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"Evan's Ancient Ballads," and ascribed it

to Mickle :

The dews of summer night did fall,

The moon (sweet regent of the sky)
Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall,

And many an oak that grew thereby.

Now nought was heard beneath the skies

(The sounds of busy life were still), Save an unlucky lady's sighs,

That issued from that lonely pile.

“ Leicester," she cried, “is this thy love

That thou so oft has sworn to me,
To leave me in this lonely grove,

Immured in shameful privacy ?

No more thou com'st with lover's speed,

Thy once beloved bride to see;
But be she alive, or be she dead,
I fear, stern Earl, the same


Not so the usage I received

When happy in my father's hall; No faithless husband then me grieved,

No chilling fears did me appal.

I rose up with the cheerful morn,

No lark so blithe, no flower so gay; And, like the bird that haunts the thorn,

So merrily sung the live-long day.

If that my beauty is but small,

Among court ladies all despised,
Why did'st thou rend it from that hall,

Wiere, scornful Earl, it well was prized.

And when you first to me made suit,

How fair I was, you oft would say! And, proud of conquest, plucked the fruit,

Then left the blossom to decay.


Thus lone and sad that 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 appeared,

In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, Full many a piercing scream was heard,

And many, a cry of mortal fear.

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Full many a traveller has sighed,

And pensive wept the Countess' fall, As wandering onwards they've espied

The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.



Ave Maria, from yon convent gray:

The evening bell is calling us to prayer, Its mellowed chimes in distance fade away,

Parting the stillness of the summer air. Ave Maria at this holy hour,

When the deep fountains of the heart are stirred, 'Tis sweet to feel the plentitude of power,

Which God on thee conferred.

Oh holy mother, by thy blessed aid,

We hope on earth to do our Saviour's will, Oh light the shadows on our path-way laid,

And holy confidence with peace instil ; Then shall that watchful care, that brooding love,

Prevail to save us when the tempter's nigb, Blessed in thy guidance ne'er again we'll rove,

Bu mo nt successive to thy throne on high.

That bell hath warned us like some gentle tone,

A voice of pleading ne'er to be forgot,
Resistless monitor, can there be one

Who to thy summons answers not ?
Yon gentle maid, Italia's dark-eyed child,

Has laid aside the swift propelling oar,
Her boat lies moveless on the sunny wave,

To heaven and thee her orisons now soar.

Oh favored land, no Protean faith is thine,

No symbol veering with the summer air, The holy type, the true suggestive sign

That tells of Calvary alone is there. And now, though parted from thy deep blue main,

Thy sun-lit hills, thy far-off sounding sea, Visions are flitting through my busy brain,

Which stir the magic chords of memory.

The spells of home are deep within my heart,

Its haunting memories, and its whispering tones Of my lone life, they are the only part

O'er which a sunbeam glimmers on.

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