Imatges de pÓgina

“ Look up, look up, deluded one l

Oh, not on thee the scorn should lie; But let the slave my weapon shun

Who soil'd thy fame, then bid thee die !"

One faint low sigh, one loving look,

Ineffable of angel peace,
And then its flight her spirit took

To realms where sin and sufforings cease.

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· My steed! my steed !” Sir Eldred cried ;

" Away, o'er moor and sunlit glade, I must for vengeance quickly ride

Make way for Eldred the Betray'a !"- ”

He gain'd the stately castle walls,

Where revel held the traitor knight, And cried, “ Come forth I-Sir Eldred calls !

Our battle-word be, God and Right !'”


The goblet, raised to pledge his guests,

His guilty hand could not retain; Its motto, " Keep unsullied Crests !”

Shone forth amid the purple stain ;

And, as his starting eye it met,

It seem'd an omen, boding ill To one who dared its voice forget,

To work his own unholy will :

He met Sir Eldred's lightning-glance

The name of “ Coward !” struck his ear, As, starting from his moment's trance,

He tried to quell the sense of fear.

For Gertrude,” cried Sir Eldred, w this

For Gertrude, traitor, and my name For Gertrude and my ruin'd bliss

For Gertrude, yield thy knightly fame !"






“GOOD TIME, Oh, stay !--my merry sport

Has lasted but an hour;
I have not yet the bright moth caught,
Now perch'd on yonder flow'r l-

Hold still thy glass,

Let no grain pass,
I'll have it in a minute,

And then with thee

I'll go with glee;

; But let me,-let me win it !”


Good Time, good Time!--Oh, haste! Oh, haste!

How tardy thou art moving !--
Oh, think not I'll the moments waste
That, sure, were made for loving !-

Thy sands run on:
No more I'll con

Sage lessons, spun to stay me;


and free
I'll henceforth be;
Then think not to delay me !"


“ Pause, pause, good Time, and let me think

How I may best employ thee ! I stand upon a mountain's brink, Life's ocean spread before me

I'd find a way

My part to play,
And shape my future story:

Then, pause, I crave,

But while Hope's wave
Rolls on to bring me glory!”



Time edged his scythe and turn'd his glass,

His wallet bulky growing, While Man had watch'd the bright wave pass, And glory with it flowing;

And, as Man sighed,

Time, musing, cried : · Hope, oft, is distant TROUBLE;

Yet Child, Youth, Man,

Through life's short span,
Have each pursued the bubble !"

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