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The stainless faith, the manly face I—
Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine,
For late-wake of De Argentine
O'er better knight on death-bier laid,
Torch never gleam'd nor mass was said!"

xxxv.

Nor for De Argentine alone

Through Ninian's church these torches shone,

And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.

That yellow lustre glimmer'd pale,

On broken plate and bloodied mail,

Rent crest and shatter'd coronet,

Of Baron, Earl, and Banneret;

And the best names that England knew,

Claim'd in the death-prayer dismal due.

Yet mourn not, Land of Fame! Though ne'er the Leopards on thy shield Retreated from so sad a field,

Since Norman William came.
Oft may thine annals justly boast
Of battles stem-by Scotland lost;

Grudge not her victory,
When for her freeborn rights she strove,
Rights dear to all who freedom love,

To none so dear as thee!

Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear
Must from Fitz-Lonis tidings hear:
With him a hundred voices tell
Of prodigy and miracle,

"For the mute page had spoke."—

"Page !" said Fitz-Louis, "rather say, An angel sent from realms of day,

To burst the English yoke. I saw his plume and bonnet drop, When hurrying from the mountain-top; A lovely brow, dark locks that wave, To his bright eyes new lustre gave; A step as light upon the green, As if his pinions waved unseen !"— "Spoke he with none?"—"With none—one

word Burst when he saw the Island Lord, Returning from the battle-field."— "What answer made the Chief ?"—" He kneel'd, Durst not look up, but mutter'd low, Some mingled sounds that none might know, And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear, As being of superior sphere."

XXXVII.

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain,
Heap'd then with thousands of the slain,
'Mid victor monarch's musings high,
Mirth laugh'd in good King Robert's eye.—
"And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving hair?
Hath Ronald kneel'd to him?" he said,
"Then must we call the church to aid—
Our will be to the Abbot known,
Ere these strange news are wider blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass,
And deck the church for solemn mass,
To pay for high deliverance given,

A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven.
Let him array, besides, such state,
As should on princes' nuptials wait.
Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite,
That once broke short that spousal rite,
Ourself will grace, with early morn,
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn."

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WILLIAM AND HELEN.

IMITATED FROM THE "LENORE" OF BURGEE.
I.

From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,

And eyed the dawning red:
"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!

0 art thou false or dead ?"—

With gallant Fred'rick's princely power
He sought the bold Crusade;

But not a word from Judah's wars
Told Helen how ho sped.

With Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made,

And ev'ry knight return'd to dry
The tears his love had shed.

IV.

Our gallant host was homeward bound

With many a song of joy; Green waved the laurel in each plume,

The badge of victory.

v. And old and young, and sire and son,

To meet them crowd the way, With shouts, and mirth, and melody,

The debt of love to pay.

VI. Full many a maid her true-love mei,

And sobb'd in his embrace, And flutt'ring joy in tears and smiles

Array'd full many a face.

VII.

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad;

She sought the host in vain; For none could tell her William's fate,

If faithless, or if slain.

VIII.

The martial band is past and gono;

She rends her raven hair,
And in distraction's bitter mood

She weeps with wild despair.

IX.

"0 rise, my child," her mothor said, "Nor sorrow thus in vain;

A perjured lover's fleeting heart
No tears recall again."—

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