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I had a son, a sea-boy, in

A ship at Hartland bay;
By his aid from her cruel kin
I bore


To Scotland from the Devon's

Green myrtle shores we fled;
And the Hand that sent the ravens

To Elijah, gave us bread.
She wrote you by my son, but he

From England sent us word
You had gone into some far countrie,

In grief and gloom he heard.
For they had wronged you, to elude

Your wrath, defamed my child;
And you-ay, blush, Sir, as you should

Believed, and were beguiled.
To die but at your feet, she vowed

To roam the world ; and we
Would both have sped and begged our bread,

But so it might not be.
For when the snow-storm beat our roof,

She bore a boy, Sir Bann,
Who grew as fair your likeness proof

As child e'er grew like man.'
'Twas smiling on that babe one morn

While health bloomed on the moor,
Her beauty struck young Lord Kinghorn

As he hunted past our door.
She shunned him, but he raved of Jane

And roused bis mother's pride ;
Who came to us in high disdain,

And where's the face,' she cried,

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• Has witched my boy to wish for one

So wretched for his wife? Dost love thy husband? Know, my son

Has sworn to seek his life.'

Her anger sore dismayed us,

For our mite was wearing scant, And, unless that dame would aid us,

There was none to aid our want. So I told her, weeping bitterly,

Wbat all our woes had been; And, though she was a stern ladie,

The tears stood in her een. And she housed us both, when, cheerfully,

My child to her had sworn,
'That even if made a widow, she

Would never wed Kinghorn."-
Here paused the nurse, and then began

The abbot, standing by :
“ Three months ago a wounded man

To our abbey came to die.
He heard me long, with ghastly eyes

And band obdurate clenched,
Speak of the worm that never dies,

And the fire that is not quenched.
At last by what this scroll attests

He left atonement brief,
For years of anguish to the breasts

His guilt had wrung with grief. • There lived," he said, 'a fair young dame

Beneath my mother's roof;
I loved her, but against my flame

Her purity was proof.

I feigned repentance, friendship pure;

That mood she did not check,
But let her husband's miniature

Be copied from her neck.
As means to search him, my deceit

Took care to him was borne
Nought but his picture's counterfeit,

And Jane's reported scorn.
The treachery took: she waited wild;

My slave came back and lied
Whate'er I wished; she clasped her child,

And swooned, and all but died. I felt her tears for



Quench not my flame, but stir :

hate I bore her mate
Increased my love for her.
Fame told us of his glory, while
Joy flushed the face of Jane

And whilst she blessed his name, her smile

Struck fire into my brain.
No fears could damp; I reached the camp,

Sought out its champion ;
And if my broadsword failed at last,

'Twas long and well laid on.
This wound's my meed, my name's Kinghorn,

My foe's the Ritter Bann.'-
The wafer to his lips was borne,

And we shrived the dying man.
He died not till you went to fight

The Turks at Warradein;
But I see my tale has changed you pale.”
The Abbot went for wine;


And brought a little page who poured

It out, and knelt and smiled :
The stunned knight saw himself restored

To childhood in his child;
And stooped and caught him to his breast,

Laughed loud and wept anon,
And with a shower of kisses pressed

The darling little one. “And where went Jane?"_" To a nunnery, Sir

Look not again so pale-
Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her.”—

“ And has she ta'en the veil ?”
“ Sit down, Sir," said the priest, “ I bar

Rash words.”—They sat all three, And the boy played with the knight's broad star,

As he kept him on his knee. “ Think ere you ask her dwelling-place,"

The abbot further said ;
“ Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face

More deep than cloister's shade.
Grief may have made her what you can

Scarce love perhaps for life.”
“ Hush, abbot,” cried the Ritter Bann,

“ Or tell me where's my wife.” The priest undid two doors that hid

The inn's adjacent room,
And there a lovely woman stood,

Tears bathed her beauty's bloom.
One moment may with bliss repay

Unnumbered hours of pain; Such was the throb and mutual sob

of the Knight embracing Jane.


Well may sleep present us fictions,

Since our waking moments teem With such fanciful convictions

As make life itself a dream.Half our daylight faith's a fable;

Sleep disports with shadows too,
Seeming in their turn as stable

As the world we wake to view.
Ne’er by day did Reason's mint
Give my thoughts a clearer print
Of assured reality,
Than was left by Phantasy
Stamped and coloured on my sprite
In a dream of yesternight.
In a bark, methought, lone steering,

I was cast on Ocean's strife;
This,'twas whispered in my hearing,

Meant the sea of life.
Sad regrets from past existence

Came, like gales of chilling breath ; Shadowed in the forward distance

Lay the land of death. Now seeming more, now less reraote, On that dim-seen shore, methought, I beheld two hands a space Slow unshroud a spectre's face; And my fiesh's hair upstood, 'Twas mine own similitude. But my soul revived at seeing

Ocean, like an emerald spark, Kindle, while an air-dropt being

Smiling steered my bark.

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