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And then they raised up a mighty cry-
Where is the prisoner gone ?"

66

In tranquil slumber the sovereigns lie,
With the Danish maid alone.

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,

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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,
Hurriedly went and came;

And few were the words that she could speak,
When the king called her by name.

Margaret's courage was bold and high,
When the safety of one so dear
Rested alone on her bravery,

He was free-and the woman could fear.

A frown of wrath on the brow of a king
Is not like an April cloud;

It is the cloud that the tempests bring
Whence the thunder speaks aloud.

And Margaret knelt with bowed-down head,
For the monarch's wrath she knew.

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My liege, he was my betrothed," she said,
And no traitor unto you.

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"And while you were blest with peaceful rest
Through your chamber he passed with me;
And I opened the casement towards the west,
And thanked heaven he was free!"

The frown of wrath on the monarch's brow

Gave place to a smile at last ;

Like in heaven there shines the radiant bow
When the thunder-cloud is past.

"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."

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With jewels and gold, in purple and pride,
(In sooth 'twas a bright array ;)

At the altar is standing a fair young bride,
And a king shall give her away.

*

And queen, and ladies, and knights are met,
Round by the altar side;

And side by side in their place are set,
Bridegroom and blushing bride.

The holy words by the priest are said,
The bride by the monarch is given ;
And Margaret with Wemyss is wed,
To love on earth and in heaven.

Annabel C

66

THE LITTLE MOURNER.

CHILD, whither goest thou
Over the snowy hill?

The frost-air nips so keen

That the very clouds are still :

From the golden folding curtains
The sun hath not looked forth,
And brown the snow-mist hangs
Round the mountains to the north."

“Kind stranger, dost thou see
Yonder church-tower rise,

Thrusting its crown of pinnacles
Into the looming skies?-

Thither go I:-keen the morning
Bites, and deep the snow;
But in spite of them.

Up the frosted hill I go."

"Child, and what dost thou
When thou shalt be there ?-
The chancel-door is shut-
There is no bell for prayer;
Yester morn and yester even
Met we there and prayed;
But now none is there

Save the dead lowly laid."

"Stranger, underneath that tower,
On the western side,
A happy, happy company
In holy peace abide;
My father, and my mother,

And my sisters four,

Their beds are made in swelling turf,
Fronting the western door."

"Child, if thou speak to them,
They will not answer thee;
They are deep down in earth,—
Thy face they cannot see.
Then wherefore art thou going
Over the snowy hill?

Why seek thy low-laid family,

Where they lie cold and still?"

"Stranger, when the summer heats,
Would dry their turfy bed,

Duly from this loving hand
With water it is fed;

They must be cleared this morning
From the thick-laid snow;

So now along the frosted field,

Stranger, let me go."

Alford.

THE DIAL OF FLOWERS.

'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours,
As they floated in light away,
By the opening and the folding flowers
That laugh to the summer's day.

Thus had each moment its own rich hue,
And its graceful cup or bell,

In whose coloured vase might sleep the dew,
Like a pearl in an ocean-shell.

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-
Those days of song and dreams-
When shepherds gather'd their flocks of old,
By the blue Arcadian streams.

So in those isles of delight, that rest
Far off in a breezeless main,
Which many a bark, with a weary quest
Hath sought, but still in vain.

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,
Shutting in turn, may leave

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;
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true:
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due.

Whose honesty is not

So loose or easy that a ruffling wind
Can blow away, or, glittering, look it blind,
Who rides his sure and even trot,

While the world now rides by, now lags behind.

Who, when great trials come,

Nor seeks nor shuns them, but does calmly stay,
Till he the thing and the example weigh!
All being brought into a sum,
What place or person calls for, he doth pay.

Whom none can work or woo

To use in anything a trick or sleight,
For above all things he abhors deceit.

His words, and works, and fashions too,
All of a piece, and all are clear and straight.

Who never melts or thaws

At close temptations. When the day is done
His goodness sets not, but in dark can run.
The sun to others writeth laws,
And is their virtue. Virtue is his sun.

THE WALL-FLOWER.

THE wall-flower-the wall-flower,
How beautiful it blooms!
It gleams above the ruin'd tower,
Like sunlight over tombs;

It sheds a halo of repose

Around the wrecks of Time ;-
To beauty give the flaunting rose,
The wall-flower is sublime.

N

Herbert.

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