Better he loves each golden curl
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl :

And his rose of the isles is dying !

“Play uppe, play uppe, o Boston bells ! Ply all your changes, all your swells !

Play uppe The Brides of Enderby!"

Men say it was a "stolen tyde,".

The Lord that sent it, he knows all, But in myne ears doth still abide

The message that the bells let fall; And there was naught of strange, beside The flights of mews and peewits pieu,

By millions crouched on the old sea-wall.

Thirty nobles saddled with speed ;

(Hurry !) Each one mounting a gallant steed Which he kept for battle and days of need ;

(0, ride as though you were flying !) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank ; Worn-out chargers staggered and sank ; Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst; But ride as they would, the king rode first, For his rose of the isles lay dying ! His nobles are beaten, one by one ;

(Hurry :) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward

gone ; His little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for courage trying ! The king looked back at that faithful child ; Wan was the face that answering smiled ; They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropped ; and only the king rode in

Where his rose of the isles lay dying!

I sat and spun within the doore ;

My thread brake off, I raised myne eres : The level sun, like ruddy ore,

Lay sinking in the barren skies ; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth! My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

“Cusha! Cusha ! Cusha !" calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
“Cusha ! Cusha!" all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,

Floweth, floweth,
From the meads where melick groveth,
Faintly came her milking-song.

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn ;

(Silence !) No answer came; but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold gray morn,

Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wille ; None welcomed the king from that weary ride ; For dead, in the light of the dawning day, The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,

Who had yearned for his voice while dying !

“Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !" calling,
“For the dews will soone be falling;
Leave your meadow grasses mellow,

Mellow, mellow !
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow !
Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot!
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow ! Come uppe, Jetty! rise and follow; From the clovers list your head ! Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot? Come uppe, Jetty ! rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking-shed."

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If it be long — ay, long ago —

When I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow,

Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong ; And all the aire, it seemeth mee, Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderly.




The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,

The ringers ran by two, by three; “Pull ! if ye never pulled before ;

Good ringers, pull your best,” quoth hee.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where, full syve good miles away,

The steeple towered from out the greene. And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide.

Then bankes came downe with ruinand rout, -
Then beaten foam flew round about,
Then all the mighty floods were out.

So farre, so fast, the eygre drave,

The heart had hardly time to beat Before a shallow seething wave

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea.

Upon the roofe we sate that night ;

The noise of bells went sweeping by ; I marked the lofty beacon light

Stream from the church tower, redand high, A lurid mark, and dread to see ; And awsome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang Enderby.

They rang the sailor lads to guide,

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; And I, — my sonne was at my side,

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ;
And yet he moaned beneath his breath,
“O, come in life, or come in death!
O lost ! my love, Elizabeth !”

The swannerds, where their sedges are,

Moved on in sunset's golden breath ;
The shepherde lads I heard afarre,

And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth ;
Till, floating o'er the grassy sea,
Came downe that kyndly message free,
The Brides of Mavis Enderby.
Then some looked uppe into the sky,

And all along where Lindis flows
To where the goodly vessels lie,

And where the lordly steeple shows.
They sayde, “ And why should this thing be,
What danger lowers by land or sea ?
They ring the tune of Enderby.
“For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys, warping down,
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,

They have not spared to wake the towne ;
But while the west bin red to see,
And storms be none, and pyrates flee,
Why ring The Brides of Enderby ?
I looked without, and lo! my sonne

Came riding downe with might and main ;
He raised a shout as he drew on,

Till all the welkin rang again :
“Elizabeth ! Elizabeth !”
(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)
“The olde sea-wall” (he cryed) “is downe !

The rising tide comes on apace ;
And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place !"
He shook as one that looks on death :
“God save you, mother!” straight he sayth ;

Where is my wife, Elizabeth ?"
“Good sonne, where Lindis winds away

With her two bairns I marked her long;
And ere yon bells beganne to play,

Afar I heard her milking-song."
He looked across the grassy sea,
To right, to left, Ho, Enderby!
They rang The Brides of Entlerby.
With that he cried and beat his breast;

For lo ! along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,

And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noises loud,
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare, The waters laid thee at his doore

Ere yet the early dawn was clear :
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace,
The lifted sun shone on thy face,
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.
That flow strewed wrecks about the grass,

That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea,
A fatal ebbe and flow, alas !

To manye more than myne and mee ; But each will mourne his own (she sayth) And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

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I shall never hear her more
By the reedy Lindis shore,
“Cusha! Cusha ! Cusha !” calling,
Ere the early dews be falling ;
I shall never hear her song,
“Cusha ! Cusha!” all along,
Where the sunny Lindis floweth,

Goeth, floweth,
From the meads where melick groweth,
Where the water, winding down,
Onward floweth to the town.

And rearing Lindis, backwarıl pressed,

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

I shall never see her more,
Where the reeds and rushes quiver,

Shiver, quiver,
Stand beside the sobbing river,

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A voice from stately Babylon, a mourner's rising

cry, And Lydia's marble palaces give back their deep

reply ; And like the sounds of distant winds o'er ocean's

billows sent, Ecbatana, thy storied walls send forth the wild


We wreathed about our darling's head

The morning-glory bright;
Her little face looked out beneath

So full of life and light,
So lit as with a sunrise,

That we could only say, “She is the morning-glory true,

And her poor types are they.' So always from that happy time

We called her by their name, And very sitting did it seem,

For sure as morning came,
Behind her cradle bars she smiled

To catch the first faint ray,
As from the trellis smiles the flower

And opens to the day.
But not so beautiful they rear

Their airy cups of blue,
As turned her sweet eyes to the light,

Brimmed with sleep's tender dew ;
And not so close their tendrils fine

Round their supports are thrown, As those clear arms whose outstretched plca

Claspred all hearts to her own.

