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Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee
Christian climes should we behold ?” “ Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee
Were thy ransom paid in gold!” Now in Heaven's blue expansion
Rose the midnight star to view, When to quit her father's mansion
Thrice she wept, and bade adieu! “ Fly we then, while none discover! Tyrant barks, in vain
ye ride!" Soon at Rhodes the British lover
Clasp'd his blooming Eastern Bride.
And led each arm to act, each heart to feel
THE BRAVE ROLAND.
The brave Roland !-the brave Roland !-
False tidings reach'd the Rhenish strand
That he had fall'n in fight; “Oh whither," she cried, “ hast thou wander'd, my
And thy faithful bosom swoond with pain, lover?
O loveliest maiden of Allemayne! Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore ?
For the loss of thine own true knight. • What voice did I hear? 't was my Henry that
But why so rash has she ta’en the veil, sigh'd!” All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd she far,
In yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale?
For her vow had scarce been sworn, When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried,
And the fatal mantle o'er her fung, By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar!
When the Drachenfells to a trumpet rungFrom his bosom, that heaved, the last torrent was 'T was her own dear warrior's horn! streaming,
Woe! woe! each heart shall bleedshall break And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar!
She would have hung upon his neck, And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming,
Had he come but yester-even: That melted in love, and that kindled in war!
And he had clasp'd those peerless charms How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight!
That shall never, never fill his arms, How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war!
Or meet him but in heaven. “Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful
Yet Roland the brave-Roland the true night,
He could not bid that spot adieu ; To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar?"
It was dear still 'midst his woes; " Thou shalt live," she replied, “Heaven's mercy,
For he loved to breathe the neighboring air relieving
And to think she blest him in her prayer, Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn."
When the Halleluiah rose. “Ah, no! the last pang of my bosom is heaving! No light of the morn shall to Henry return!
There's yet one window of that pile,
Which he built above the Nun's green isle; “Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true!
Thence sad and oft look'd he
She died !—He sought the battle-plain!
When he fell and wish'd to fall :
And her name was in his latest sigh,
When Roland, the flower of chivalry,
Expired at Roncevall.
I The tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas To him, whose loyal, brave, and gentle heart, is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, Fulfill'd the hero's and the patriot's part,
called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine,
is shown as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a Whose charity, like that which Paul enjoin'd,
nunnery. into which his mistress bad retired, on having heard Was warm, beneficent, and unconfined,
an unfounded account of his death. Whatever may be This stone is rear'd: to public duty true,
thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be The seaman's friend, the father of his crew,
recollected with pleasure by every one who has visited the Mild in reproof, sagacious in command,
romantic landscape of the Drachenfalls, tho Rolandseck, and
the beautifol adjacent inlet of the Rhino, where a nunnery still He spread fraternal zeal throughout his band, stands.
THE SPECTRE BOAT.
I gazed, and felt upon my lips
Th' unfinish'd 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.
And gladly shall my eyes,
As thou shalt see it rise.
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 woo'd 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 church
yard'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, shud
dering, pale, and dumb, Look'd out upon the waves, like one that knew his
hour was come. 'T' was now the dead-watch of the night-the helm
was lash'd a-lee, And the ship rode where Mount Ætna lights the
deep Levantine sea ; When beneath its glare a boat came, row'd by a
woman in her shroud. Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood
up and spoke aloud :
ON RECEIVING A SEAL WITH THE CAMPBELL CREST,
FROM K M-BEFORE HER MARRIAGE.
This wax returns not back more fair
Th' impression of the gift you send, Than stamp'd upon my thoughts I bear
The image of your worth, my friend ! We are not friends of yesterday ;
But poets' fancies are a little Disposed to heat and cool (they say)
By turns impressible and brittle. Well! should its frailty e'er condemn
My heart to prize or please you less, Your type is still the sealing gem,
And mine the waxen brittleness.
"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.
What transcripts of my weal and woe
This little signet yet may lock, What utt'rances to friend or foe,
In reason's calm or passion's shock!
