The swannerds, where their sedges are, And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth; Then some looked uppe into the sky, And where the lordly steeple shows. "For evil news from Mablethorpe, They have not spared to wake the towne; 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." With that he cried and beat his breast; And uppe the Lindis raging sped. And rearing Lindis, backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again. THE MORNING-GLORY. WE wreathed about our darling's head Her little face looked out beneath So lit as with a sunrise, So always from that happy time For sure as morning came, To catch the first faint ray, As from the trellis smiles the flower But not so beautiful they rear Their airy cups of blue, As turned her sweet eyes to the light, Round their supports are thrown, As those dear arms whose outstretched plea Clasped all hearts to her own. There is a solitary tomb, with rankling weeds o'ergrown, A single palm bends mournfully beside the mouldering stone Amidst whose leaves the passing breeze with fitful gust and slow Seems sighing forth a feeble dirge for him who sleeps below. Beside, its sparkling drops of foam a desert fountain 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 inspiring light? Chief of a progeny of kings renowned and feared afar, How is thy boasted name forgot, and dimmed thine honor's star! 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; Nor is there any one in sight It was a cove, a huge recess, A silent tarn below! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud, Nor far had gone before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks On which the traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder, for whose sake 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 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 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, hiş constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.] I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide : POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was | And more stately thy couch by this desert lake yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain lying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, SIR WALTER SCOTT, COEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS [The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey-church of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Coeur de Lion, who, Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly decay, Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, When a prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, In the proudly arched chapel the banners are reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the TORCHES were blazing clear, Banners of battle o'er him hung, In the church of Fontevraud. And warriors slept beneath, The marble floor was swept By many a long dark stole, As the kneeling priests, round him that slept, Through the stillness of the night, With the cross above, and the crown and sword, There was heard a heavy clang, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is stream- A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle ing, Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, With a mail-clad leader came. He came with haughty look, But his proud heart through its breastplate shook An eagle glance and clear; 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 Cœur de Lion gazed! "Thou wert the noblest king On royal throne ere seen; And thou didst wear in knightly ring, Of all, the stateliest mien ; His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went ; He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent; And thou didst prove, where spears are proved, A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand In war, the bravest heart, O, ever the renowned 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 climbed thy parent knee! he took, |