72

THE NEW LEGEND OF WARKWORTH.

Then Percy took his sword again,

And on the beast did jump,

He hack'd and hack'd with might and main
The tail off to the stump.

Now if some unbelieving Jew
Or Turk, as who can tell?
Should cavil at a tale so true,
And known in Warkworth well,

Then let him go and put on oath
One Oliver, the clerk,

And Pringle, sexton, grave men both,
And of fair worth and mark.

Then ask them,-Did your forefathers
Not carve in olden time

That effigy recorded, sirs,

In some quaint modern rhyme?

And in the castle he'll not fail
To see, carv'd rough and bold,

A tiger-fowl without a tail,
The very thing here told.

View also the old hermitage
By Coquet's margin fair,
The window where the beast in rage
Could not get in, is there.

Judge for yourselves, and if you scout

What there are means to trace

*

*

By sight and touch, why next you'll doubt
The nose on your own face.

HUGHES

WILD FLOWERS.

73

59. WILD FLOWERS.

BEAUTIFUL children of the woods and fields !
That bloom by mountain streamlets, 'mid the heather,
Or into clusters, 'neath the hazels, gather,-
Or where by hoary rocks you make your bields,
And sweetly flourish on through summer weather-
I love ye all!

Beautiful flowers! to me ye fresher seem
From the Almighty hand that fashioned all,
Than those that flourish round a garden-wall;
And I can image you, as in a dream,

Fair, modest maidens, nursed in hamlets small :---
I love ye all!

Beautiful gems! that on the brow of earth
Are fix'd as in a queenly diadem ;
Though lowly ye, and most without a name,
Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come forth,
As light erewhile into the world came,-
I love ye all!

Beautiful things ye are where'er ye grow!

The wild red rose-the speedwell's peeping eyesOur own bluebell-the daisy, that doth rise Wherever sunbeams fall, or winds do blow; And thousands more of blessed forms and dyes,I love ye all!

H

74

WILD FLOWERS.

Beautiful nurslings of the early dew!
Fanned in your loveliness by every breeze,
And shaded o'er by green and arching trees:
I often wish that I were one of you,
Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas,-
I love ye all!

Beautiful watchers! day and night ye wake!
The evening star grows dim, and fades away,
And morning comes and goes, and then the day
Within the arms of night its rest doth take;
But ye are watchful wheresoe'er ye stray,—
I love ye all!

Beautiful objects of the wild-bee's love!

The wild-bird joys your opening bloom to see,
And in your native woods and wilds to be.
All hearts, to nature true, ye strangely move;
Ye are so passing fair-so passing free,-
I love ye all!

Beautiful children of the glen and dell

The dingle deep-the moorland stretching wide,
And of the mossy fountain's sedgy side,

Ye o'er my heart have thrown a lovesome spell,
And, though the worldling, scorning, may deride-
I love ye all!

NICOLL.

60. THE FLOWER MORE ENDURING THAN

MARBLE.

MARBLE is less enduring than the flower

That wither'd ages since, and withers now,

Where, black as night, th' unalter'd mountains tower, And baffled time sees things that mock his power.

ELLIOTT.

THE BETTER LAND.

75

61. THE BETTER LAND.

"I HEAR thee speak of the better land; Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! oh where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs?" "Not there, not there, my child!”

"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"
"Not there, not there, my child !”

"Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold? Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?— Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ?" "Not there, not there, my child!

Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy!
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,-
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child!"

MRS. HEMANS.

76

BABY'S SHOES.

62. BABY'S SHOES.

O THOSE little, those little blue shoes!
Those shoes that no little feet use!
O the price were high,

That those shoes would buy,

Those little blue unused shoes!

For they hold the small shape of feet
That no more their mother's eyes meet,
That, by God's good will,

Years since grew still,

And ceased from their totter so sweet!

And O, since that baby slept,

So hush'd! how the mother has kept,
With a tearful pleasure,

That little dear treasure,
And o'er them thought and wept !

For they mind her for evermore
Of a patter along the floor,
And blue eyes she sees

Look up from her knees,

With the look that in life they wore.

As they lie before her there,
There babbles from chair to chair

A little sweet face,

That's a gleam in the place,

With its little gold curls of hair.