Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be,
As more of heav'n in each we see:
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain
Untired we ask, and ask again,—
Ever, in its melodious store,
Finding a spell unheard before;
Such is the bliss of souls serene,
When they have sworn, and stedfast mean,
Counting the cost, in all to espy
Their GOD, in all themselves deny.
O could we learn that sacrifice,
What lights would all around us rise!
How would our hearts with wisdom talk,
Along life's dullest dreariest walk!
We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,
Our neighbour and our work farewell,
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high
For sinful man beneath the sky:—
The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask;
Room to deny ourselves; a road
To bring us, daily, nearer GOD.
Seek we no more; content with these,
Let present rapture, comfort, ease,
As heav'n shall bid them come and go :
The secret this of rest below.
Only, O Lord, in thy dear love,
Fit us for perfect rest above;
And help us this, and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.
99. THE DEATH-BED.
E watch'd her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.
So silently we seem'd to speak,
So slowly moved about,
As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied-
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.
For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids closed-she had
Another morn than ours.
HEN spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil;
When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood ;-
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns its Maker good.
The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade,
The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the drowsy glade,
The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,
The moon and stars, their Master's name in silent pomp display.
Shall man, the lord of Nature, expectant of the sky,
Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny ?
No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love, and, Saviour, honour Thee.
The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade,
The autumn droop in winter, the birds forsake the shade;
The winds be lull'd-the sun and moon forget their old decree;
But we in Nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee.
101. THE DEATH OF DE BOUNE AT
BANNOCKBOURNE.
[From THE LORD OF THE ISLES.]
OH gay, yet fearful to behold,
Flashing with steel, and rough with gold,
And bristled o'er with bills and spears,
With plumes and pennons waving fair,
Was that bright battle front! for there
Rode England's king and peers.
And who that saw the monarch ride,
His kingdom battled by his side,
Could then his direful doom foretell?.
Fair was his seat in knightly selle,*
And in his sprightly eye was set
Some spark of the Plantagenet.
Though light and wandering was his glance,
It flash'd at sight of shield and lance.
"Know'st thou," he said, "De Argentine,
Yon knight who marshals Scotland's line?".
"The tokens on his helmet tell
The Bruce, my liege: I know him well." "And shall the audacious traitor brave The presence where our banners wave?" "So please my liege," said Argentine, "Were he but horsed on steed like mine, To give him fair and knightly chance, I would adventure forth my lance." "In battle-day," the king replied, "Nice tournay rules are set aside.
- Still must the rebel dare our wrath?
Set on him-sweep him from our path!"
And, at King Edward's signal, soon
Dash'd from the ranks Sir Henry Boune.
Of Hereford's high blood he came,
A race renown'd for knightly fame:
He burn'd before his monarch's eye
To do some deed of chivalry:
He spurr'd his steed, he couch'd his lance,
And darted on the Bruce at once.
-As motionless as rocks, that bide
The wrath of the advancing tide,
The Bruce stood fast. Each breast beat high,
And dazzled was each gazing eye;
The heart had hardly time to think,
The eyelid scarce had time to wink,
While on the king, like flash of flame,
Spurr'd to full speed the war-horse came!
The partridge may the falcon mock,
If that slight palfrey stand the shock:
But, swerving from the knight's career,
Just as they met, Bruce shunn'd the spear.
Onward the baffled warrior bore
-but soon his course was o'er!. High in his stirrups stood the king, And gave his battle-axe the swing: Right on De Boune, the whiles he pass'd, Fell that stern dint-the first-the last! Such strength upon the blow was put, The helmet crash'd like hazel-nut; The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, Was shiver'd to the gauntlet-grasp. Springs from the blow the startled horse, Drops to the plain the lifeless corse! First of that fatal field, how soon, How sudden, fell the fierce De Boune!
|