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Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling,
To the sandy, lonesome shore ;
I shall never hear her calling,
“Leave your meadow grasses mellow,

Mellow, mellow !
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow !
Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot !
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow !
Come uppe, Lightfoot ! rise and follow ;

Lightfoot! Whitefoot !
From your clovers lift the head ;
Come uppe, Jetty! follow, follow,
Jetty, to the milking-shed !”


We used to think how she had come,

Even as comes the flower, The last and perfect added gift

To crown Love's morning hour;
And how in her was imaged forth

The love we could not say,
As on the little dewdrops round

Shines back the heart of day.

The morning-glory's blossoming

Will soon be coming round, We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves

Upspringing from the ground; The tender things the winter killed

Renew again their birth, But the glory of our morning

Has passed away from earth.

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Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land,
From trace of human foot or hand.
There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak
In symphony austere ;
Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud,
And mists that spread the flying shroud ;
And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past,
But that enormous barrier holds it fast.
Not free from boding thoughts, awhile
The shepherd stood ; then makes his way
O'er rocks and stones, following the dog
As quickly as he may ;
Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground.
The appalled discoverer with a sigh
Looks round to learn the history.
From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The man had fallen, that place of fear !
At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear.
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day
On which the traveller passed this way.
But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell !
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.
The dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This dog had been through three months' space
A dweller in that savage place.
Yes, proof was plain, that, since the day
When this ill-fated traveller died,
The dog had watched about the spot,
Or by his master's side.
How nourished here through such long time
He knows who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate !

There is a solitary tomb, with rankling weeds o'er

grown, A single palm bends mournfully beside the mould.

ering stone Amidst whose leaves the passing breeze with fit

ful gust and slow Seems sighing forth a feeble dirge for him who

sleeps below. Beside, its sparkling drops of foam a desert foun

tain showers; And, floating calm, the lotus wreathes its red and

scented flowers, Here lurks the mountain fox unseen beside the

vulture's nest; And steals the wild hyena forth, in lone and silent

quest. Is this deserted resting place the couch of fallen

might? And ends the path of glory thus, and fame's in

spiring light? Chief of a progeny of kings renowned and feared

afar, Howisthy boasted name forgot, and dimmed thine

honor's star! Approach, - what saith the graven verse ? “Alas

for human pride! Dominion's envied gifts were mine, nor earth

her praise denied. Thou traveller, if a suppliant's voice find echo in

thy breast, 0, envy not the little dust that hides my mortal



A BARKING sound the shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox;
He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks;
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.
The dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy,
With something, as the shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry ;
Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear.
What is the creature doing here?
It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below!
Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,


HELVELLYN. [In the spring of 1805 a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months af. terwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. ] I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed

misty and wide :


All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was And more stately thy couch by this desert lake yelling,

lying, And starting around me the echoes replied. Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, On the right, Striden Edge round the Red Tarn With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, was bending,

In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.


FATHER. Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain

(The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey-church heather,

of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Cour de Lion, who Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly

reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the decay,

means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.] Like the corpse ofan outcast abandoned to weather,

TORCHES were blazing clear, Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless

Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, Where a king lay stately on his bier

In the church of Fontevraud.
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended, Banners of battle o'er him hung,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

And warriors slept beneath,
And light, as noon's broad light was flung

On the settled face death.
How long didst thou think that his silence was

slumber? When the wind waved his garment, how oft

On the settled face of death didst thou start ?

A strong and ruddy glare, How many long days and long nights didst thou Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, number

Yet it fell still brightest there; Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ?

As if each deeply furrowed trace And, 0, was it meet that- no requiem read

Of earthly years to show, o'er him,

Alas ! that sceptred mortal's race

Had surely closed in woe! No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,

The marble floor was swept And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before

By many a long dark stole, him

As the kneeling priests, round him that slept, Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart?

Sang mass for the parted soul;

And solemn were the strains they poured When a prince to the fate of the Peasant has

Through the stillness of the night, yielded,

With the cross above, and the crown and sword, The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted

And the silent king in sight. hall, With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, There was heard a heavy clang,

And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : As of steel-girt men the tread, Through the courts, at deep midnight, the And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang torches are gleaming;

With a sounding thrill of dread; in the proudly arched chapel the banners are And the holy chant was hushed awhile, bearning;

As, by the torch's flame, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is stream. A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle ing,

With a mail-clad leader came. Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.

