Bid these white lips a blessing speak,-this earth is not my sire:

Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed!

Thou canst not? and a king!—his dust be mountains on thy head !"

He loosed the steed,- ́s slack hand fell;-upon the silent face

He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that

sad place:

His hope was crushe iis after fate untold in martial strain:

His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spain.

Lady Clare.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

It was the time when lilies blow,

And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn:
Lovers long-betrothed were they:
They two shall wed the morrow morn;
God's blessing on the day.

"He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands, so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well," said Lady Clare;

In there came old Alice, the nurse,

Said, "Who was this that went from thee?"

"It was my cousin," said Lady Clare; "To-morrow he weds with me."

"Oh God be thanked!" said Alice, the nurse, "That all comes round so just and fair: Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,

And you are not the Lady Clare."

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?" Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?"

"As God's above," said Alice, t'

"I speak the truth; you are.

urse,

'hild.

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast:
I speak the truth as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead."

"Falsely, falsely have ye done,

O mother," she said, "if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.”

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse,
"But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's
When you are man and wife.”

"If I'm a beggar born," she said,
"I will speak out, for I dare not lie:
Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by."

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret all ye can."

She said, "Not so: but I will know,

If there be any faith in man.”

"Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse: "The man will cleave unto his right." "And he shall have it," the lady replied, "Though I should die to-night."

"Yet give one kiss to your mother dear!
Alas, my child, I sinned for thee."
"O mother, mother, mother!" she said,
"So strange it seems to me.

"Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so;
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go."

She clad herself in a russet gown-
She was no longer Lady Clare:
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,

Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,
And followed her all the way.

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:
"O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you drest like a village maid,
That are the flower of the earth?"

"If I come drest like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are:

I am a beggar born," she said,
"And not the Lady Clare."

"Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"For I am yours in word and deed.
Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"Your riddle is hard to read."

Oh, and proudly stood she up!

Her heart within her did not fail:
She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes,
And told him all her nurse's tale.

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn:

He turned and kissed her where she stood:

"If you are not the heiress born,

And I," said he, "the next of blood

"If you are not the heiress born,
And I," said he, "the lawful heir,

We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare."

The Battle of Waterloo.

LORD BYRON.

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage-bell:

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;

On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet;
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet-
But, hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is-it is the cannon's opening roar!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;

While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,

Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! They come! they come!"

And wild and high the "Camerons' gathering" rose!

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills

Have heard,—and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: