With tear-drop glittering to a smile,
The gay maid on the garden-stile
Mimics the hunter's shout.

"Hip! Florian, hip! To horse, to horse! Go, bring the palfrey out.

'My Julian's out with all his clan,

And, bonny boy, you wis,

Lord Julian is a hasty man,

Who comes late, comes amiss."

Now Florian was a stripling squire,
A gallant boy of Spain,
That toss'd his head in joy and pride,
Behind his Lady fair to ride,

But blush'd to hold her train.

The huntress is in her dress of green,-
And forth they go; she with her bow,
Her buskins and her quiver!-

The squire no younger e'er was seen—
With restless arm and laughing een,
He makes his javelin quiver.

And had not Ellen stay'd the race,
And stopp'd to see, a moment's space,
The whole great globe of light
Give the last parting kiss-like touch
To the eastern ridge, it lack'd not much,
They had o'erta'en the knight.

It chanced that up the covert lane,
Where Julian waiting stood,

A neighbour knight prick'd on to join
The huntsmen in the wood.

And with him must Lord Julian go,
Tho' with an anger'd mind:
Betroth'd not wedded to his bride,

In vain he sought, twixt shame and pride,
Excuse to stay behind.

He bit his lip, he wrung his glove,
He look'd around, he look'd above,

But pretext none could find or frame!
Alas! alas! and well-a-day!

It grieves me sore to think, to say,

That names so seldom meet with Love,

Yet Love wants courage without a name!

Straight from the forest's skirt the trees
O'er-branching, made an aisle,
Where hermit old might pace and chaunt
As in a minster's pile.

From underneath its leafy screen,

And from the twilight shade, You pass at once into a green, A green and lightsome glade.

And there Lord Julian sate on steed;
Behind him, in a round,

Stood knight and squire, and menial train ;
Against the leash the greyhounds strain;
The horses paw'd the ground.

When up the alley green, Sir Hugh
Spurr'd in upon the sward,

And mute, without a word, did he

Fall in behind his lord.

Lord Julian turn'd his steed half round."What! doth not Alice deign

To accept your loving convoy, knight?
Or doth she fear our woodland sleight,
And joins us on the plain ?"

With stifled tones the knight replied,
And look'd askance on either side,-

66

Nay, let the hunt proceed!—

The Lady's message that I bear,

I guess would scantly please your ear,
And less deserves your heed.

"You sent betimes.

Not yet unbarr'd

I found the middle door ;

Two stirrers only met my eyes,

Fair Alice, and one more

"I came unlook'd for: and, it seem'd,

In an unwelcome hour;

And found the daughter of Du Clos

Within the lattic'd bower.

"But hush! the rest may wait. If lost,

No great loss, I divine;

And idle words will better suit

A fair maid's lips than mine."

"God's wrath! speak out, man," Julian cried, O'ermaster'd by the sudden smart ;— And feigning wrath, sharp, blunt, and rude, The knight his subtle shift pursued.— "Scowl not at me; command my skill, To lure your hawk back, if you will, But not a woman's heart.

"Go! (said she) tell him,-slow is sure;
Fair speed his shafts to-day!

I follow here a stronger lure,
And chase a gentler prey.'

"The game, pardie, was full in sight, That then did, if I saw aright,

The fair dame's eyes engage;

For turning, as I took my ways,
I saw them fix'd with steadfast gaze
Full on her wanton page."

The last word of the traitor knight
It had but entered Julian's ear,-
From two o'erarching oaks between,
With glist'ning helm-like cap is seen,
Borne on in giddy cheer,

A youth, that ill his steed can guide ;
Yet with reverted face doth ride,

As answering to a voice,

That seems at once to laugh and chide-
"Not mine, dear mistress," still he cried,
"'Tis this mad filly's choice."

With sudden bound, beyond the boy,
See! see! that face of hope and joy,

That regal front! those cheeks aglow!
Thou needed'st but the crescent sheen,
A quiver'd Dian to have been,

Thou lovely child of old Du Clos !

Dark as a dream Lord Julian stood,
Swift as a dream, from forth the wood,
Sprang on the plighted Maid!

With fatal aim, and frantic force,

The shaft was hurl'd!

—a lifeless corse,

Fair Alice from her vaulting horse,

Lies bleeding on the glade.

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.

WHERE is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where
may the grave of that good man be?-
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch tree!