132 



THE EXILE. 



A darkness hangs o'er Cerdic's walls, 



The lute's soft voice is still, 

 Black banners flutter o'er the walls, 



And e'en the air is chill : 

 For freedom once the Saxon knew — 



And Edith's charms are past ; 

 The first, in chains, a tyrant threw; 



A courtier spoil'd the last. 



He stands reclining on his blade. 



He gazes on yon tower; 

 One tear he drops for Edith's shade. 



One sigh for ruined power. 

 An exile now he ploughs the sea, 



And, ere his towers depart. 

 Remembering that they once were free. 



His farewell broke his heart. 



Harton. 



THE LEGEND OF THE ABBEY TOWER. 



Continued from page 102. 



His niece, the I-ady Matilda, was the bride proposed. Her for- 

 tune, the family alliance, and other matters very accordant with the 

 aristocratic pride of the baronet, (not omitting the acquiescence of 

 the lady's parents and the readiness of the lady herself,) facilitated 

 the decision ; and all was agreeable in the father's sight, which, 

 with vast penetration, had scrutinized every thing positive and pro- 

 bable, except the condition of his son's aft'ections. 



Baldwin and Matilda had been much together, and, as cousins 

 and companions, had evinced mutual goodwill. Saving the some- 

 what superior age of the lady, there seemed no very great cause for 

 impediment. They had been correspondingly brought up and edu- 

 cated ; and were well matched in person, for they strongly resembled 

 each other in feature, stature, bulk, and complexion : if minds and 

 bodies had co equally sympathized, all would, no doubt, hJive been 

 as the baronet had determined it should be. But, we shall see. 



My hero, however, satisfied with the contour and quality of his 

 own person, saw nothing very fascinating in the Matildaic duplicate. 

 Moreover, his heart was already engaged ! and this brings forward 



