"Then, Leicester, why,-again I plead,
The injured surely may repine,-13
Why didst thou wed a country maid,

When some fair Princess might be thing? "Why didst thou praise my humble charms, And O! then leave them to decay?

Why didst thou win me to thy arms,
Then leave, to mourn the live-long day?
"The village maidens of the plain
Salute me lowly as they go:14
Envious, they mark my silken train,

Nor think a Countess can have woe.
"How far less blest am I than them!15

16

Daily to pine and waste with care,1
Like the poor plant, that, from its stem
Divided, feels the chilling air.

"My spirits flag;17 my hopes decay;
Still that dread death-bell smites my ear:
And many a bodings seems to say
Countess, prepare! thy end is near!"
Thus, sore and sad, the Lady grieved
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear;
And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,
And let fall many a bitter tear.
And ere the dawn of day appear'd,
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear,
Full many a piercing scream was heard,
And many a cry of mortal fear.

13 repine, murmur.

15 them, should be "they." 1: flag, droop.

14 go, curtsey low to me as they pass.

16

care, sorrow.

18 boding, sign,

The death-bell thrice was heard to ring;
An airy voice was heard to call;
And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.
The mastiff howl'd at village door;
The oaks were shatter'd on the green;
Woe was the hour! for never more
That hapless Countess e'er was seen.
And in that manor now no more

Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball:
For ever since that dreary hour

Have stories haunted Cumnor Hall.

The village maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall,
Nor ever lead the merry dance

Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.
Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd,
And pensive wept the Countess' fall,
As wandering onward they've espied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.

50

CHARACTER.

GOOD name in men or women,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls.

Who steals my purse steals trash; tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, tis his, and has been slave to thousands:

But he that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,

And makes me poor indeed.

51

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

UR bugles sang truce,'-for the nightcloud had lower'd,2

And the sentinel stars set their watch

in the sky;

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd,

The weary to sleep, and the wounded
to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw
By the wolf-scaring fagot" that guarded the slain;
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array7
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track;
'Twas Autumn,-and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

8

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore

From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart.

1 truce, an end to the fight, for the time.

2 lower'd, descended.

3 stars, the stars keeping their posts like sentinels. 4 reposing, sleeping. 5 pallet, bed.

7

fagot, wolves, that would have mangled them, were scared by lighted fires. array, marshalled order. 8 wine-cup, drank each other's health.

"Stay-stay with us-rest-thou art

worn!"

weary and And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

THE sun does arise

And make happy the skies;

The merry bells ring

To welcome the spring;
The skylark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around

To the bells' cheerful sound;
While our sports shall be seen
On the echoing green.1

Old John, with white hair,
Does laugh away care,

Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.

They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say,
"Such, such were the joys
When we all-girls and boys-
In our youth-time were seen
On the echoing green."

1 green, the village green.

1

THE ORPHAN CHILDREN.

REACH'D the village on the plain,
Just when the setting sun's last ray
Shone blazing on the golden vane1
Of the old church across the way.
Across the way alone I sped,

And climb'd the stile, and sat me there,
To think in silence on the dead,

Who in the churchyard sleeping were. There many a long, low grave I view'd, Where toil and want in quiet lie; And costly slabs amongst them stood, That bore the names of rich and high. One new-made mound I saw close by, O'er which the grasses hardly crept, Where, looking forth with listless eye, Two ragged children sat and wept.

vane, weather-cock fixed above a spire or church tower. 2 listless, dull, heedless.