356 
But cease, my“heart, this mournful tone 3 
Lv! from the tomb Is comfort shewn, 
Ev’n Death is kind.at last 5 
He comes ; and soon from mis’ry frees 
¥on warning knell, unheard by me, 
Shall swell the sweeping blast. 
Ass yet, my seraph’s grave is new 3 
Nor winter’s rain, nor summer’s dew, 
Have cloth’d the sod with green; 
Nor has the snow-drop, flow’r of springs 
Meek Nature’s virgin offering, 
Been on its surface seen. 
Nor yet, at her unconscious head, 
The humble monument is laid, 
Which bears her sacred name: 
It waits till mine, engraven there, 
Shall ask for two the generous tear 
Which sorrow’s victims claim, 
Then, while our blended dust decays, 
Round the low ridge, with pitying gaze, 
The village muse shall stray, 
And pluck th” intrusive weeds that grow, 
And weeping, as her numbers flow, 
A pensive tribute pay. 
Oft too the stranger, wand’ring by, 
Q’er the plain stone shall pause and sigh, 
And dwell with humid eyes ; 
And note the epitaph, and think 
How weak life’s closest, tend’rest link, 
How slender earthly ties. 
All this shall fail, and on that stone 
Mould’ring with age, with moss o’ergrown, 
The long rank grass shall wave 5 
Unknown whose reliques rest below, 
And scarce a vestige left to show 
The place once bloom’d a grave. 
1.U, 
nt a ce 
SONG. 
H! wilk those hours again returny 
My joy, my bliss to prove; 
Or must this heart for ever mourn 
The object of its love? 
Far o’er yon hills, in distant lands, 
My thoughts with fondness rove; 
Far o’er those hills I send my sighs, 
To one I dearly love. 
At evening’s close, at parting day, 
I watch the sun-beam move, 
That seeks the land so far away, 
Where dwells my dearest love. 
W.G. 
Ee 
SIR EGERWENE. | 
From the German of C.L. STOLBERG, and in 
the Metre of the original Poem 
J[NNE the better dayes of yore 
Wile twas sinne for men to whore, 
Anda woman might ne straye - 
Ene a hair- breadth from the waye 
Of yhallowed chastitie, 
as 
Original Poetry. 
[May 
Rode a knight athwart the more 
From Armorique, come to see 
Arthur, pride of chivalrie- 
Loud the storm and black the night, 
And his horse in weary plight 5 
He beheld a distant gleam 
Thro a castel-windore beam ; 
Much the loftie elmies swang 
As between their rowes he hight, 
Wile the blaste’s hollowe twang 
Round the rocking towrets sang, 
To the cullis-gate he rode— 
Knock’d aloud=-=the wile he stode 
Chatterde much his teeth for cold ; 
Frost and sleet had bleachde the wold = 
Trustie knaves anon were seene, 
They his palfrey tooke and stowde, 
Leeding him by torchie’s sheene 
To the prow sir Egerwene. 
Inne the base-court him dothe meete 
The nobile hoste with friendlie greete, 
As a heartie Briton wones: 
6s Welcome stranger for the nones, 
I; 
“¢ Le, thie bearde doth sheene with ises 
‘¢ Nnd thie hand is numb of sleete, 
** Herde has beene thie wynter-ryse, 
** Foode and rest I shul alyse.”* 
Then he leades the frozen wight 
Where the chemnee brenneth bright, 
Down the hall so high and long 
His forefathers weapons hong 
Yron sarkes in-blacke arrayes 
There I weene atdead of night 
When the roddie gledes decaye 
Yerne the owners ghosties strayes 
Soone the slughornes calle to meley 
And the knighties tope their fele, 
But at ones their glee is farrey 
For a dore doth softe unbarre, 
And a woman wo-forworne = 
Whom the blackest wedes concele, 
Slowlie steppeth them beferne, © 
Bare her bowed head and shorne. 
She was wan, but fayre to see 
As the moone at full may be, 
Yet did paleness gryse and glome 
Ore the stonied stranger come, 
From his hand the bumper fell 5 
For he lookte to see her gree 
Soone an uglie spryte of hell 
Rysing from his dysmal cell. 
More and more she draweth nie, 
Speaketh not, but sitsomelie 
Cometh to their plenteous borde 
Whyche doth onelie bredde afforde 
For her much-forbidden lip, 
To the vassal standing bie 
‘Then she noddes, that heshuld trip 
For she needeth drink to sip. 
Lo, 
© lala 
| 
