There was heard a heavy clang, as of steel-girt men the tread;
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang, with a sounding thrill
of dread.
And the holy chant was hushed awhile, as, by the torches' flame,
A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle, with a mail-clad Leader came
He came with haughty look, a dark glance high and clear;
But his proud heart 'neath his breast-plate shook, when he stood beside the bier.
He stood there still, with drooping brow, and clasped hands o'er it raised:
For his Father lay before him low-it was Cœur de Lion gazed.
And silently he strove with the workings of his breast;
But there's more in late repentant love, than steel may keep suppressed.
And his tears brake forth at last like rain-men held their breath in
For his face was seen by his warrior-train, and he recked not that they saw.
He looked upon the dead! and sorrow seemed to lie,
A weight of sorrow, even as lead, pale on the fast-shut eye.
He stooped and kissed the frozen cheek, and the hand of lifeless clay, Till bursting words-yet all too weak-gave his soul's passion way.
Oh, Father! is it vain, this late remorse and deep?
Speak to me, Father! once again!-I weep- -behold, I weep!
Alas! my guilty pride and ire! Were but this work undone,
I would give England's crown, my sire! to hear thee bless thy son!
Speak to me !-Mighty grief ere now the dust hath stirred!
Hear me! but hear me !-Father, Chief, my King! I must be heard!—
Hushed, hushed ?--how is it that I call, and that thou answerest not?
When was it thus ?-Woe, woe, for all the love my soul forgot!
"Thy silver hairs I see, so still, so sadly bright!
And, Father, Father! but for me, they had not been so white!
I bore thee down, high heart! at last no longer couldst thou strive—
Oh! for one moment of the past, to kneel, and say, 'Forgive!'
Thou that my boyhood's guide didst take fond joy to be!—
The times I've sported at thy side, and climbed thy parent knee!
And now, before the blessed shrine, my Sire, I see thee lie,-
How will that sad still face of thine, look on me till I die!"
LVI. THE WAR OF THE LEAGUE.-Macaulay.
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!
Now, let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh, pleasant land of
France!
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,
For cold, and stiff, and still, are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war,
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre!
Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array;
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land!
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;
And we cried unto the living Power who rules the fate of war,
To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre!
The king is come to marshal us, all in his armour drest;
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled, from wing to wing,
Down all our line, a deafening shout, "Long live our lord the
King."
"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray
Press where you see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."
Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin !
The fiery duke is speeding fast across Saint André's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
"Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies now-upon them with the lance!"
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.
Now, Heaven be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein.
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain.
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail.
And then we thought on vengeance; and all along our van
"Remember St. Bartholomew !" was passed from man to man;
But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe:
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go."
Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre !
Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne !
Weep, weep, and rend your hair, for those who never shall return.
Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls!
Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright!
Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to night!
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave.-
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are;
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre !
LVII. THE LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM.-Atherstone.
A Roman soldier, for some daring deed
That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low
Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough,
But generous, and brave, and kind.
He had a son,-'twas a rosy boy,—
A little faithful copy of his sire,
In face and gesture. In her pangs she died
That gave him birth; and ever since, the child
Had been his father's solace and his care.
The father shared and heightened. But at length
The rigorous law had grasped him, and condemned
To fetters and to darkness.
He felt in all its bitterness:-the walls
Of his deep dungeon answered many a sigh
And heart-heaved groan. His tale was known, and touched His jailer with compassion;-and the boy,
Thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled
His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm
With his loved presence, that in every wound
Dropt healing. But, in this terrific hour,
He was a poisoned arrow in the breast,
Where he had been a cure.
