220

THE BREEZE IN THE CHURCH.

It fanned the old clerk's hoary hair,
And the children's bright young faces;
Then vanished, none knew how or where,
Leaving its pleasant traces.

It left sweet thoughts of summer hours
Spent on the quiet mountains;

And the church seemed full of the scent of flowers,
And the trickling fall of fountains.

The image of scenes so still and fair
With our music sweetly blended,

While it seemed their whispered hymn took share
In the praise that to Heaven ascended.

We thought of Him who had poured the rills
And through the green mountains led them;
Whose hand, when he piled the enduring hills,
With a mantle of beauty spread them.

And a purer passion was borne above,
In a louder anthem swelling,

As we bowed to the visible spirit of love
On those calm summits dwelling.

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow.

222

THE TOAST.

I remember, I remember,
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
It was a childish ignorance;
But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

THE TOAST.

SCOTT.

THE feast is o'er! Now brimming wine
In lordly cup is seen to shine

Before each eager guest;

And silence fills the crowded hall,
As deep as when the herald's call
Thrills in the royal breast.

Then up arose the noble host,

And smiling cried : — “A toast, a toast,
To all our ladyes fair.
Here, before all, I pledge the name
Of Staunton's proud and beauteous dame,
The Ladye Gundamere."

Then to his feet each gallant sprung,
And joyous was the shout that rung
As Stanley gave the word:

And every cup was raised on high,
Nor ceased the loud and gladsome cry,

Till Stanley's voice was heard.

THE TOAST.

"Enough, enough," he smiling said,
And lowly bent his haughty head.
"That all may have their due,
Now each in turn must play his part,
And pledge the ladye of his heart,
Like gallant knight and true."

Then one by one each guest sprung up,
And drained in turn the brimming cup,
And named the loved one's name;
And each, as hand on high he raised,
His ladye's grace or beauty praised,
Her constancy and fame.

'Tis now St. Leon's turn to rise;
On him are fixed those countless eyes;
A gallant knight is he;
Envied by some, admired by all,
Far-famed in ladye's bower and hall,
The flower of chivalry.

St. Leon raised his kindling eye, And lifts the sparkling cup on high. "I drink to one," he said,

"Whose image never may depart,
Deep graven on this grateful heart,
Till memory be dead.

To one whose love for me shall last
When lighter passions long have passed,
So holy 'tis and true;

To one whose love hath longer dwelt,
More deeply fixed, more keenly felt,

Than any pledged by you."

223

Each guest upstarted at the word,
And laid a hand upon his sword,
With fury-flashing eye;

And Stanley said:

"We crave the name,

Proud knight, of this most peerless dame,
Whose love you count so high."

St. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless mood,
Thus lightly to another;

Then bent his noble head, as though
To give that word the reverence due,
And gently said, "My Mother!"

TIME.

YOUNG.

THE bell strikes one; we take no note of time,

But from its loss.

Is wise in man.

To give it, then, a tongue

As if an angel spoke,

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours.

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands despatch;

How much is to be done.