BRITISH BIRDS. ]23 



the course of true love, as usual, not running smooth •— 



" Yes, here I swear by all I hate, 

 And all that I revere, 

 Until that island moves along 



The waters of the mere, 

 I will not look upon the face 

 Of Isabel de Vere." 



Long repentance follows rash resolve, till a tempest comes to their rehef. 



" For, lo ! the wildly swelling waves 



The little isle upbore ; 

 And, lo ! the fierce, tempestuous breeze, 

 Careering o'er the bending trees, 



Propeird it to the shore. 

 So, ere the sturdy husbandmen 



Had reap'd the early corn. 

 The maid of Calveley was led. 

 With the bride's veil upon her head. 

 In Marton's holy aisle to wed 



The Lord of Capesthorne. 

 Then o'er the county palatine 



Was feasting far and wide ; 

 And this the toast men loved the most, 



' The bridegroom and the bride ! ' 

 But not by hospitality 



At the bridal-feast alone 

 The kindly and the gen'rous heart 



Of Davenport was shown. 

 No ! with a liberal open hand. 



And sympathizing voice. 

 He strove to heal the stricken heart 



And bid the sad rejoice. 

 And thus within his father's hall. 



And o'er his wide domains. 

 At Capesthorne and Calveley, 



And Marton's fertile plains. 

 He won a noble victory — 



A more enduiing fame 



