And then they raised up a mighty cry- 66 In tranquil slumber the sovereigns lie, But the shouts broke through the sleep of the king, And he stood at his chamber door; "How durst ye be here with your revelling, The room of the king before?" Boldly the chief of the guard replied, 66 No revellers we, my liege; We are your guard both true and tried, Who have watched you in battle and siege." "Then where is your prisoner?" quoth the king. "My liege! he entered your door; Whom the lady Margaret bade us bring, We have seen him since no more." The red red blood upon Margaret's cheek, And few were the words that she could speak, Margaret's courage was bold and high, He was free-and the woman could fear. A frown of wrath on the brow of a king It is the cloud that the tempests bring And Margaret knelt with bowed-down head, 66 My liege, he was my betrothed," she said, 66 "And while you were blest with peaceful rest The frown of wrath on the monarch's brow Gave place to a smile at last ; Like in heaven there shines the radiant bow "If in three days' space ye will bring him here," Then the king relenting spake, "Fealty and truth unto me to swear, * I will pardon him for thy sake." With jewels and gold, in purple and pride, At the altar is standing a fair young bride, * And queen, and ladies, and knights are met, And side by side in their place are set, The holy words by the priest are said, Annabel C 66 THE LITTLE MOURNER. CHILD, whither goest thou The frost-air nips so keen That the very clouds are still : From the golden folding curtains “Kind stranger, dost thou see Thrusting its crown of pinnacles Thither go I:-keen the morning Up the frosted hill I go." "Child, and what dost thou Save the dead lowly laid." "Stranger, underneath that tower, And my sisters four, Their beds are made in swelling turf, "Child, if thou speak to them, Why seek thy low-laid family, Where they lie cold and still?" "Stranger, when the summer heats, Duly from this loving hand They must be cleared this morning So now along the frosted field, Stranger, let me go." Alford. THE DIAL OF FLOWERS. 'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours, Thus had each moment its own rich hue, In whose coloured vase might sleep the dew, To such sweet signs might the time have flow'd In a golden current on, Ere from the garden, man's first abode, The glorious guests were gone. So might the days have been brightly told- So in those isles of delight, that rest Yet is not life, in its real flight, Mark'd thus- -even thus-on earth, By the closing of one hope's delight, And another's gentle birth? Oh! let us live, so that flower by flower, A lingerer still for the sunset hour, A charm for the shaded eve. Mrs. Hemans. CONSTANCY. WHO is the honest man? He that doth still and strongly good pursue; Whose honesty is not So loose or easy that a ruffling wind While the world now rides by, now lags behind. Who, when great trials come, Nor seeks nor shuns them, but does calmly stay, Whom none can work or woo To use in anything a trick or sleight, His words, and works, and fashions too, Who never melts or thaws At close temptations. When the day is done THE WALL-FLOWER. THE wall-flower-the wall-flower, It sheds a halo of repose Around the wrecks of Time ;- N Herbert. |