Then, covering, with his steel-glov'd hands, his darkly mournful brow, "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for, nowMy king is false, my hope betray'd, my father-oh! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are pass'd away from earth! "I thought to stand where banners wav'd, my sire! beside thee yet, I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ; Thou wouldst have known my spirit then,—for thee my fields were won, And thou hast perish'd in thy chains, as if thou hadst no son." Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, Amidst the pale and wilder'd looks of all the courtier train; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the raging war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face, the king before the dead! "Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss? Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-give answer, where are they? If thou wouldst clear thy perjur'd soul, send life through this cold clay ! "Into these glassy eyes put light, be still! keep down thine ire,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 loos'd the steed; his slack hand fell ;-upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turn'd from tha sad place: His hope was crush'd, his after-fate untold in martial strain,— His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain! THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.-L. HUNT. KING Francis was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport, And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, Ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws: With wallowing might and stifled roar, they roll'd on one another, Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous smother; The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing thro' the air; Said Francis then, "Faith! gentlemen, we're better here than there!" De Lorge's love o’er-heard the king, a beauteous lively dame, With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seem'd the same; She thought, The Count my lover is brave as brave can beHe surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me: King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine! I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine! She dropp'd her glove, to prove his love, then look'd at him and smil❜d; He bow'd, and in a moment leap'd among the lions wild. place, Then threw the glove-but not with love-right in the lady's face, "By heaven!" cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat: "No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that PATIENCE AND HOPE.-BULWER. UPON a barren steep, I saw an angel watching the wild sea; Time was that stormy deep, "Why dost thou watch the wave? The tide engulphs thee, if thou do remain," I wait until the waters ebb again," Hush'd on the Angel's breast I saw an infant rest O angel, to thy breast ?” “The child God gave me in the long ago! "Mine all upon the earth -The angel's angel birth, Smiling all terror from the howling wild !"— Never may I forget The dream that haunts me yet Of PATIENCE nursing HOPE-the Angel and the Child! ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.-LEIGH HUNT, ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Making it rich, and like a lily bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold; "What writest thou ?"-The vision rais'd its head, Answer'd, "The names of those who love the Lord!" "And is mine one ?" said Abou. (( Nay, not so;" But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee then And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd; COXCOMBRY IN CONVERSATION.-COWPER. THE emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose, As if the gnomon on his neighbor's phiz, His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large, A tasteless journal of the day before. I interrupt him with a sudden bow,— I cannot talk with civet in the room,- Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees; Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. But, when unpack'd, your disappointment groans, YESTERDAY.-TUPPER. SPEAK, poor almsman, of to-day, whom none can assure of a to-morrow, Tell out, with honest heart, the price thou settest upon yesterday. Is it then a writing in the dust, traced by the finger of Idleness Is it as the pale blue smoke, rising from a peasant's hovel, That melted into limpid air, before it topp'd the larches? Is it but a vision, unstable and unreal, which wise men soon forget? |