On weak humanity. "Rapine and outrage, and despair, Over the land spread wide; "The little that the poor man had, In vain he guarded well; Mine eye was as the basilisk's, That withered where it fell. "My sceptre was an iron rod! The suffering people's groan, Like sullen thunders heard afar, Was echoed to the throne: "To me it was a mockery! I scoffed at wise men's lore; "Of seven dark and deadly sins, "There was a maid —a fair young thingHigh-born, and undefiled By thought of sin; so meek, so wise; "In the beauty of her innocence, "With subtle mockery of good, "I brought destruction on her house - "This was the triumph of my art; This gave her to my power; Poor slave to passion's tyranny,The idol of an hour! "Vain was her passionate despair, My callous heart to wring; I left her to her misery A lorn, heart-broken thing! "I took of her no further thought My life was in its prime ; And in a wild carouse I lived Of luxury and crime. - ""T was, staggering from a long debauch, From some impure retreat, At midnight, in a dark disguise, "And I and my companions saw, Amid our shameless mirth, Rushed through my drunken brain; "The dead! yes, on the dead I looked! Oh! sight of woe to me! The one I drew as down from heaven, "Not in her beauty was she laid, "I plunged into yet madder guilt, I matched my strength against remorse, "Vain, vain! through war, through civil strife I loathed the sight of human eye, "It grew a cruel moodiness; "Thus I was hated, feared, and shunned; For all my race; and long I lived "The cup I drained was a poisoned cup – - "I sank down on the couch to rest, I slept I woke -oh, awful Judge! THE DREAM OF PETICIUS. I. STILL lay the vessel like a sleeping thing; Unto the mast. The unruffled ocean wide II. More than a league they had not sailed that day; In the calm evening lay before them still. With snatches of blithe song or whistle shrill; III. The captain was a thoughtful man, whose prime He from his life drew pleasant incident; ""T was while our vessel scudding to the breeze, The flagging canvass, and the useless oar; I saw, as now I see, in slumbrous ease The sea for him by that dead calm was bound, Green Pelion's head, and those dim mountains hoar But the ship voyaged free to Mitylene. Resting afar; I saw yon glancing bird; And the low rippling of these waves I heard. Visions of beauty, green and cool "The water-lily's shadowy pool; The untrodden wood's sequestered shine, I think of some old country hall, Its casements wreathed with jessamine, And all sweet sounds of bird and bee, And the cool fountain's melody. I think of mountains still and grey, Where the grave heron makes her nest; And pastoral vales, and lonely rills, Let Mammon's sons with visage lean, DU GUESCLIN'S RANSOM. THE black Prince Edward sate at meat Two hundred knights at the board were set, They were mailed men in merry cheer, And some they told the jester's tale, Till the hall of old Valenciennes To the dusky rafters rang; Sir knight, do battle with thy woe, Or stay no longer here." "My liege." said he, "my soul is dark "No longer on a name, So fair and far renowned as mine Shall rest unknightly shame! Was brought the prisoned knight. Quoth Edward, "Thou'rt a noble knight, Thy ransom it shall be!" Stood proudly in the ring, And named such ransom as would free 214 ון I know a hundred Breton knights, Would sell to make me free; To free me from thy hand." Prince Edward from the dais stepped down, "Give me thy hand!" said he, "Sir Knight, thou'rt brave as thou art proud, And thou honourest chivalrie, And therefore like thy chainless soul, Unransomed, thou art free!" Then burst forth plaudits long and loud, And they sate till set of sun, And, in her joyful phrase, she told how he, And the old knight said, as he poured the wine, Ere their next meeting, o'er the wave would come, THE HOUSEHOLD FESTIVAL. "TWAS when the harvest-moon came slowly up, Broad, red and glorious o'er dark groves of pine; In the hushed eve, when closed the flow'ret's cup, And the blue grape hung dewy on the vine, Forth from a porch where tendrilled plants entwine, Weaving a shadowy bower of odorous things, Rich voices came, telling that there were met Beauty and youth, and mirth whose buoyant wings Soaring aloft o'er thoughts that gloom and fret, Gave man release from care or lured him to forget. And, as the moon rose higher in the sky, Casting a mimic day on all around, Lighting dim garden paths, through branches high, That cast their chequered shadows on the ground; Light maidens, dancing with elastic bound, Like fairy revellers, in one place were seen; And gentle friends were slowly pacing where The dark, thick laurels formed a bowery screen; Another hour, and in a lighted room It was in honour of a gallant youth Those friends were met, the friends he dearest loved, All wishing he were there and well, in sooth, Like a glad spirit, to partake their glee, When the next harvest-moon lit up the pane, The heavy sea broke thundering on the shore, The dark, dark night had gathered in the sky, And from the desert mountains came the roar Of ravening creatures, and a wild, shrill cry From the scared night-birds slowly wheeling by.And there he lay, beneath the spreading tree, Feverish and faint, and over heart and brain Rushed burning love, and sense of misery, And wild, impatient grief, and longings vain Within his blessed home to be at rest again. Another year-and the relentless wave Had washed away the white bones from the shore; And mourning for his son, down to the grave Had gone the old man with his locks all hoar;The household festival was held no more ; And when the harvest-moon came forth again, O'er the dark pines, in red autumnal state, Her light fell streaming through the window-pane Of that old room, where his young sister sate With her down-droopèd head, and heart all desolate THE THREE AGES. Age, Youth, and Infancy! Thus pictured forth, a lesson that is full It dwells in pleasant places; Sees ever-smiling faces! Flowers, and fair butterflies, and pebbly brooks, No cogitations dark, no wily schemes; It counteth not the cost Of what its soul desires, with thoughtful trouble; Knows not how days are lost How love is but a bubble; Knows not an aching forehead, a tired brain; Life's cares have small companionship with thee! A child no more! a maiden now, A graceful maiden, with a gentle brow; Oh, youth! how fair, how dear thou art; Alas! that Time must take from thee Thy beautiful simplicity! Age, leaning on its staff, with feeble limb, Grey hair, and vision dim, Doth backward turn its eye, And few and evil seem the days gone by! Oh! venerable age! hast thou not proved all things, Love, Hope, and Promise fair, And seen them vanish into air, Like rainbows on a summer's eve! Riches unto themselves have taken wings; And Hope has been a traitor unto thee! Yet, venerable age, Full of experience sage, Well may the good respect thee, and the wise! For thou hast living faith, Triumphant over death, Which makes the future lovely to thine eyes! Thou knowest that, ere long, "T will be made known to thee, Why virtue is so weak, why evil strong; Age, Youth, and Infancy! These are your names in Time, When the eye darkens and the cheek grows pale; But in yon fairer clime, Where Life is not a melancholy tale, Where woe comes not, where never enters Death Ye will have other names-Joy, Love, and Faith MOURNING ON EARTH. SHE lay down in her poverty, Toil-stricken, though so young; And the words of human sorrow Fell trembling from her tongue. There were palace-houses round her; And pomp and pride swept by The walls of that poor chamber, Where she lay down to die. The lowly of the earth,- Toil-stricken, though so young; Fell from her trembling tongue. Have gathered o'er my head! "For love, the clinging, deathless, "Oh Saviour, who didst drain the dregs REJOICING IN HEAVEN. "OH spirit, freed from bondage, |