That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore. Then lords whispered ladies, as well you may think, And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and wink: And the Prince, who in anger and shame had looked down, Turned at length to his daughter, and spoke with a frown: 'Now since thou hast published thy folly and guilt, E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast spilt; Yet sore for your boldness you both will repent, When you vent.' wander as exiles from fair Bene 'I restore,' says my master, 'the garment I poured forth as freely as flask gives its I've worn, And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn, wine: And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame, For its stains and its rents she should prize Do not doubt I will save her from suffering it the more, and shame; A fever fit, and then a chill; And then an end of human ill: For thou art dead. THE DEATH OF KEELDAR These verses, written in 1828, were published in The Gem, an annual edited by Hood. They accompanied an engraving from a painting by Cooper, suggested by the incident. UP rose the sun o'er moor and mead; The Palfrey sprung with sprightly bound, Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame, And right dear friends were they. The chase engrossed their joys and woes. And oft when evening skies were red Still hunted in his dream. The noble hound - he dies, he dies; Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes; Stiff on the bloody heath he lies Without a groan or quiver. Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, But he that bent the fatal bow 'And if it be, the shaft be blessed Which sure some erring aim addressed, Since in your service prized, caressed, I in your service die; And you may have a fleeter hound To match the dun-deer's merry bound, But by your couch will ne'er be found So true a guard as I.' And to his last stout Percy rued E'en with his dying voice he cried, Remembrance of the erring bow Conveying human bliss and woe But Art can Time's stern doom arrest THE SECRET TRIBUNAL From Anne of Geierstein, published in 1829. From Chapter xx. 'Philipson could perceive that the lights proceeded from many torches, borne by men muffled in black cloaks, like mourners at a funeral, or the Black Friars of Saint Francis's Order, wearing their cowls drawn over their heads, so as to conceal their features. They appeared anxiously engaged in measuring off a portion of the apartment; and, while occupied in that employment, they sung, in the ancient German language, rhymes more rude than Philipson could well understand, but which may be imitated thus:' |