He came with haughty look, But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

An eagle glance and clear; To lay down thy head like the meek mountain But his proud heart through its breastplate shook lamb,

When he stood beside the bier ! When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge He stood there still with a drooping brow, in stature,

And clasped hands o'er it raised ;And draws his last sob by the side of his For his father lay before him low, dam.

It was Cæur de Lion gazed !

And there before the blessed shrine,

My sire! I see thee lie, How will that sad still face of thine

Look on me till I die!”

And silently he strove

With the workings of his breast; But there's more in late repentant love

Than steel may keep suppressed !
And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain, —

Men held their breath in awe,
For his face was seen by his warrior-train,

And he recked not that they saw.



He looked upon the dead,

And sorrow seemed to lie,
A weight of sorrow, even like lead,

Pale on the fast-shut eye.
He stooped, — and kissed the frozen cheek,

And the heavy hand of clay,
Till bursting words - yet all too weak —

Gave his soul's passion way.

(Bernardo del Carpio, a Spanish warrior and grandee, hating made many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the Count Saldana, declared war against King Alphonso of Asturias. Being successful, the king agreed to terins by which he rendered up his prisoner to Bernardo, in exchange for the castle of Carpio and the captives confined therein. When the warrior pressed forward to greet his father, whom he had not seen for many years, he found a corpse on horseback.]


“O father! is it vain,

This late remorse and deep ? Speak to me, father ! once again,

I weep, — behold, I weep ! Alas ! my guilty pride and ire !

Were but this work undone, I would give England's crown, my sire !

To hear thee bless thy son.

The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed

his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-im

prisoned sire : “I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my

captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! O, break my father's chain ! "

II. Rise / rise ! even now thy father comes, a ran

somed man this day ! Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet

him on his way. Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on

his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's

foamy speed.

“Speak to me! mighty grief

Ere now the dust hath stirred ! Hear me, but hear me !- father, chief,

My king! I must be heard ! Hushed, hushed, - how is it that I call,

And that thou answerest not? When was it thus, woe, woe for all

The love my soul forgot!


“Thy silver hairs I see,

So still, so sadly bright! And father, father! but for me,

They had not been so white ! I bore thee down, high heart !*at last,

No longer couldst thou strive ;0, for one moment of the past

To kneel and say, — 'Forgive !!

And, lo, from far, as on they pressed, there came

a glittering band, With one that midst them stately rode, as a leader

in the land : “Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very

truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see.

IV. His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved,

his cheek's hué came and went ; He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and

there, dismounting, bent ; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand

he took, — What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit

shook ?

“ Thou wert the noblest king

On royal throne ere seen ;
And thou didst wear in knightly ring,

Of all, the stateliest mien ;
And thou didst prove, where spears are proved,

In war, the bravest heart, O, ever the renowned and loved

Thou wert, — and there thou art !

“Thou that my boyhood's guide

Didst take fond joy to be !-The times I've sported at thy side,

And climbed thy parent knee !

That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it

dropped from his like lead ! He looked up to the face above, — the face was

of the dead !

A plume waved o'er the noble brow, - the brow | The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, - give was fixed and white ;

answer, where are they? He met, at last, his father's eyes, but in them if thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life was no sight!

through this cold clay ;

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Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his

darkly mournful brow, “No more, there is no more," he said, “to lift THE CORONATION OF INEZ DE CASTRO.

the sword for now; My king is false, -- my hope betrayed ! My fa There was music on the midnight : ther, — O the worth,

From a royal fane it rolled, The glory, and the loveliness are passed away And a mighty bell, each pause between, from earth!

Sternly and slowly tolled.
Strange was their mingling in the sky,

It hushed the listener's breath ;
“I thought to stand where banners waved, my
sire, beside thee, yet ;

For the music spoke of triumph high, I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's

The lonely bell, of death. free soil had met ! Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then ; for

There was hurrying through the midnight,

A sound of many feet ; thee my fields were won ; And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though

But they fell with a muffled fearfulness
thou hadst no son!”

Along the shadowy street :
And softer, fainter, grew their tread

As it neared the minster gate,
Then, starting from the ground once more, he


Whence a broad and solemn light was shed seized the monarch's rein,

From a scene of royal state. Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ;

Full glowed the strong red radiance

In the centre of the nave, And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rear

Where the folds of a purple canopy ing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face, the king be

Swept down in many a wave; fore the dead :

Loading the marble pavement old

With a weight of gorgeous gloom,

For something lay midst their fretted gold “Caine I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's Like a shadow of the tomb.

hand to kiss ? Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell And within that rich pavilion, me what is this?

High on a glittering throne,


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