To his Castle Hubert sped,

He has nothing now to dread.

But silent and by stealth he came,

And at an hour which nobody could name.

None could tell if it were night-time,

Night or day, at even or morn ;

For the sound was heard by no one

Of the proclamation Horn.

But bold Hubert lives in glee:
Months and years went smilingly;

With plenty was his table spread;

And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.

Likewise he had sons and daughters;

And, as good men do, he sate

At his board by these surrounded,
Flourishing in fair estate.

And while thus in open day

Once he sate, as old books say,

A blast was uttered from the Horn,

Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn.

'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace !

He is come to claim his right:

Ancient Castle, woods, and mountains

Hear the challenge with delight.

Hubert though the blast be blown,

He is helpless and alone:

Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!

And there he may be lodged, and thou be Lord.

Speak!-astounded Hubert cannot;

And, if power to speak he had,

All are daunted, all the household

Smitten to the heart, and sad.

'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be

Living man, it must be he!

Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,

And by a postern-gate he slunk away.

Long, and long was he unheard of :
To his Brother then he came,
Made confession, asked forgiveness,
Asked it by a brother's name,
And by all the saints in heaven ;
And of Eustace was forgiven :

Then in a convent went to hide
His melancholy head, and there he died.

But Sir Eustace, whom good Angels
Had preserved from murderers' hands,
And from pagan chains had rescued,
Lived with honour on his lands.
Sons he had, saw sons of theirs :

And through ages, heirs of heirs,

A long posterity renowned,

Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.

DAFFODILS.

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay :

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee :—
A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company:

I gazed-and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought :

For oft when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.

Ar the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,
There's a Thrush that sings loud-it has sung for three years:

Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard

In the silence of morning the song of the bird.

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? she sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale,
Down which she so often has tripped with her pail ;
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's,
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade,
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade :
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,
And the colours have all passed away from her eyes.

SAILING IN A BOAT AT EVENING.

How richly glows the water's breast
Before us, tinged with evening hues,
While, facing thus the crimson West,
The boat her silent course pursues !
And see how dark the backward stream,
A little moment past so smiling;
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Some other loiterers beguiling.
Such views the youthful bard allure;
But, heedless of the following gloom,
He deems their colours shall endure
Till peace go with him to the tomb.
And let him nurse this fond deceit,

And what if he must die in sorrow?

Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
Though grief and pain may come to-morrow!