For he, the dreaded arbiter, a dawning empire's

trust, The eagle child of victory, the great, the wise, the

just, Assyria's famed and conquering sword, and Media's

regal strength, Hath bowed his head to earth beneath a mightier

hand at length.

And darkly through a sorrowing land Euphrates

winds along, And Cydnus with its silver wave hath heard the

funeral song ; And through the wide and sultry East, and throngh

the frozen North, The tabret and the harp are hushed, the wail of

grief goes forth.

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There is a solitary tomb, with rankling weeds o'er

grown, A single palm bends mournfully beside the mould.

ering stone Amidst whose leaves the passing breeze with fit

ful gust and slow Seems sighing forth a feeble dirge for him who

sleeps below. Beside, its sparkling drops of foam a desert foun

tain showers; And, floating calm, the lotus wreathes its red and

scented flowers, Here lurks the mountain fox unseen beside the

vulture's nest; And steals the wild hyena forth, in lone and silent

quest. Is this deserted resting-place the couch of fallen

might? And ends the path of glory thus, and fame's in

spiring light? Chief of a progeny of kings renowned and feared

afar, Howisthy boasted name forgot, and dimmed thine

honor's star! Approach, — what saith the graven verse ? “Alas

for human priile ! Dominion's envied gifts were mine, nor earth

her praise denied. Thou traveller, if a suppliant's voice find echo in

thy breast, 0, envy not the little dust that hides my mortal


in our aching en er thy green piin! y deus toogtes is to sustain ; Oves of Paradise

we shall come
elry beautiful
7d our dear Lord's best

Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway, or cultivated land, From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; The crags repeat the raven's croak In symphony austere ; Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud, And mists that spread the flying shroud ; And sunbeams; and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past, But that enormous barrier holds it fast. Not free from boding thoughts, awhile The shepherd stood ; then makes his way O'er rocks and stones, following the dog As quickly as he may ; Nor far had gone before he found A human skeleton on the ground. The appalled discoverer with a sigh Looks round to learn the history. From those abrupt and perilous rocks The man had fallen, that place of fear ! At length upon the shepherd's mind It breaks, and all is clear. He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came; Remembered, too, the very day On which the traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder, for whose sake This lamentable tale I tell ! A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well. The dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This dog had been through three months' space A dweller in that savage place. Yes, proof was plain, that, since the day When this ill-fated traveller died, The dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side. How nourished here through such long time He knows who gave that love sublime, And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate !


e?y Babylon, a names


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HELVELLYN. A BARKING sound the shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox; He halts, and searches with his eyes Among the scattered rocks ; And now at distance can discern A stirring in a brake' of fern; And instantly a dog is seen, Glancing through that covert green. The dog is not of mountain breed ; Its motions, too, are wild and shy, With something, as the shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry; Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear. What is the creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below ! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,



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HELVELLYN. [In the spring of 1805 a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months af. terwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. I I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty He'vellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed

misty and wide :

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reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the

All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was And more stately thy couch by this desert lake yelling,

lying, And starting around me the echoes replied. Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, On the right, Striden Edge round the Red Tarn With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, was bending,

In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.


FATHER. Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain

(The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey-church heather,

of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Caur de Lion, who Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitreris decay,

means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.] Like the corpse ofan outcast abandoned to weather,

Torches were blazing clear, Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay.

Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, Where a king lay stately on his bier

In the church of Fontevraud.
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended, Banners of battle o'er him hung,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

And warriors slept beneath,
And light, as noon's broad light was flung

On the settled face of death.
How long didst thou think that his silence was

On the settled face of death When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?

A strong and ruddy glare, How many long days and long nights didst thou Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath,

Yet it fell still brightest there; number Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ?

As if each deeply furrowed trace And, 0, was it meet that — no requiem read

Of earthly years to show,

Alas ! that sceptred mortal's race o'er him, No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore

Had surely closed in woe! him,

The marble floor was swept And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before

By many a long dark stole, him

As the kneeling priests, round him that slept, Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart?

Sang mass for the parted soul ;

And solemn were the strains they poured When a prince to the fate of the Peasant has

Through the stillness of the night, yielded,

With the cross above, and the crown and sword, The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted

And the silent king in sight. hall, With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,

There was heard a heavy clang, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : As of steel-girt men the tread, Through the courts, at deep midnight, the And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang torches are gleaming;

With a sounding thrill of dread ; In the proudly arched chapel the banners are And the holy chant was hushed awhile, beaming ;

As, by the torch's flame, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is stream. A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle ing,

With a mail-clad leader came. Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.

He came with haughty look, But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

An eagle glance and clear ; To lay down thy head like the meek mountain But his proud heart through its breastplate shook lamb,

When he stood beside the bier ! When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge He stood there still with a drooping brow, in stature,

And clasped hands o'er it raised ;And draws his last sob by the side of his for his father lay before him low, dam.

It was Caur de Lion gazed !

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