien;

And thou didst prove, where spears are proved, the bravest heart

In war,

Oh! ever the renown'd and loved

Thou wert-and there thou art!

"Thou that my boyhood's guide
Didst take fond joy to be!-
The times I've sported at thy side,
And climb'd thy parent knee !
And there before the blessed shrine,
My sire! I see thee lie,-

How will that sad still face of thine
Look on me till I die!"

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM
FATHERS.

THE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods, against a stormy sky Their giant branches toss'd;

And the heavy night hung dax

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moor'd their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came,
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear,

They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard and the sea!

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!

The ocean-eagle soar'd

From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roar'dThis was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim-band-

Why had they come to wither there
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?-
They sought a faith's pure shrine