And gallantly the proud war-horse with its glittering rider

dash'd

Where the bugle rung, and the white helm gleam'd, and the flying arrow flash'd.

Sir Lara saw his valiant band unshaken in the field,
And through the smoke and flame arose his griffin-crest and

shield;

With reeking spur he prick'd his steed, and many a slave o'er

threw,

And on the point of Kaled's pike his silken pennon flew.

How oft in a dark foeman's blood his vengeful sword he dips, And the feelings of his noble soul oft issue from his lips

Bright be your helmets in the van, my dauntless serfs," he said,

"And oh, retrieve the wrongs they've heap'd on Lara's knightly head!

Why scowl not those proud banners in my sires' uncon

quer'd halls,

And why are not those trumpets hung upon their sainted walls!

Those banners and those trumpets throng around the chief you love,

Deem'd traitorous by a craven lord who shrank before my glove!"

Such eloquence avail'd him not! This sun of triumph sets, For the hostile tow'rs destroy his host with their dread fal

conets,

And the white arrows, from their bows, dispensed a shining flood,

And thronging pikes and lances ting'd their oaken shafts with blood.

And a languor came o'er Lara's brow, and quench'd his fiery

eye,

And on his studded belt appear'd a deep and crimson dye; His proud spear sank within its rest, and his bright spurs ceas'd to ring,

And another hour on Lara's soul the mist of death shall bring.

Young Kaled leap'd from off his steed, and threw his brand

away,

And he bended o'er the dying knight, as on the sward he lay; His blazoned corslet he unclasp'd, his sun-bright helm remov'd,

And hung on the sweet countenance which he so deeply lov❜d.

And Lara's eye grew brighter on that hyacinthine hair,
And those sunny eyes he never deem'd a thing of earth so fair!
And Kaled wept before him, like a virgin lorn and mute,
When sorrow's bleak and withering touch has hush'd her
favorite lute.

“ Oh Kaled, thou hast prov'd thy faith!” the bleeding Lara said,

"For now thy soft and golden hair shines o'er my last cold

bed;

Thou canst follow me no further-yes, a heaven remains for

thee,

Where creatures, such as Lara, will adore thy constancy!

Thy home is in a sunny land of fruits and silken trees, Where the islands seem like emerald wreaths amid the sapphire seas;

And birds, with a rich plumage, wing their flight through rainbow skies,

Emblazoned with the radiant hues that speak of Paradise!

"Thy home is in a sunny land where beauteous maidens sing, And warriors brim the festal cup to deeds of triumphing; Thy home is in a sunny land, but its calm sapphire sea, And the silken trees that fringe its fields thou hast resign'd for me.

"Those syren birds and warbling trees as beautiful shall be, And heaven's magnificence shall float within that sapphire

sea;

But the heart shall wither, Kaled, and this form shall pass

away,

And the brand and pennon, which I bore, shall sink into decay!

"Oh, thine was woman's first sweet love! o'er thy young heart it swept,

And, in its chastening purity, thy wildest visions slept:
With what emotion have those lily arms unto me clung,
And, with what silent bliss, hast thou upon my bosom hung!

"Oh, never more within my halls shall the sweet lute be heard,

Mellow'd, in its clear richness, like the notes of a lone bird; And never more, within my halls, shall mirth or music flow, For craven lords, and hireling slaves, have lain bright Lara low !

Gone from before me is the pomp of the glowing tournay's

tents.

And vanish'd, too, the pennon's gleam, and the trumpet's

eloquence;

The spur, that shines upon my heel, shall be obscured with

rust,

And the plumage of my helmet shall descend into the dust.

"Yet, Kaled, there is one fair lip that will pronounce my

name,

And speak, with inward rapture, of my nobleness and fame! Yes, when these sinking lids are shut, and this spirit pass'd

away,

Thou wilt awake thy pure deep wail o'er Lara's breathless clay.

My life recedes ;-but Ezzelin-that shadow of a lordI never slew ; it was a deed which my proud soul abhorr❜d! Ne'er did the cloud of infamy pass o'er thy spotless love--Oh, no! there's not one drop of guilt upon my knightly glove."