May own its confidential die,
And feelings of futurity S
To date th' epistolary sheet, The blest occasion of the gift
Shall make its recollection sweet: Sent when the star that rules your fates
Hath reach'd its influence most benignWhen every heart congratulates,
And none more cordially than mine. So speed my song-mark’d with the crest
That erst th' advent'rous Norman’ wore Who won the Lady of the West,
The daughter of Macaillain Mor. Crest of my sires! whose blood it seal'd
With glory in the strife of swords, Ne'er may the scroll that bears it yield
Degenerate thoughts or faithless words!
THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS,
ON HER BIRTH-DAY.
If any white-wing'd Power above
My joys and griefs survey, The day when thou wert born, my love
He surely bless'd that day.
Of Beauty's magic powers,
And changed its weeds to Aowers.
But thought I earth had one
Like stars before the sun ?
1 A Norman leader, in the service of the king of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, and from him the Campbells are sprung.
And sad pale Adelgitha came,
And slew the slanderer of her fame.
Yet little might I prize the stone,
If it but typed the feudal tree
In Fortune's mutability.
Allied by friendship's living tie;
Our soul-sprung consanguinity! Kath'rine! to many an hour of mine
Light wings and sunshine you have lent; And so adieu, and still be thine
The all-in-all of life-Content!
She wept, deliver'd from her danger;
But when he knelt to claim her glove“ Seek not," she cried, “oh! gallant stranger,
For hapless Adelgitha's love. · For he is in a foreign far land
Whose arm should now have set me free ; And I must wear the willow garland
For him that's dead, or false to me." "Nay! say not that his faith is tainted!'
He raised his vizor—At the sight She fell into his arms and fainted;
It was indeed her own true knight!
That bears my love from me:
I mark the gallows' tree!
The trumpet speaks thy name; And must my Gilderoy depart
To bear a death of shame?
'Tis not the loss of love's assurance,
It is not doubting what thou art, But 't is the too, too long endurance
Of absence, that afflicts my heart. The fondest thoughts two hearts can cherish,
When each is lonely doom'd to weep, Are fruits on desert isles that perish,
Or riches buried in the deep.
What though, untouch'd by jealous madness,
Our bosom's peace may fall to wreck; Th' undoubting heart that breaks with sadness
Is but more slowly doom'd to break. Absence! is not the soul torn by it
From more than light, or life, or breath? 'Tis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet,
The pain without the peace of death!
No bosom trembles for thy doom;
No mourner wipes a tear;
The sledge is all thy bier.
So soon, so sad to part,
You triumph'd o'er my heart?
Your hunter garb was trim;
That bound your manly limb!
Those limbs in fetters bound; Or hear, upon the scaffold floor,
The midnight hammer sound. Ye cruel, cruel, that combined
The guiltless to pursue ;
He could not injure you!
Thy widow all forlorn,
Regards my woe with scorn?
And hate thine orphan boy ;
The form of Gilderoy.
That wraps thy mouldering clay,
And sigh my heart away.
THE RITTER BANN.
THE Ritter Bann from Hungary
Came back, renown'd in arms, But scorning jousts of chivalry
And love and ladies' charms. While other knights held revels, he
Was wrapt in thoughts of gloom, And in Vienna's hostelrie
Slow paced his lonely room. There enter'd one whose face he knew,
Whose voice, he was aware, He oft at mass had listen'd to,
In the holy house of prayer. "T was the Abbot of St. James's monks,
A fresh and fair old man: His reverend air arrested even The gloomy Ritter Bann.
“ 'T was smiling on that babe one morn,
While heath bloom'd on the moor, Her beauty struck young Lord Kinghorn
As he hunted past our door. “ She shunn'd him, but he raved of Jane,
And roused his mother's pride; Who came to us in high disdain,
* And where's the face,' she cried, " "Has witch'd my boy to wish for one
So wretched for his wife ?Dost love thy husband ? Know, my son
Has sworn to seek his life.'
“Her anger sore dismay'd us,
For our mite was wearing scant, And, unless that dame would aid us,
There was none to aid our want.
But seeing with him an ancient dame
Come clad in Scotch attire,
And loud he spoke in ire.
