Before him passed the young and fair,
In pleasure's reckless train,

But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair-
He never smiled again!

He sat where festal bowls went round;
He heard the minstrel sing,
He saw the tourney's victor crowned,
Amidst the knightly ring:

A murmur of the restless deep

Was blent with every strain,
A voice of winds that would not sleep-
-He never smiled again!

Hearts in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured,

And strangers took the kinsman's place

At many a joyous board;

Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,
Were left to Heaven's bright rain,

Fresh hopes were born for other years-
-He never smiled again!

COEUR-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,
Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier,
In the church of Fontevraud.
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.

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,-Alas! that sceptred mortal's race Had surely closed in wo!

The marble floor was swept
By many a long dark stole,

As the kneeling priests round him that slept,
Sang mass for the parted soul;

And solemn were the strains they poured
Through the stillness of the night,

With the cross above, and the crown and sword,
And the silent king in sight.

There was heard a heavy clang,

As of steel-girt men the tread,

And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
With a sounding thrill of dread;

And the holy chant was hushed awhile,

As by the torch's flame,

A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle,
With a mail-clad leader came.

He came with haughty look,
An eagle-glance and clear,

But his proud heart through its breast-plate shook, When he stood beside the bier!

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
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 reck'd not that they saw.

He looked upon the dead,
And sorrow seemed to lie,
A weight of sorrow, ev'n 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.

"Oh, 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."

"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 ?-wo, wo for all

The love my soul forgot!

"

Thy silver hairs I sec,
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 ;-
Oh! for one moment of the past,

To kneel and say-'Forgive!"

"Thou wert the noblest king, On royal throne e'er 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-
-Oh! 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!
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!"

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
Or the rush of the sweeping blast;
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,
At the crashing of its might!

And the startled deer to their coverts drew,
And the spray of the lake as a fountain's flew!

'Tis fall'n! but think thou not I weep
For the forest's pride o'erthrown;
An old man's tears lie far too deep,
To be poured for this alone!
But by that sign too well I know,
That a youthful head must soon be low!

A youthful head, with its shining hair,
And its bright quick-flashing eye-
-Well may I weep! for the boy is fair,
Too fair a thing to die!

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,
By that dark water's side,

'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell,
But an heir of his fathers died,
And he there's laughter in his eye,
Joy in his voice-yet he must die!

I've borne him in these arms that now
Are nerveless and unstrung;
And must I see on that fair brow,
The dust untimely flung?

I must!-yon green oak, branch and crest,
Lies floating on the dark lake's breast!

The noble boy!-how proudly sprung
The falcon from his hand!

It seemed like youth to see him young,
A flower in his father's land!

But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh,
For the tree hath fall'n, and the flower must die.

Say not 'tis vain!-I tell thee, some
Are warned by a meteor's light,
Or a pale bird flitting calls them home,
Or a voice on the winds by night;
And they must go!-and he too, he-
Wo for the fall of the glorious Tree !

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 confi dently 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
If thou didst not hear the blast

Of the savage horn from the mountain-tower;
As the Wild Night-Huntsman passed.
And the roar of the stormy chase went by,
Through the dark unquiet sky!