Before him passed the young and fair, But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair- He sat where festal bowls went round; A murmur of the restless deep A voice of winds that would not sleep- Hearts in that time, closed o'er the trace And strangers took the kinsman's place At many a joyous board; Graves, which true love had bathed with tears, Fresh hopes were born for other years- CŒUR-DE-LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey church of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Coeur-de-Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely grave. TORCHES were blazing clear, Banners of battle o'er him hung, And warriors slept beneath, And light, as Noon's broad light, was flung On the settled face of death A strong and ruddy glare, Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, Yet it fell still brightest there : As if each deeply-furrowed trace Of earthly years to show,- The marble floor was swept By many a long dark stole, As the kneeling priests round him that slept, And solemn were the strains they poured With the cross above, and the crown and sword, There was heard a heavy clang, And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang And the holy chant was hushed awhile, A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle, He came with haughty look, But his proud heart through its breast-plate shook, He stood there still with a drooping brow, And clasped hands o'er it raised; For his father lay before him low, It was Coeur-de-Lion gazed! And silently he strove With the workings of his breast, But there's more in late repentant love And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain- For his face was seen by his warrior-train, He stooped-and kissed the frozen cheek, Till bursting words-yet all too weak "Oh, father! is it vain, This late remorse and deep? "Speak to me! mighty grief And that thou answerest not? Thy silver hairs I see, I bore thee down, high heart! at last, "Thou wert the noblest king, 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 -Oh! ever the renowned and loved Thou wert-and there thou art! "Thou that my boyhood's guide How will that sad still face of thine THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN TREE. "Here (at Bereton in Cheshire) is one thing incredibly strange, but attested, as I myself have heard, by many persons, and commonly believed. Before any heir of this family dies, there are seen, in a lake adjoining, the bodies of trees swimming on the water for several days." Camden's Britannia. YES! I have seen the ancient oak On the dark deep water cast, And it was not felled by the woodman's stroke For the axe might never touch that tree, And the air was still as a summer sea. I saw it fall, as falls a chief By an arrow in the fight, And the old woods shook, to their loftiest leaf, And the startled deer to their coverts drew, "Tis fall'n! but think thou not I weep But by that sign too well I know, A youthful head, with its shining hair, But on his brow the mark is set Oh! could my life redeem him yet! He bounded by me as I gazed Alone on the fatal sign, And it seemed like sunshine when he raised His joyous glance to mine! With a stag's fleet step he bounded by, So full of life-but he must die! He must, he must! in that deep, dell, 'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell, I've borne him in these arms that now And must I see on that fair brow, I must!-yon green oak, branch and crest, The noble boy!-how proudly sprung It seemed like youth to see him young, But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh, Say not 'tis vain!—I tell thee, some THE WILD HUNTSMAN. It is a popular belief in the Odenwald, that the passing of the Wild Huntsman announces the approach of war. He is supposed to issue with his train from the ruined castle of Rodenstein, and traverse the air to the opposite castle of Schnellerts. It is confidently asserted that the sound of his phantom horses and hounds was heard by the Duke of Baden before the commencement of the last war in Germany. THY rest was deep at the slumberer's hour Of the savage horn from the mountain-tower; |