Name not her name to me;
Art poor !--take alms, and flee." “Sir Knight," the abbot interposed,
“ This case your ear demands;" And the crone cried, with a cross inclosed
In both her trembling hands :
And he that shall rebut
Of Mercy shall be shut.
Your cousin Jane in Spring :-
For churchmen's pardoning, " Her house denounced your marriage-band,
Betrothed her to De Grey,
Was wrench'd by force away.
Crying, · Help me, nurse, to fee
But word arrived-ah me “You were not there; and 't was their threat,
By foul means or by fair, Tomorrow morning was to set
The seal on her despair. "I had a son, a sea-boy, in
A ship at Hartland bay ;
I bore my bird away.
Green myrtle shores we fled; And the Hand that sent the ravens
To Elijah, gave us bread.
“So I told her, weeping bitterly,
What all our woes had been ; And, though she was a stern ladie,
The tears stood in her een. “ And she housed us both, when, cheerfully,
My child to her had sworn,
Would never wed Kinghorn."'-
The abbot, standing by :
To our abbey came to die.
“ She wrote you by my son, but he
From England sent us word
In grief and gloom he heard.
Your wrath, defamed my child;
Believed, and were beguiled.
To roam the world; and we Would both have sped and begg'd our bread,
But so it might not be.
And hand obdurate clench'd, Speak of the worm that never dies,
And the fire that is not quench'd.
“ At last by what this scroll attests
He left atonement brief,
His guilt had wrung with grief. ** There lived,' he said, “a fair young dame
Beneath my mother's roof;
Her purity was proof.
That mood she did not check, But let her husband's miniature
Be copied from her neck.
** As means to search him, my deceit
Took care to him was borne Nought but his picture's counterfeit,
And Jane's reported scorn. « • The treachery took; she waited wild ;
My slave came back and lied Whate'er I wished ; she clasp'd her child,
And swoon'd, and all but died. «• I felt her tears for years, and years
Quench not my flame, but stir; The very hate I bore her mate Increased my love for her.
"For when the snow-storm beat our roof,
She bore a boy. Sir Bann,
As child e'er grew like man.
« • Fame told us of his glory, while
When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, Joy flush'd the face of Jane;
She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart). And while she bless'd his name, her smile Oh! remember your Sheelah when far, far away; Struck fire unto my brain.
And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. “ • No fears could damp; I reach'd the camp, Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, Sought out its champion ;
And he constantly loved me, although I was poor; And if my broad-sword fail'd at last,
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, 'T was long and well laid on.
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. “This wound 's my meed, my name is Kinghorn, When the road was so dark, and the night was so My foe's the Ritter Bann.'
cold, The wafer to his lips was borne,
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, And we shrived the dying man.
How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey,
And he lick'd me for kindness—my poor dog Tray. “ He died not till you went to fight The Turks at Warradein ;
Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his care, But I see my tale has changed you pale."- Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face; The abbot went for wine;
But he died at my feet on a cold winter day,
And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. And brought a little page, who pour'd It out, and knelt and smiled :-
Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? The stunn'd knight saw himself restored Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind? To childhood in his child ;
To my sweet native village, so far, far away,
I can never more return with my poor dog Tray. And stoop'd and caught him to his breast,
Laugh'd loud and wept anon,
TO THE EVENING STAR.
Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary laborer free!
If any star shed peace, 't is thou,
That send'st it from above, “ Sit down, Sir," said the priest, “ I bar
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.
Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odors rise, “ Think ere you ask her dwelling-place,"
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,
And songs, when toil is done, “ Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd
Curls yellow in the sun. “Grief may have made her what you can
Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse; “ Hush, abbot," cried the Ritter Bann,
Their remembrancer in Heaven “Or tell me where's my wife.”
of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.
“ MEN OF ENGLAND." Unnumber'd hours of pain ;
Men of England! who inherit Such was the throb and mutual sob
Rights that cost your sires their blood ! Of the Knight embracing Jane.
Men whose undegenerate spirit
Has been proved on land and food
By the glorious deeds ye've done,
Trophies captured-breaches mounted,
Navies conquer'd-kingdoms won! On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh,
Yet, remember, England gathers No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;
Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame, No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
If the patriotism of your fathers And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.
Glow not in your hearts the same.