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The stainless faith, the manly face I—
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.
Grudge not her victory,
To none so dear as thee!
Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear
"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."
Even upon Bannock's bloody plain,
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven.
WILLIAM AND HELEN.
IMITATED FROM THE "LENORE" OF BURGEE.
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:
0 art thou false or dead ?"—
With gallant Fred'rick's princely power
But not a word from Judah's wars
With Paynim and with Saracen
And ev'ry knight return'd to dry
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.
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.
The martial band is past and gono;
She rends her raven hair,
She weeps with wild despair.
"0 rise, my child," her mothor said, "Nor sorrow thus in vain;
A perjured lover's fleeting heart