Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed:
With accents that falter her promise is made—
From father and mother for ever to part,
For him and no other to treasure her heart.
The words are repeated, the bridal is done,
The rite is completed-the two, they are one;
The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart,
That must not be broken till life shall depart.
Hark! 'mid the gay clangour that compassed their
Loud accents in anger come mingling afar!
The foe's on the border! his weapons resound
Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found!
As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold,
When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold,
So rises already the Chief in his mail,
While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale.
"Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife,
For sister and mother, for children and wife!
O'er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain,
Up, true men, and follow! let dastards remain!"
Farrah! to the battle!-They form into line-
The shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they
shine!
Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue—
On, burgher and yeoman! to die or to do!
The eve is declining in lone Malahide :
The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride ;
She marks them unheeding-her heart is afar,
Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the war.
Hark! loud from the mountain-'tis victory's cry
O'er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky!
The foe has retreated! he flees to the shore;
The spoiler's defeated-the combat is o'er!
With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come-
But why have they muffled the lance and the drum?
What form do they carry aloft on his shield?
And where does he tarry, the lord of the field?
Ye saw him at morning, how gallant and gay!
In bridal adorning, the star of the day;
Now, weep for the lover-his triumph is sped,
His hope it is over! the chieftain is dead!
But, oh! for the maiden who mourns for that chief,
With heart overladen and rending with grief!
She sinks on the meadow:-in one morning-tide,
A wife and a widow, a maid and a bride!
Ye maidens attending, forbear to condole !
Your comfort is rending the depths of her soul:
True, true, 'twas a story for ages of pride;
He died in his glory-but, oh, he has died!
The war-cloak she raises all mournfully now,
And steadfastly gazes upon the cold brow;
That glance may for ever unaltered remain,
But the bridegroom will never return it again.
The death-bells are tolling in sad Malahide,
The death-wail is rolling along the sea-side;
The crowds, heavy hearted, withdraw from the green,
For the sun has departed that brightened the scene!
How scant was the warning, how briefly revealed, Before on that morning death's chalice was filled! Thus passes each pleasure that earth can supplyThus joy has its measure-we live but to die!
I COME from haunts of coot and heron,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles;
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter as I flow
To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling;
And here and there a foaming flake
Upon me, as I travel,
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,—
And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
THE tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground;
'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increased with years
So much, that in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.
This great affection to believe,
Which all confess but few perceive,
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.
When sports went round, and all were gay, On neighbour Dodson's wedding-day, Death called aside the jocund groom With him into another room,
And looking grave-"You must," says he, "Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." "With you! and quit my Susan's side? With you!" the hapless husband cried; "Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard! Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared: My thoughts on other matters go; This is my wedding day you know."
What more he urged I have not heard,
His reason could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a serious look,
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke-
"Neighbour," he said, "farewell! no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour:
And further, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have
Before you're summoned to the grave:
Willing for once I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve;
In hopes you'll have no more to say;
But when I call again this way,
Well pleased the world will leave."
To these conditions both consented,
And parted, perfectly contented.
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