THE brave Roland !-the brave Roland !False tidings reached the Rhenish strand That he had fallen in fight;

And thy faithful bosom swooned with pain, O loveliest maiden of Allémayne!

For the loss of thine own true knight.

But why so rash has she ta'en the veil,
In yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale?

For her vow had scarce been sworn,
And the fatal mantle o'er her flung,
When the Drachenfels to a trumpet rung-
'Twas her own dear warrior's horn!

Woe! woe! each heart shall bleed-shall break! She would have hung upon his neck,

Had he come but yester-even;

And he had clasped those peerless charms
That shall never, never fill his arms,

Or meet him but in heaven.

Yet Roland the brave-Roland the true-
He could not bid that spot adieu;

It was dear still 'midst his woes;
For he loved to breathe the neighbouring air,
And to think she blessed him in her prayer,
When the Halleluiah rose.

There's yet one window of that pile,
Which he built above the Nun's green isle;
Thence sad and oft looked he

(When the chant and organ sounded slow)
On the mansion of his love below,

For herself he might not see.

She died !—He sought the battle-plain;
Her image filled his dying brain,

When he fell and wished to fall:
And her name was in his latest sigh,
When Roland, the flower of chivalry,
Expired at Roncevall.

THE SPECTRE BOAT.

A BALLAD.

LIGHT rued false Ferdinand to leave a lovely maid forlorn, Who broke her heart and died to hide her blushing cheek from scorn.

One night he dreamt he wooed her in their wonted bower

of love,

Where the flowers sprang thick around them, and the birds sang sweet above.

But the scene was swiftly changed into a churchyard's dismal view,

And her lips grew black beneath his kiss, from love's delicious hue.

What more he dreamt, he told to none; but shuddering, pale, and dumb,

Looked out upon the waves, like one that knew his hour

was come.

'Twas now the dead watch of the night-the helm was lashed a-lee,

And the ship rode where Mount Etna lights the deep Levantine sea;

When beneath its glare a boat came, rowed by a woman in her shroud,

Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood up and spoke aloud :—

66

Come, Traitor, down, for whom my ghost still wanders unforgiven !

Come down, false Ferdinand, for whom I broke my peace with heaven!"

It was vain to hold the victim, for he plunged to meet her call,

Like the bird that shrieks and flutters in the gazing serpent's thrall.

You may guess the boldest mariner shrunk daunted from the sight,

For the Spectre and her winding-sheet shone blue with hideous light;

Like a fiery wheel the boat spun with the waving of her hand, And round they went, and down they went, as the cock crew from the land.

SONG.

Он, how hard it is to find

The one just suited to our mind;

And if that one should be
False, unkind, or found too late,
What can we do but sigh at fate,
And sing Woe's me-Woe's me!

Love's a boundless burning waste,
Where Bliss's stream we seldom taste,
And still more seldom flee

Suspense's thorns, Suspicion's stings;
Yet somehow Love a something brings

That's sweet-ev'n when we sigh Woe's me!'

THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS

ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

IF

any white-winged Power above

My joys and griefs survey,

The day when thou wert born, my love— He surely blessed that day.

I laughed (till taught by thee) when told
Of Beauty's magic powers,

That ripened life's dull ore to gold,
And changed its weeds to flowers.

My mind had lovely shapes pourtrayed;
But thought I earth had one
Could make even Fancy's visions fade
Like stars before the sun?

I gazed, and felt upon my lips

The unfinished accents hang:
One moment's bliss, one burning kiss,
To rapture changed each pang.

And though as swift as lightning's flash Those tranced moments flew,

Not all the waves of time shall wash

Their memory from my view.