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But first upon my true-love's grave my weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf that wraps his breathless clay."

"Yet stay, fair lady! rest awhile beneath this cloister wall;

See, through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, and drizzly rain doth fal' "
"Oh, stay me not, thou holy friar; oh, stay me not, I pray;
No drizzly rain that falls on me can wash my fault away."

"Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, and dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of gray thy own true-love appears.
Here, forced by grief and hopeless love, these holy weeds I sought;
And here amid these lonely walls to end my days I thought.
But haply, (for my year of grace is not yet pass'd away,)
Might I still hope to win thy love, no longer would I stay."

"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy once more unto my heart; For since I have found thee, lovely youth, we never more will part.”

5.-LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.-Tennyson.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, of me you shall not win renown:

You thought to break a country heart for pastime, ere you went to town.
At me you smiled, but, unbeguiled, I saw the snare and I retired :
The daughter of a hundred Earls, you are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name;
Your pride is yet no mate for mine, too proud to care from whence I came.
Nor would I break for your sweet sake a heart that doats on truer charms,
A simple maiden in her flower is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere, some meeker pupil you must find,

For were you queen of all that is, I could not stoop to such a mind.
You sought to prove how I could love,—and my disdain is my reply!
The lion on your old stone gates is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, you put strange memories in my head:

Not thrice your branching limes have blown since I beheld young Laurence dead.

Oh, your sweet eyes, your low replies! a great enchantress you may be;
But there was that across his throat which you had hardly cared to see!

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, when thus he met his mother's view,
She had the passions of her kind,—she spake some certain truths of you.
Indeed I heard one bitter word that scarce is fit for you to hear;

Her manners had not that repose which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.

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Lady Clara Vere de Vere, there stands a spectre in your hall:
The guilt of blood is at your door: you changed a wholesome heart to gall!
You held your course without remorse, to make him trust his modest worth,
And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare, and slew him with your noble birth!

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, from yon blue heavens above us bent
The grand old gardener and his wife smile at the claims of long descent.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'tis only noble to be good:

Kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood.
I know you, Clara Vere de Vere: you pine among your halls and towers:
The languid light of your proud eyes is wearied of the rolling hours.
In glowing health, with boundless wealth, but sickening of a vague disease,
You know so ill to deal with time, you needs must play such pranks as
these.

Clara Clara Vere de Vere! if Time be heavy on your hands,

Are there no beggars at your gate, nor any poor about your lands?
Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read, or teach the orphan-girl to sew;
Pray Heaven for a human heart,—and let the foolish yeoman go.

6.-CORMAC AND MARY.-T. Crofton Croker

"She is not dead-she has no grave-she lives beneath Lough Corrib's water;

And in the murmur of each wave, methinks I catch the songs I taught her."
Thus many an evening on the shore sat Cormac, raving wild and lowly;
Still idly muttering o'er and o'er, "She lives, detained by spells unholy.
Death claims her not; too fair for earth, her spirit lives-alien of heaven;
Nor will it know a second birth when sinful mortals are forgiven!
Cold is this rock-the wind comes chill, and mists the gloomy waters cover;
But, oh! her soul is colder still-to lose her God-to leave her lover!"
The lake was in profound repose, yet one white wave came gently curling,
And, as it reach'd the shore, arose dim figures-banners gay unfurling.
Onward they move-an airy crowd: through each thin form a moonlight
ray shone;

While spear and helm, in pageant proud, appear in liquid undulation.

Bright barbed steeds curvetting tread their trackless way, with antic capers; And curtain clouds hang overhead, festoon'd by rainbow-colour'd vapours. And when a breath of air would stir that drapery of Heaven's own wreathing, Light wings of prismy gossamer just moved and sparkled to the breathing

Nor wanting was the choral song, swelling in silvery chimes of sweetness; To sound of which, this subtile throng advanced in playful grace and fleetness. With music's strain, all came and went upon poor Cormac's doubting vision; Now rising in wild merriment, now softly fading in derision.

