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Then outspake the daughter in tender emotion, "Ah! father, my father, what more can there rest? Enough of this sport with the pitiless ocean—

He has served thee as none would, thyself hast confest.

If nothing can slake thy wild thirst of desire,

Be your knights not, at least, put to shame by the squire !"

The king seized the goblet-he swung it on high,
And whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide:
"But bring back that goblet again to my eye,

And I'll hold thee the dearest that rides by my side! And thine arms shall embrace as thy bride, I decree, The maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee."

In his heart, as he listened, there leapt the wild joyAnd the hope and the love through his eyes spoke in fire,

On that bloom, on that blush, gazed, delighted, the boy;

The maiden she faints at the feet of her sire! Here the guerdon divine, there the danger beneath; He resolves!-To the strife with the life and the death!

They hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell;
Their coming the thunder-sound heralds along!
Fond eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell-
They come, the wild waters, in tumult and throng,
Rearing up to the cliff-roaring back as before;
But no wave ever brought the lost youth to the shore.

MORNING HYMN TO MOUNT BLANC.

(COLERIDGE.)

HAST thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course?—so long he seems to pause
On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blane!
The Arve and Aveiron at thy base

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form!

Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark,-substantial black,—
An ebon mass; methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!

O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,

Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer
I worshiped the Invisible alone.

Yet like some sweet, beguiling melody,

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoughts
Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy.—
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty visions passing-there

As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven.

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest-not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks, and secret ecstacy. Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs all join my hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!
Oh! struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,

Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink:
Companion of the morning-star at dawn,
Thyself, earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald wake, oh wake! and utter praise.
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who called you forth from night to utter death,
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,

Forever shattered and the same forever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life.

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?

And who commanded,—and the silence came,— "Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?"

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain,—
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?-
"GOD!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer; and let the ice-plains echo, "GOD!"

"GOD!" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice,
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "GOD!"
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost !
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the elements !

Utter forth" GOD!" and fill the hills with praise.

Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peak,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene,
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,-
Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain! thou
That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base

Slow-traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud,
To rise before me-rise, oh ever rise,

Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun.
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises GOD!

THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE.

(CAROLINE NORTON.)

Word was brought to the Danish king (Hurry!)

That the love of his heart lay suffering,

And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (O! ride as though you were flying!)

Better he loves each golden curl

On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl;
And his Rose of the Isles is dying!

Thirty nobles saddled with speed; (Hurry!)

Each one mounting a gallant steed

Which he kept for battle and days of need;
(O! ride as though you were flying!)

Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank;

Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst;
But ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his Rose of the Isles lay dying!

His nobles are beaten, one by one;

(Hurry!)

They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for courage trying.

The king looked back at that faithful child;

Wan was the face that answering smiled;

They passed the drawbridge with clattering din,
Then he dropped; and only the king rode in

Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying!

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn;

(Silence!)

No answer came; but faint and forlorn
An echo returned on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide;
None welcomed the king from that weary ride;
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,
Who had yearned for his voice while dying!

The panting steed, with a drooping crest,
Stood weary.

The king returned from her chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast;

And, that dumb companion eyeing,

The tears gushed forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck:
"O, steed-that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain
To the halls where my love lay dying!"

THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX.

(BROWNING.)

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he:

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts un

drew;

"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace— Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our

place;

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

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