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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 clay,
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 undone,
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,

In war, the bravest heartOh! 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 VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN TREE.

?" Here (at Bereton in Cheshire) is one thing incredibly strange, but

attested, as I myself have heard, by many persons, and commonly
believed. Before any heir of this family dies, there are seen, in a
lake adjoining, the bodies of trees swimming on the water for
several days.”—CAMDEN's Britannia.]
Yes! I have seen the ancient oak

On the dark deep water cast,
And it was not felld by the woodman's stroke,

Or the rush of the sweeping blast;
For the axe might never touch that tree,
And the air was still as a summer sea.
I saw it fall, as falls a chief

By an arrow in the fight,
And the old woods shook, to their loftiest leaf,

At the crashing of its might!
And the startled deer to their coverts drew,
And the spray of the lake as a fountain's flew !
'Tis fallen! but think thou not I weep

For the forest's pride o'erthrown;
An old man's tears lie far too deep

To be pour'd for this alone!
But by that sign too well I know,
That a youthful head must soon be low!
A youthful head, with its shining hair,

And its bright quick-flashing eye--
Well may I weep! for the boy is fair,

Too fair a thing to die !
But on his brow the mark is set
Oh! could my life redeem him yet!
He bounded by me as I gazed

Alone on the fatal sign,
And it seem'd like sunshine when he raised

His joyous glance to mine!
With a stag's fleet step he bounded by,
So full of life—but he must die!

He must, he must! in that deep dell,

By that dark water's side,
'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell

But an heir of his fathers died.
And he-there's laughter in his eye,
Joy in his voice-yet he must die !
I've borne him in these arms, that now

Are nerveless and unstrung;
And must I see, on that fair brow,

The dust untimely fung?
I must !-yon green oak, branch and crest,
Lies floating on the dark lake's breast!
The noble boy !-how proudly sprung

The falcon from his hand!
It seem'd like youth to see him young,

A flower in his father's land!
But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh,
For the tree hath fall'n, and the Aower must die
Say not 'tis vain !-I tell thee, some

Are warn'd by a meteor's light,
Or a pale bird, fitting, calls them home,

Or a voice on the winds by night;
And they must go and he too, he-
Woe for the fall of the glorious Tree!

THE WILD HUNTSMAN.

It is a popular belief in the Odenwald, that the passing of the Wild Huntsman announces the approach of war. He is supposed to issue with his train from the ruined castle of Rodenstein, and tra verse the air to the opposite castle of Schnellerts. It is confidently asserted, that the sound of his phantom, horses and hounds was heard by the Duke of Baden before the commencement of the last war in Germany.)

Tuy rest was deep at the slumberer's hour,

If thou didst not hear the blast
Of the savage horn from the mountain tower,

As the Wild Night-Huntsman pass’d,
And the roar of the stormy chase went by,

Through the dark unquiet sky!
The stag sprung up from his mossy bed

When he caught the piercing sounds,
And the oak-boughs crash'd to his antler'd head

As he flew from the viewless hounds;
And the facon soard from her craggy height,

Away through the rushing night!
The banner shook on its ancient hold,

And the pine in its desert place,
As the cloud and tempest onward roll'd

With the din of the trampling race;
And the glens were fill’d with the laugh and shout,

And the bugle ringing out!
From the chieftain's hand the wine-cup fell,

At the castle's festive board,
And a sudden pause came o'er the swell

Of the harp's triumphal chord ;
And the Minnesinger's* thrilling lay

In the hall died fast away.
The convent's chanted rite was stay'd

And the hermit dropp'd his beads,
And a trembling ran through the forest-shade,

At the neigh of the phantom steeds,
And the church-bells peal’d to the rocking blast

As the Wild Night-Huntsman passid.
The storm hath swept with the chase away.

There is stillness in the sky;
But the mother looks on her son to-day,

With a troubled heart and eye,
And the maiden's brow hath a shade of care

'Midst the gleam of her golden hair!
The Rhine flows bright; but its waves erelong

Must hear a voice of war,
And a clash of spears our hills among,

And a trumpet from afar;
And the brave on a bloody turf must lie.

For the Huntsman hath gone by!

BRANDENBURG HARVEST-SONG.

FROM THE GERMAN OF LA MOTTE FOUQUE.

The corn, in golden light

Waves o'er the plain;
The sickle’s gleam is bright;

Full swells the grain.
Now send we far around

Our harvest lay
Alas! a heavier sound

Comes o'er the day!
Earth shrouds with burial sod

Her soft eye's blue,-
How o'er the gifts of God

Fall tears like dew!

* Minnesinger, love-singer,—the wandering minstrels of Germany were so called in the middle ages. For the year of the Queen of Prussia's death

On every breeze a knell

The hamlets pour,We know its cause too well,

She is no more!

THE SHADE OF THESEUS.

AN ANCIENT GREEK TRADITION.

KNOW ye not when our dead

From sleep to battle sprung ?-, When the Persian charger's tread

On their covering greensward rung.
When the trampling march of foes

Had crush'd our vines and flowers,
When jewel'd crests arose
Through the holy laurel bowers;

When banners caught the breeze,

When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,

And spears on Marathon.
There was one, a leader crown'd,

And arm’d for Greece that day; But the falchions made no sound

On his gleaming war-array. In the battle's front he stood,

With his tall and shadowy crest; But the arrows drew no blood, Though their path was through his breast

When banners caught the breeze,

When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,

And spears on Marathon.
His sword was seen to flash

Where the boldest deeds were done ; But it smote without a clash:

The stroke was heard by none ! His voice was not of those

That swell’d the rolling blast, And his steps fell hush'd like snows. 'Twas the Shade of Theseus pass'd!

When banners caught the breeze,

When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,

And spears on Marathon.
Far sweeping through the foe,

With a fiery charge he bore;

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