When the sound of a voice seemed to rise She beholds them in safety pass on by her on her ear!- side, She paused, and she listened intently, in She seizes the hat, fear her courage supfear, And her heart panted painfully now. plied, And fast through the Abbey she flies. The wind blew; the hoarse ivy shook over She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at her head, She listened, nought else could she hear: The wind fell; her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, the door, She gazed in her terror around, Then her limbs could support their faint burden no more, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the And exhausted and breathless she sank on tread Of footsteps approaching her near! the floor, Unable to utter a sound. Behind a wide column, half breathless with Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, fear, She crept, to conceal herself there: That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear, And between them a corpse they did bear! Then Mary could feel the heart-blood curdle cold: Again the rough wind hurried by It blew off the hat of the one, and behold, Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled, She felt, and expected to die. For a moment the hat met her view; Her eyes from that object convulsively start, Он, the gallant flag of England rides In every sea, from pole to pole, the Redbravely in the breeze, cross flag is seen, O'er many a tall and goodly ship-the The herald of Old England's name, wide Monarch of the Seas! ocean's peerless queen: Full twice five hundred years ago 'mid From China's walls to old Cape Horn she warring States it rose; holds resistless sway; And like a comet in the sky-blazed And sweeps along the Western sea to fiercely o'er our foes: Baffin's icy bay. In battles hot, and tempests loud, it But though it leads our thunder forth to streamed above the wave, earth's remotest line, And taught the wondering world to fear Unsullied honour is the light that makes the Island of the Brave! its glory shine. What hallowed names bestud thee, like Oh, the gallant flag of England, where gems of priceless cost! valour, justice, right, What deeds of strife, what wreck of life, Combine to cheer the drooping world with are on thy folds embossed! The hearts of oak that broke the waves Freedom's holy light! The swarthy tribes of burning climes-the weak, the poor, the slave were not more firm and true Than those brave hearts that trod the Have heard her voice, like thunder, boom deck a bold and fearless crew. along the trembling wave: In every thread the memory lives of some It rived in twain the galling chain, and devoted tar, Whose lofty deeds have made our flag Old Who tramples down the rights of man, England's brightest star. bade each tyrant know, Old England is his foe. MULLEN. CEUR-DE-LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. TORCHES were blazing clear, Where a king lay stately on his bier Banners of battle o'er him hung, For his face was seen by his warrior train, And he recked not that they saw. He looked upon the dead And sorrow seemed to lie, And light, as noon's broad light, was flung He stooped, and pressed the frozen cheek, On the settled face of death. On the settled face of death A strong and ruddy glare, And the heavy hand of clay; Till bursting words--yet all too weak- Though dimmed at times by the censer's "O father! is it vain, breath, Yet it fell still brightest there; Of earthly years to show;- 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 pavements rang With a sounding thrill of dread; A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle He came with haughty look, An eagle-glance and clear! 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? Woe, woe for all The love my soul forgot! Thy silver hairs I see, So still, so sadly bright! I bore thee down, high heart! at last, Thou wert the noblest king On royal throne e'er seen; And thou didst wear in knightly ring Of all the stateliest mien; But his proud heart through his breast- And thou didst prove, where spears are plate shook When he stood beside the bier. He stood there still with a drooping brow For his father laid before him low- And silently he strove With the workings of his breast; 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 by thy side, And climbed thy parent knee ! But there's more in the late repentant love And then before the blessed shrine, Than steel may keep suppressed! And his tears broke forth at last like rain;Men held their breath in awe; My sire! I see thee lie How will that sad, still face of thine Look on me till I die !" MRS. HEMANS. |