The waters hurled the lumber mass down Of love that my heart will remember o'er the rocky steep: When it wakes to the pulse of the past, We heard a muffled rumbling and a rolling in Ere the world and its wickedness made me bore And flung into the wild abyss, where it was seen no more. And the glory of gladness within. Oh, my heart grows weak as a woman's, Ah, little naughty Brier-Rose, thou couldst When I think of paths steep and stony nor weave nor spin, Where the feet of the dear ones must go, Yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than all Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, thy mocking kin; Of the tempests of fate blowing wild. For thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by Oh, there is nothing on earth half so holy thy death to save A thousand farms and lives from the fury of the wave. And yet the adage lives in the valley of thy birth: I ask not a life for the dear ones. All radiant, as others have done, THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. But that life may have just enough shadow ' To temper the glare of the sun; I would pray God to guard them from evil, self. Ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner must pray for himself. 'ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain till time and toil its iron strength had spent. 'They come around me here and say my days of life are o'er That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more; They come, and to my beard they dare to tell me now that I, Their own liege lord and master born, that I -ha, ha!-must die. "And what is Death? I've dared him oft before the Paynim spear; Think ye he's entered at my gate-has come to seek me here? I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot; I'll try his might, I'll brave his power-defy, and fear him not. Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower and fire the culverin ; Bid each retainer arm with speed; call every vassal in; Up with my banner on the wall; the banquetboard prepare; Throw wide the portal of my hall and bring my armor there!" An hundred hands were busy then; the banquet forth was spread, And rang the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread; "Fill every beaker up, my men! Pour forth Whilst Lou and I shot flitting glances the cheering wine; There's life and strength in every drop: thanksgiving to the vine! Are ye all there, my vassals true? Mine eyes are waxing dim. Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim. "Ye're there, but yet I see you not. Draw forth each trusty sword, And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board. : Full of vague, unspoken dread. Had we hither come for quiet, Hither fled the city's noise, But to change it for the tumult. Of those horrid country-boys? Waking one with wild hallooing Early every summer day, Shooting robins, tossing kittens, Frightening the wrens away, I hear it faintly louder yet! What clogs Stumbling over trailing flounces, my heavy breath? Thumbing volumes gold and blue, Up, all, and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance Clamoring for sugared dainties, unto Death!'" Tracking earth the passage through,— Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and These and other kindred trials rose a deafening cry That made the torches flare around and shook the flags on high. "Ho, cravens, do ye fear him? Slaves, traitors, have ye flown? Fancied we with woeful sigh. "Those boys-those horrid boys-to-mor row!" Sadly whispered Lou and I. Ho, cowards, have ye left me to meet him I wrote those lines one happy summer; here alone? To-day I smile to read them o'er, |