"Christ, save her soul!" he boldly cried; and, when that blessed name was spoken,

Fierce yells and fiendish shrieks replied, and vanished all!—the spell was broken....

And now on Corrib's lonely shore, freed by his word from power of faëry, To life, to love, restored once more, Young Cormac welcomes back his Mary.

7. THE ARMADA.-Macaulay.

Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise :
I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,
When that great Fleet Invincible against her bore, in vain,
The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,
There came a gallant merchant-ship, full sail to Plymouth bay;
Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,
At earliest twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile!........
Forthwith a guard, at every gun, was placed along the wall;
The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall;
Many a light fishing-bark put out, to pry along the coast;
And, with loose rein and bloody spur, rode inland many a post.
With his white hair, unbonnetted, the stout old Sheriff comes;
Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums;
And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
As slow, upon the labouring wind, the royal standard swells.
Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,
And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down!

"Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, sir knight! ho! scatter flowers, fair maids! Ho, gunners! fire a loud salute! ho, gallants! draw your blades!

Thou, sun, shine on her joyously! ye breezes, waft her wide!

Our glorious semper eadem! the banner of our pride!"

The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold—
The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;
Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea;
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.

The bugle's note, and cannon's roar the deathlike silence broke.
And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke;
At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires;
At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear,
And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer:
And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,
And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each rousing street.

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,

As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in;
And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still;

All night from tower to tower they sprang, they sprang from hill to hill;
Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales;
Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales;
Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height;
Till streamed in crimson, on the wind, the Wrekin's crest of light.
Till, broad and fierce, the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,
And town and hamlet rose in arms, o'er all the boundless plain:
Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale of Trent;
Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile,
And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.

8.-THE BALLAD OF THE BOAT.-Garnett.

The stream was as smooth as glass; we said, “Arise and let's away:"
The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay;

With sail full spread and feathered oar, we gaily took our way:-
When shall the sandy bar be cross'd? when shall we find the bay?
The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattle-dotted plains,
The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy rains;
The labourer looks up to see our shallop speed away :-
When shall the sandy bar be cross'd? when shall we find the bay?
Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun, superbly large,
Slow as an oak to woodman's stroke, sinks flaming at their marge.
The waves are bright with mirror'd light as jacinths on our way :-
When shall the sandy bar be cross'd? when shall we find the bay?

The moon is high up in the sky, and now no more we see
The spreading river's woody bank; and surging distantly

There booms a sullen thunder as of breakers far away :

Now shall the sandy bar be cross'd! now shall we find the bay!

The sea-gull shrieks high overhead; and dimly to our sight

The moon-lit crests of foaming waves gleam towering through the night.
We'll steal upon the Mermaid soon, and start her from her lay,
When once the sandy bar is cross'd, and we are in the bay!

What rises white and awful as a shroud-enfolded ghost?
What roar of rampant tumult bursts in clangour on the coast?
Pull back! pull back! The raging flood sweeps every oar away :-
O stream, is this the bar of sand? O boat, is this thy bay?

-THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS (Translation).-Delavigne.
On the deck stood Columbus :-the ocean's expanse,

Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance.

"Back to Spain!" cry his men; "Put the vessel about!
We venture no further through danger and doubt."-
"Three days, and I give you a world !" he replied;
"Bear up, my brave comrades ;-three days shall decide."
He sails, but no token of land is in sight;

He sails,—but the day shows no more than the night ;—
On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee
The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea.

The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o'er
The rudder which creaks 'mid the billowy roar;
He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast,
And its funeral-wail through the shrouds of the mast;
The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies,
And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified eyes;
But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night,
Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light.

"Columbus! 'tis day, and the darkness is o'er."

"Day! and what dost thou see?"-"Sky and ocean. No more!"

The second day's past, and Columbus is sleeping,

While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping:

"Shall he perish ?"-" Ay! death !" is the barbarous cry;
"He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must die !"
Ungrateful and blind!-shall the world-linking sea,

He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be?

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