The ancient house of Erlingford And Severn's ample waters near And often the way-faring man But never could Lord William dare In vain at midnight's silent hour, In In vain by restless conscience driven Lord William left his home, Far from the scenes that saw his guilt, To other climes the pilgrim fled, He sought his home again, but Was still a stranger there. peace Slow were the passing hours, yet swift A day that William never felt For well had conscience calendared A fearful day was that! the rains And the swollen tide of Severn spread In vain Lord William sought the feast, And strove with noisy mirth to drown The tempest, as its sudden swell With cold and death-like feelings seemed Reluctant now, as night came on, Beside that couch, his brother's form, Such and so pale his face as when "I bade thee with a father's love He started up, each limb convulsed With agonising fear; He only heard the storm of night,— 'Twas music to his ear. When, lo! the voice of loud alarm "What ho! Lord William, rise in haste! He rose in haste, beneath the walls He saw the flood appear; It hemmed him round, 'twas midnight nowNo human aid was near. He heard a shout of joy! for now "My boat is small," the boatman cried, Strange feelings filled them at his voice Even in that hour of woe, That, save their lord, there was not one But William leapt into the boat, His terror was so sore; "Thou shalt have half my gold," he cried, The boatman plied the oar, the boat The boatman paused, "Methought I heard ""Twas but the howling wind of night," Lord William made reply. "Haste-haste-ply swift and strong the oar; Haste-haste across the stream!" Again Lord William heard a cry "I heard a child's distressful scream," "Nay, hasten on—the night is darkAnd we should search in vain." "O God! Lord William, dost thou know And canst thou without pity hear "How horrible it is to sink Beneath the closing stream, To stretch the powerless arms in vain, The shriek again was heard: it came And near them they beheld a child; A little crag, and all around Was spread the rising flood. The boatman plied the oar, the boat "Now reach thy hand," the boatman cried, The child stretched forth his little hands, G Then William shrieked: the hands he felt The boat sunk down-the murderer sunk WATERLOO. BY BYRON. THERE was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar ! |