Oh, Himalaya mountains, Still, still ye stand unshaken; Nor have the river-fountains Their ancient bed forsaken! Thou wast no god, oh River, Or thou hadst risen in power, "Thy people to deliver, The spoiler to devour! But, than the mountains stronger, And greater than the River, Ariseth the avenger, To smite, and to deliver! The God of earth and heaven THE NEW PALACE OF MAHMOUD II. A MIGHTY spirit is abroad! The same That gave th' unknown to Galileo's ken; That guided Luther's world-awakening pen; Whence Milton, Hampden, Sidney, souls a-flame With liberty and light, drew strength and aim! The same that to the great-souled Genoese, Compass in hand, and dreaming of far seas, With glorious visions of the New World came! Ob, moral renovation, that dost shake, And overturn; dost often bathe in blood The earth's most gracious bosom, yet dost make All change, all desolation bring forth good, Spirit of love, thou hast lit thy torch benign Within the city of the Constantine! "And I would see, before mine eyes grow dim, "Oh friends, the Saviour in the desert-place, "The voice of God, while I was yet a child, Called me from man and from his works to part; I left my father's house, and in the wild "Upon the fourth I found an ancient man "At sight of me he slowly raised his head, And gazed upon me with a kindling eye; 'Tis well; I knew that thou would'st come!' he said, Now list my missioned words, and let me die!' "Therewith he told a blessed history; As how his father had the gardener been, "Of the Lord's friends on earth, how much he told, THE ANDALUSIAN LOVER. A Picture. But England's Queen, with all her state, THE ORDEAL OF TOUCH. "On occasion of these practices upon the credulity of the ignorant, the face of the corpse was bared, as well as the breast and arms; the body was wrapped in a winding-sheet of the whitest linen, so that if blood should flow, it would be instantly observed. After a mass peculiarly adapted to the ordeal, the most suspected, calling down the signal vengeance of heaven if they spoke falsely, successively approached the bier, and made the sign of the cross upon the dead man's breast." "STAND back! and let me pass On to the holy place! Stand back, my friend, if such thou be;- "Oh body stiff and stark, If I have done thee ill, Let every cruel wound of thine Pour to the earth the sanguine sign! Hide not the guilt if it is mine, Oh, body stark and still! "I that have been thy friend, And with thee counsel ta'en, To whom thy secret thoughts were shown; Whose soul was precious as mine ownOh! if this deed were mine, make known By blood outpoured like rain! "Here, on thy stony brow, My bared right-hand I lay; Here, on thy loving, wounded breast, Into thy wounds my hand is prest! Oh, body, by black wrong distrest, If I am guilty, say! "My hand hath not a stain! The death-robe yet is white! Now slanderer, come forth, an thou dare, And here upon this altar-stair, Stand, with firm foot, and right-hand bare! So heaven attest the right! "I challenge thee to proof! I know the secret wood, Where thou and thine accomplice ran! Here lieth he, thy murdered man! Now, touch that body stark and wan, And dare the accusing blood!" SCENE - The Boudoir of an English Hall. MRS. ALVAREZ and her DAUGHTER, and MRS. ASHBURNHAM, her mother. MRS. ASH. Lucy, your mother does not like young Westwood. LUCY. But you would like him, dearest grandmamma! MRS. ASH. Perhaps I might, my love; but now sit down, MRS. ALVA. My wishes! Is't not natural for a mother To wish her only child the fairest fortune! MRS. ASH. No doubt on 't, daughter Alvarez; but still What is that fairest fortune, is the question. MRS. ALVA. There is no question here! I'm not a child, To form imperfect judgments! MRS. ASH. No, my daughter; But let me hear your reasons 'gainst this match: The world speaks well of Westwood. MRS. ALVA. As a man I can say nought against him—but as husband For Lucy Alvarez - for your granddaughter, He is unmeet indeed! MRS. ASH. Is he well-bred i MRS. ALVA. Oh, perfectly-or we should ne'er have known him MRS. ASH. Handsome and clever, is he? MRS. ALVA. So he's thought, But to my taste is neither; scarce above The middle stature, and too grave by far; And as for cleverness, all men are taught To make some show of learning. MRS. ASH. Is he moral? A good son, and a generous landlord, is he? MRS. ALVA. Oh, most absurd! Landlord! He has no tenants! He sold and mortgaged his broad, ancient manors, Past those old gates, where never carriage entersWhich only will be opened for the hearse! MRS. ASH. But