THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. CANTO SECOND. Lyulph's Tale, continued. ANOTHER day, another day, And yet another, glides away! The horn, that foemen wont to fear, Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer, D And Caliburn, the British pride, Hangs useless by a lover's side. II. Another day, another day, And yet another, glides away. Heroic plans in pleasure drown'd, He thinks not of the Table Round; Better to wreathe, 'mid tresses brown, The heron's plume her hawk struck down, Than o'er the altar give to flow The banners of a Paynim foe. Thus, week by week, and day by day, His life inglorious glides away; 2 But she, that sooths his dream, with fear Beholds his hour of waking near. III. Much force have mortal charms to stay Our pace in Virtue's toilsome way; In days of old deem'd to preside To sink in slothful sin and shame The champions of the Christian name. Her lovers barter'd fair esteem, Faith, fame, and honour, for a dream. IV. Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame She practised thus-till Arthur came; Then, frail humanity had part, And all the mother claim'd her heart. Forgot each rule her father gave, |