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Then, to her Patron Saint a previous rite
He rose, and straight-as by divine command, They, who had waited for that sign to trace 10 Their work's foundation, gave with careful hand To the high altar its determined place;
Mindful of Him who in the Orient born
So taught their creed;-nor failed the eastern sky,
'Mid these more awful feelings, to infuse The sweet and natural hopes that shall not die, Long as the sun his gladsome course renews. 20
For us hath such prelusive vigil ceased;
That obvious emblem giving to the eye
THE HORN OF EGREMONT CASTLE.
ERE the Brothers through the gateway
Save He who came as rightful Heir
Heirs from times of earliest record
Tried the Horn,-it owned his power;
Which good Sir Eustace sounded, was the last.
With his lance Sir Eustace pointed,
What I speak this Horn shall witness For thy better memory.
At this time, and on this spot,
Hear, then, and neglect me not!
The words are uttered from my heart,
“On good service we are going
Life to risk by sea and land,
In which course if Christ our Saviour
Do my sinful soul demand,
Hither come thou back straightway,
Hubert, if alive that day;
Return, and sound the Horn, that we
May have a living House still left in thee!"
"Fear not," quickly answered Hubert;
To Palestine the Brothers took their way.
Side by side they fought (the Lucies
And where'er their strokes alighted,
Whence, then, could it come-the thought- 45 By what evil spirit brought?
Oh! can a brave Man wish to take
His Brother's life, for Lands' and Castle's sake?
"Sir!" the Ruffians said to Hubert,
Pale and trembling Hubert stood.
Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace!
But silent and by stealth he came,
And at an hour which nobody could name.
None could tell if it were night-time,
And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.
Likewise he had sons and daughters;
And, as good men do, he sate
At his board by these surrounded,
Flourishing in fair estate.
And while thus in open day
Once he sate, as old books say,
A blast was uttered from the Horn,
Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn.
'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace !
Ancient castle, woods, and mountains
He is helpless and alone:
Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!
And there he may be lodged, and thou be Lord.
Speak!-astounded Hubert cannot;
And, if power to speak he had,
All are daunted, all the household
Smitten to the heart, and sad.
'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be
Living man, it must be he!
Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,
Long, and long was he unheard of:
His melancholy head, and there he died.
But Sir Eustace, whom good angels
Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.
GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL.
A TRUE STORY.
OH! what's the matter? what's the matter?
In March, December, and in July,