THREE years she grew in sun and shower, This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. "Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. "She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, Of mute insensate things. "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. "And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake-The work was done How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm, and quiet scone ; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. A SLUMBER did my spirit sea.; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees, Rolled round in earth's diurnal course THE HORN OF EGREMONT CASTLE. WHEN the brothers reached the gateway, To the Horn which there was hanging; Horn it was which none could sound, No one upon living ground, Save he who came as rightful heir To Egremont's domains and castle fair. Heirs from ages without record Who of right had claim'd the lordship Each at the appointed hour Tried the Horn,-it owned his power; He was acknowledged: and the blast, Which good Sir Eustace sounded, was the last. With his lance Sir Eustace pointed, And to Hubert thus said he, "What I speak this Horn shall witness For thy better memory. Hear, then, and neglect me not! At this time, and on this spot, The words are uttered from my heart, As my last earnest prayer ere we depart "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; "As I am thy father's son, What thou askest, noble brother, With God's favour shall be done." So were both right well content: 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, By what evil spirit brought? Oh! can a brave man wish to take His brother's life, for land's and castle's sake! "Sir!" the ruffians said to Hubert, "Deep he lies in Jordan flood," Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace He has nothing now to dread. But silent and by stealth he came, And at an hour which nobody could name. None could tell if it were night-time, Night or day, at even or morn; For the sound was heard by no one Of the proclamation Horn. But bold Hubert lives in glee: Months and years went smilingly; With plenty was his table spread; 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 on fair estate. And, while thus in open day Once he sate, as old books say, A blast was uttered from the Horn, Whereby the castle-gate it hung forlorn. "Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace! Hubert! though the blast be blown 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 Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, And through ages, heirs of heirs, A long posterity renown'd, 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? Young Harry was a lusty drover, All day she spun in her poor dwelling: By the same fire to boil their pottage, But when the ice our streams did fetter, Oh joy for her! whene'er in Winter Now, when the frost was past enduring, And, now and then, it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed, To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. 2 B |