Of that first day of darkness and amaze,
He came. The iron door was closed-for them
Never to open more! The day, the night,
Dragged slowly by; nor did they know the fate
Impending o'er the city. Well they heard
The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath,
And felt its giddy rocking; and the air
Grew hot at length and thick; but in his straw
The boy was sleeping: and the father hoped
The earthquake might pass by; nor would he wake
From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell
The dangers of their state. On his low couch
The fettered soldier sunk and with deep awe
Listened the fearful sounds: -with upturned eyes
To the great gods he breathed a prayer;-then strove
To calm himself, and lose in sleep awhile
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep:-
His body burned with feverish heat;-his chains
Clanked loud, although he moved not: deep in earth
Groaned unimaginable thunders:-sounds,
Fearful and ominous, arose and died
Like the sad moanings of November's wind
In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled
His blood that burned before;-cold clammy sweats
Came o'er him-then, anon, a fiery thrill
Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk,
And shivered as in fear:-then upright leaped,
As though he heard the battle-trumpet sound,
And longed to cope with death!
He slept at last-
A troubled dreamy sleep. Well, had he slept
Never to waken more!. His hours are few,
But terrible his agony.
Burst forth the lightnings glanced :-the air
Shook with the thunders! They awoke;-they sprung
Amazed upon their feet. The dungeon glowed
A moment as in sunshine-then was dark:-
Again a flood of white flame fills the cell;
Dying away upon the dazzled eye
In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
Dies throbbing, ringing in the ear.
And blackest darkness!. With intensest awe
The soldier's frame was filled; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind,
As underneath he felt the fevered earth
Jarring and lifting, and the massive walls
Heard harshly grate and strain:-yet knew he not,
While evils undefined and yet to come
Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound
Fate had already given. Where, man of woe!
Where, wretched father! is thy boy? Thou call'st
His name in vain :-he cannot answer thee!
Loudly the father called upon his child:
No voice replied! Trembling and anxiously
He searched their couch of straw: with headlong haste
Trod round his stinted limits, and, low hent,
Groped darkling on the earth:-no child was there!
Again he called:-again, at farthest stretch
Of his accursed fetters-till the blood
Came bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Fire flashed:--he strained, with arm extended far,
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil!
Yet still renewed:-still round and round he goes,
And strains, and snatches-and with dreadful cries
Calls on his boy! Mad frenzy fires him now;
He plants against the wall his feet;- his chain
Grasps ;--tugs with giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple,-yells and shrieks with rage:
-But see! the ground is opening--a blue light
Mounts, gently waving-noiseless:-thin and cold
It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame.
But, by its lustre, on the earth outstretched,
Behold the lifeless child!-his dress singed,
And over his serene face, a dark line
Points out the lightning's track!
And all his fury fled :- a dead calm fell
That instant on him :--speechless, fixed he stood,
And, with a look that never wandered, gazed
Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes
Were not yet closed-and round those pouting lips
The wonted smile returned!
The father stands :-no tear is in his eye:-
The thunders bellow-but he hears them not :-
The ground lifts like a sea--he knows it not :-
The strong walls grind and gape-the vaulted roof
Takes shapes like bubble tossing in the wind--
See! he looks up and smiles;-for death to him
Is happiness. Yet, could one last embrace
Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die!
It will be given. Look how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near
Moves towards the father's outstretched arms his boy :-
Once he has touched his garment ;--how his eye
Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fear!
Ha! see! he has him now!--he clasps him round-
Kisses his face-puts back the curling locks
That shaded his fine brow-looks in his eyes_
Grasps in his own, those little, dimpled hands—
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping-and, resigned, awaits
Undreaded death!
And death came soon, and swift,
And pangless. The huge pile sunk down at once
Into the opening earth. Walls-arches-roof-
And deep foundation stones,-all mingling fell!
LVIII. THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE.-Gerald Griffin.
THE joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide,
The fresh wind is singing along the sea-side;
The maids are assembling with garlands of flowers,
And the harp-strings are trembling in all the glad bowers.
Swell, swell the gay measure! roll trumpet and drum!
'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendour they come!
The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide,
For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride.
What years, ere the latter, of earthly delight,
The future shall scatter o'er them in its flight!
What blissful caresses shall fortune bestow,
Ere those dark flowing tresses fall white as the snow!
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.
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