said you not he had a mother living? MRS. ALVA. Oh yes! she was a Cavendish, and brought A noble fortune. MRS. ASH. True- poor Margaret Cavendish! We were at school together; a fine creature, A generous-hearted, noble-minded girl Was Margaret Cavendish! MRS. ALVA. But now none see her; She keeps no company; she has no carriage, Has lived so long out of society, That no one misses her. MRS. ASH. "Tis the world's way! Well, but her son, I hope, is dutiful. MRS. ALVA. No doubt on 't-I ne'er heard a word against him; MRS. ASH. Now, daughter Alvarez, one little word: MRS. ALVA. There are not many Would bid me call again what is scarce past. MRS. ASH. I am no flatterer, but your matron years Become your brow like youth; and now, my Alice, Cast back your memory twenty living years, And what is present with you? MRS. ALVA. Ah, I see You would entrap me! But the case is not A parallel. Don Pedro Alvarez Was more than of a noble stock - was rich, And I was thought to be the dowerless child Of a poor Englishman. MRS. ASH. But, dearest Alice, Did you not suffer him to woo you, spite MRS. ALVA. But time proved I was right. Poor Alvarez! MRS. ASH. So might you love young Westwood! Oh, yes; for many a year I've had a guess at some such sweet romance! And it is called "The Andalusian Lover;" But, mother dear, No, my dear girl! But had you known your father, You could not laughingly have spoken of him! MRS. ASH. My Alice, let these memories of the past Bring blessings to your daughter! Good Don Pedro Was worthy of your never-dying love; And Arthur Westwood-nay, I'll have my will- Come, this day INSTALLATION OF THE BISHOP OF 'Twas morning, and the city was astir, As if some new joy were awaiting her. Who in the midst in solemn state appeared, And to the roof a thousand tapers blazed; Wrought in rich needlework with gold and gem, Lights beamed; the censer's silver chains were swayed, And clouds of incense every hand obeyed. The Bishop was installed; the golden sun A FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFFE. A LITTLE child she read a book Beside an open door; And, as she read page after page, She wonder'd more and more. Her little finger carefully Went pointing out the place;Her golden locks hung drooping down, And shadow'd half her face. The open book lay on her knee, She sate upon a mossy stone The summer sun shone on the trees, There was no garden round the house, There was no garden round about, Yet flowers were growing free, The cowslip and the daffodil, Upon the forest-lea. The butterfly went flitting by, The bees were in the flowers; But the little child sate steadfastly, As she had sate for hours. "Why sit you here, my little maid?" An aged pilgrim spake; The child look'd upward from her book, Back fell her locks of golden hair, "And what is there within that book "Nay, sir, I cannot leave this book, "And there is something in this book As I go reading on!" "Who art thou, child, that thou shouldst read "My father is a forester A bowman keen and good; "My mother died in Candlemas,— Down in the dale below." This said, unto her book she turn'd, "Nay," said the pilgrim, "nay, not yet, And you must tell me more. "Who was it taught you thus to read?" "Ah, sir, it was my mother, She taught me both to read and spellAnd so she taught my brother; "My brother dwells at Allonby With the good monks alway;- "Oh, sir, it is a wondrous book, "Nay, read to me," the pilgrim said; To read of CHRIST, as was set forth On, on she read, and gentle tears "I've heard," said he, "the Archbishop, "The book, it is a blessed book! Its name, what may it be? Said she, "They are the words of CHRIST For simple folk to read! "Sancta Maria! Bless'd be GOD! Had this good book been mine, "Give me the book, and let me read! The little girl gave up the book, And the pilgrim, old and brown, And aye he read page after page; Still, still the book the old man read, The little child she brought him out Nor did he raise his head Then came the sturdy forester With a slain deer on his back. The old man rose with thoughtful brow, And enter'd at the door. The two had sate them down to meat, And the pilgrim 'gan to tell How he had eaten on Olivet, And drank at Jacob's well. And then he told how he had krelt Where'er our LORD had pray'd; How he had in the Garden been, And the tomb where he was laid; And then he turn'd unto the book, And all his comfortable words, As water to the parched soil, Thus through the midnight did they read, And then came in the woodman's son All quick and troubled was his speech, 231 |