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--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 breast-plate

shook,

When he stood beside the bier !
He stood there still with a drooping brow,

And clasp'd hands o'er it raised ;
For his father lay before him low,

It was Ceur-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, ev'n 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 couldst thou strive ;-
Oh! for one moment of the past,

To kneel and say Forgive!'

“ Thou wert the noblest king,

On royal throne e'er 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 heart-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 VASSAL’S LAMENT FOR THE

FALLEN TREE.

“ Here (at Brereton 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 !

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