And now the sunset's last worn ray descended on the plain When Lara, like a beauteous flower, his tranquil head has

But she-who shed a light o'er him-shall pass from mortal

lain; gloom,

And with her own true warrior be united in the tomb !

Deal.

REGINALD AUGUSTINE.

ASHRIDGE ABBEY

A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIMES.

It was on a fair summer's day, in the hot month of July, when a traveller entered the small village of Little Gaddesden, in Hertfordshire It was late in the day, and a few farmers' men sat at the door of a public-house, seemingly engaged in rather earnest talk, with some full, and some empty, flaggons of strong Ivinghoe ale before them. The knight (for he seemed to be of that quality,) dismounted, and took his seat, unperceived by any of those who seemed to be conversing, until he called lustily for refreshments. The quick ear of the host soon caught the welcome, and with the aid of Alice, the bar-maid, a pretty Hertfordshire lass, a pot of foaming ale and some excellent bread and cheese soon gleamed upon the rough oak table.

Whilst he was occupied in devouring this good cheer, our knight distinguished, that the subject of the clowns' conver sation was the refusal of the monks of Ashridge Abbey to assist a dying man, a near descendant of their founder, and afterwards to bury him. A difference of opinion prevailed upon this subject, and the disputation was at its greatest height, when our jolly host whispered his nearest man,

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Hodge, I spy holy Father Eustace coming up the avenue.' The words seemed like a magic talisman ;-they took instant effect--and immediately all the seats were evacuated, (except our hero's,) and the opposers of the monks besought their companions not to let a word drop at what they had been speaking about. Ale of a still better quality than that with which he had served the knight, was put upon the table by the host, with a couple of tender chickens. Ralph Rosing-such was the landlord's name-endeavoured to persuade the knight to leave his seat; but the latter stoutly refused.

"Thank God!" said he, "I am in merry old England once more, and I must know something better of these proud priests than what I have heard to-day, before I will consent to bow the knee t them."

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Nay," said Ralph, "but I do not ask thee to bow the knee; canst thou not but just be thus civil to the holy father, when I inform thee that if thou doest not, I shall be ruined."

"I will here maintain my seat," was the reply; " and I will not suffer thee to be ruined through thy civility to me." But," replied mine host, "it is not in thy power to prevent ;-but, as I live, here comes the holy father."

As he spoke, the subject of their discourse entered; he was of commanding stature, pale in countenance, as if he often studied by the "midnight lamp ;" and he seemed as he stood, in the black dress of the Cluniac monks, more like a spectre than a living man. After having graciously acknowledged the respectful salutations of the rude boors, he turned to mine host, and said, Methinks, Ralph, thou shouldst scarce suffer infidels of any rank, however high, notwithstanding these badges of Christian faith, (pointing to the cross on the knight's arm,) to sit boozing and drinking in thy house before a holy and abstemious priest. I shall speak to the abbot respecting it."

Ralph attempted a defence; but the monk still regarded our hero with looks of malice, so great an impression did his slight want of respect make on the haughty Eustace. The purpose of the latter in visiting the village, was not very clear; he soon returned-probably in consequence of the presence of the knight. After he was gone, a deep silence prevailed, till the entrance of Geoffrey Gade, the squire of the strange knight: being an old inhabitant of Gaddesden, he was known to the host, and most of his guests, who inquired what news from the wars? But Geoffrey did not answer at first, as he was busy in addressing his master, which he did as follows:

Sir Godfrey, I have provided for your reception at the house of a certain Dame Howe, in the village; and now I hope for some dinner,—if it may please your worship, always remembering."

“Go to, Geoffery," answered the knight; and his trusty follower did not wait for a second permission, but soon attacked the fowls which Eustace had left untouched, and which he washed down with plenty of Ivinghoe ale; so that mine host did not hesitate to declare, that "Master Geoffrey had as good an appetite now, God bless him, as he had before he went to the wars." However, after his stomach was satisfied, (no easy matter,) he inquired the best news of the day. In reply, Hodge gave him to understand the subject of

G. 28.

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