Babes that had learnt to lisp her name,
And heroes he had led to fame.

But what felt D'Arcy, when at length
Her father's gate was open flung?
Ah! then he found a giant's strength;
For round him, as for life, she clung!
And when, her fit of weeping o'er,
Onward they moved a little space,
And saw an old man sitting at the door,—
Saw his wan cheek, and sunken eye
That seemed to gaze on vacancy,-
Then, at the sight of that beloved face,
At once to fall upon his neck she flew;
But not encouraged-back she drew,
And trembling stood in dread suspense,
Her tears her only eloquence!

All, all the while an awful distance keeping;
Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs;

And one, his little hand in hers,
Who weeps to see his sister weeping.

Then Jacqueline the silence broke.
She clasped her father's knees and spoke,
Her brother kneeling too;

While D'Arcy as before looked on,
Though from his manly cheek was gone

Its natural hue.

"His praises from your lips I heard,

Till my fond heart was won;

And, if in aught his sire has erred,
O, turn not from the son!

She, whom in joy, in grief, you nursed;
Who climbed and called you father first,

By that dear name conjures -
On her you thought-but to be kind!
When looked she up, but you inclined?
These things, forever in her mind,
O, are they gone from yours?

Two kneeling at your feet behold;

One

nor yet the other old.

one how young! O, spurn them not-nor look so cold! If Jacqueline be cast away,

Her bridal be her dying day.

Well, well might she believe in you!
She listened, and she found it true."
He shook his aged locks of snow;
And twice he turned, and rose to go.
She hung; and was St. Pierre to blame,
If tears and smiles together came?
"O, no-begone! I'll hear no more."
But, as he spoke, his voice relented.

"That very look thy mother wore

When she implored, and old Le Roc consented. True, I have erred and will atone;

For still I love him as my own.

And now, in my hands, yours with his unite;
A father's blessing on your heads alight!
Nor let the least be sent away.

All hearts shall sing Adieu to sorrow!'
St. Pierre has found his child to-day;
And old and young shall dance to-morrow."

Had Louis then before the gate dismounted,
Lost in the chase at set of sun;

Louis the Fourteenth.

Like Henry when he heard recounted*
The generous deeds himself had done
(What time the miller's maid Colette

Sung, while he supped, her chansonnette),

Then when St. Pierre addressed his village-train,
Then had the monarch with a sigh confessed

A joy by him unsought and unpossessed,

Without it what are all the rest?

To love, and to be loved again.

Alluding to a popular story related of Henry the Fourth, of France, similar to ours of "The King and Miller of Mansfield."

HUMAN LIFE.

1819.