roots. And it show'd me that a small worm had gnaw'd its Whate'er your liberty hath known of pleasure. wicket of the castle at midnight. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. Lightning destroyeth temples, though their spires pierce the clouds; Storms destroy armadas, though their sails intercept the gale. He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a contemptible enemy. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. Chap. xxxi. Old Play. From The Talisman. 1825. An evil principle innate, Contending with our better fate, And oh! victorious still? Howe'er it be, dispute is vain. On all without thou hold'st thy reign, Each mortal passion's fierce career, Whene'er a sunny gleam appears, Thou art not distant far; Thus, from the moment of our birth, Thou rul'st the fate of men; "Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he said, Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast, The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently hath kiss'd: "Now bless'd be the moment, the messenger be blest! Much honour'd do I hold me in my lady's high behest; And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed dress'd, To the best arm'd champion I will not veil my crest; But if I live and bear me well 'tis her turn to take the test." Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest. Chap. iii. (2.)-SONG OF BLONDEL.-THE BLOODY VEST. "THE song of Blondel was, of course, in the Norman language; but the verses which follow express its meaning and its manner." 'Twas near the fair city of Benevent, When the sun was setting on bough and bent, Far hath he fared, and farther must fare, "Thus speaks my lady," the page said he, Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee, When with Poetry dealing How my fancy could prance In a dance of romance! But my house I must swap With some Brobdignag chap, (2.)-MOTTOES. (1.)-CHAP. II. COME forth, old man— -Thy daughter's side The ruins of the parent tree. (2.)-CHAP. III. Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your stage, Legend of Captain Jones. (3.)-CHAP. IV. Yon path of greensward Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion; Ere I grapple, God bless me! with Emperor There is no flint to gall thy tender foot, Nap." Life, vol. vii. p. 391. There's ready shelter from each breeze, or shower.But Duty guides not that way-see her stand, |