Such and so pale his face as when
With faint and faltering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge
He left his orphan son.

"I bade thee with a father's love
My orphan Edmund guard-

Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge!
Now take thy due reward."

He started up, each limb convuls'd
With agonizing fear,

He only heard the storm of night,-
"Twas music to his ear.

When, lo! the voice of loud alarm
His inmost soul appals:

"What ho! Lord William, rise in haste!
The water saps thy walls!

He rose in haste; beneath the walls 嫠
He saw the flood appear.

It hemm'd him round. Twas midnight now,
No human aid was near.

He heard the shout of joy; for now

A boat approached the wall,

And eager to the welcome aid

They crowd for safety all.

"My boat is small," the boatman cried,
""Twill bear but one away:
Come in, Lord William, and do ye
In God's protection stay."

Strange feeling fill'd them at his vo.ce
Even in that hour of woe,

That, save their Lord, there was not one

Who wish'd with him to go.

But William leapt into the boat

His terror was so sore;

Thou shalt have half my gold, he cried,
Haste, haste to yonder shore.

The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Went light along the stream,
Sudden Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.

The boatman paus'd, methought I heard
A child's distressful cry!

'Twas but the howling wind of night
Lord William made reply.

Haste, haste! ply swift and strong the oar!
Haste, haste across the stream!
Again Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.

I heard a child's distressful scream
The boatman cried again.

Nay hasten on-the night is dark-
And we should search in vain.

Oh God! Lord William dost thou know
How dreadful 'tis to die?

And canst thou without pity hear

A child's expiring cry

?

How horrible it is to sink

Beneath the chilly stream,

To stretch the powerless arms in vain,
In vain for help to scream?

The shriek again was heard: it came
More deep, more piercing loud;
That instant o'er the flood the moon
Shone through a broken cloud:

And near them they beheld a child,
Upon a crag he stood,

A little crag, and all around
Was spread the rising flood.

The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Approach'd his resting place,

The moon-beam shone upon the child
And show'd how pale his face.

Now reach thine hand! the boatman cried,
Lord William reach and save!

The child stretch'd forth his little hands
To grasp the hand he gave.

Then William shriek'd; the hand he touch'd
Was cold and damp and dead!
He felt young Edmund in his arms
A heavier weight than lead.

The boat sunk down, the murderer sunk
Beneath the avenging stream;

He rose, he scream'd, no human ear
Heard William's drowning scream.

ST. MICHAEL'S CHAIR,

AND WHO SAT THERE.

MERRILY, merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife
Arrived at the church door.

Richard Penlake was a cheerful man,

Cheerful, and frank, and free,

But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife,
For a terrible shrew was she.

Richard Penlake a scolding would take,
Till patience avail'd no longer,

Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would take,
And show her that he was the stronger.

Rebecca his wife had often wish'd

To sit in St. Michael's chair;

For she should be the mistress then,
It she had once sat there.

It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick,
They thought he would have died;
Rebecca, his wife, made a vow for his life,
As she knelt by his bed-side.

"Now hear my prayer, St. Michael! and spare
My husband's life," quoth she;
"And to thine altar we will go,
Six marks to give to thee.'

Richard Penlake repeated the vow,
For woundily sick was he;

66

'Save me, St. Michael, and we will go,

Six marks to give to thee.”

When Richard grew well, Rebecca his wife
Teased him by night and by day:

66

"O mine own dear! for you I fear,

If we the vow delay."

Merrily, merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife Arrived at the church door.

Six marks they on the altar laid,
And Richard knelt in prayer:
She left him to pray, and stole away.
To sit in St. Michael's chair.

Up the tower Rebecca ran,

Round and round and round;
'Twas a giddy sight to stand a-top,
And look upon the ground.

"A curse on the ringers for rocking
The tower!" Rebecca cried,
As over the church battlements
She strode with a long stride.

"A blessing on St. Michael's chair!"
She said as she sat down :
Merrily, merrily, rung the bells,

And Rebecca was shook to the ground.

Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought
That his good wife was dead:

"Now shall we toll for her poor soul

The great church bell?" they said.

"Toll at her burying," quoth Richard Penlake,
"Toll at her burying," quoth he;
"But don't disturb the ringers now,
In compliment to me."

THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM.

THE rage of Babylon is rous'd,

The king puts forth his strength;
And Judah bends the bow,

And points her arrows for the coming war.

Her walls are firm, her gates are strong,
Her youth gird on the sword;

High are her chiefs in hope,

For Egypt soon will send the promised aid.

But who is he whose voice of woe

Is heard amid the streets?

Whose ominous voice proclaims

Her strength and arms and promised succours vain?

His meagre cheek is pale and sunk,

Wild is his hollow eye,

Yet fearful its strong glance;

And who could bear the anger of his frown?

Prophet of God! in vain thy lips

Proclaim the woe to come!

In vain thy warning voice
Summoned her rulers timely to repent!

The Ethiop changes not his skin.
Impious and idiot still,

The rulers spurn thy voice,

And now the measure of their crimes is full.