He wields the heart of man at will,
From ill to good, from good to ill,
In cot and castle-tower.
Ask thy heart, whose secret cell
Is fill'd with Mary Avenel!
Ask thy pride, why scornful look
In Mary's view it will not brook?
Ask it, why thou seek'st to rise
Among the mighty and the wise,-
Why thou spurn'st thy lowly lot,-
Why thy pastimes are forgot,--
Why thou wouldst in bloody strife
Mend thy luck or lose thy life?
Ask thy heart, and it shall tell,
Sighing from its secret cell,
'Tis for Mary Avenel.
On doubts like these thou canst not task me. We only see the passing show
Of human passions' ebb and flow
And view the pageant's idle glance
As mortals eye the northern dance,
When thousand streamers, flashing bright,
Career it o'er the brow of night,
And gazers mark their changeful gleams,
But feel no influence from their beams.
By ties mysterious link'd, our fated race
Holds strange connection with the sons of
The star that rose upon the House of Avenel,
When Norman Ulric first assumed the name,
That star, when culminating in its orbit,
Shot from its spear a drop of diamond dew,
And this bright font received it—and a Spirit
Rose from the fountain, and her date of life
Hath coexistence with the House of Avenel,
And with the star that rules it.
Look on my girdle—on this thread of gold—
'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer,
And, but there is a spell on't, would not bind,
Light as they are, the folds of my thin robe.
But when 'twas donn'd, it was a massive chain,
Such as might bind the champion of the Jews,
Even when his locks were longest-it hath
dwindled,
Hath 'minish'd in its substance and its strength,
As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel.
When this frail thread gives way, I to the cle.
Resign the principles of life they lent me.
Ask me no more of this!-the stars forbid it.
Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel,
Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh,
Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect
That lowers upon its fortunes.
Complain not on me, child of clay,
If to thy harm I yield the way.
We, who soar thy sphere above,
Know not aught of hate or love;
As will or wisdom rules thy mood,
My gifts to evil turn or good.
When Piercie Shafton boasteth high,
Let this token meet his eye.
The sun is westering from the dell,
Thy wish is granted-fare thee well!
(8.) TO THE SAME.
HE, whose heart for vengeance sued,
Must not shrink from shedding blood;
The knot that thou hast tied with word,
Thou must loose by edge of sword.
You have summon'd me once, you have summon'd me twice,
And without e'er a summons I come to you thrice ; Unask'd for, unsued for, you came to my glen, Unsued and unask'd, I am with you again.
(9.) TO MARY AVENEL.
MAIDEN, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, Whose eyes shall commune with the Dead Alive,
The Word, the Law, the Path which thou dost
To find, and canst not find.-Could Spirits shed Tears for their lot, it were my lot to weep, Showing the road which I shall never tread, Though my foot points it.-Sleep, eternal sleep, Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness my lot!
But do not thou at human ills repine;
Secure there lies full guerdon in this spot
For all the woes that wait frail Adam's line— Stoop then and make it yours,-I may not make it mine!
(10.) TO EDWARD GLENDINNING.
THOU who seek'st my fountain lone,
With thoughts and hopes thou dar❜st not own;
Whose heart within leap'd wildly glad,
When most his brow seem'd dark and sad;
Hie thee back, thou find'st not here
Corpse or coffin, grave or bier;
The Dead Alive is gone and fled-
Go thou and join the Living Dead !
The Living Dead, whose sober brow
Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast now
Whose hearts within are seldom cured
Of passions by their vows abjured;
Where, under sad and solemn show,
Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow.
Seek the convent's vaulted room,
Prayer and vigil be thy doom;
Doff the green, and don the grey,
To the cloister hence away y!
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