You pass at once into a green,

A green and lightsome glade.

And there Lord Julian sate on steed;

Behind him, in a round,

Stood knight and squire, and menial train ; Against the leash the greyhounds strain; The horses paw'd the ground.

When up the alley green, Sir Hugh
Spurr'd in upon the sward,

And mute, without a word, did he

Fall in behind his lord.

Lord Julian turn'd his steed half round.— "What! doth not Alice deign

To accept your loving convoy, knight?
Or doth she fear our woodland sleight,
And joins us on the plain ?"

With stifled tones the knight replied,
And look'd askance on either side,

66

Nay, let the hunt proceed!—

The Lady's message that I bear,

I guess would scantly please your ear,
And less deserves your heed.

"You sent betimes. Not yet unbarr'd
I found the middle door ;-
Two stirrers only met my eyes,
Fair Alice, and one more.

"I came unlook'd for: and, it seem'd,,

In an unwelcome hour;

And found the daughter of Du. Clos
Within the latticed bower.

"But hush! the rest may wait.. If lost,.

No great loss, I divine;

And idle words will better suit.

A fair maid's lips than mine."

"God's wrath! speak out, man," Julian cried, O'ermaster'd by the sudden smart ;— And feigning wrath,, sharp, blunt, and rude, The knight his subtle shift pursued."Scowl not at me ;, command my skill, To lure your hawk back, if you will, But not a woman's heart.

"Go!' (said she)' tell him,-slow is sure; Fair speed his shafts to-day!

I follow here a stronger lure,

And chase a gentler prey.'

"The game, pardie, was full in sight,

That then did, if I saw aright,

The fair dame's eyes engage;

For turning, as I took my ways,
I saw them fix'd with steadfast gaze
Full on her wanton page."

The last word of the traitor knight

It had but enter'd Julian's ear,—

From two o'erarching oaks between,
With glistening helm-like cap is seen,
Borne on in giddy cheer,

A youth, that ill his steed can guide ;
Yet with reverted face doth ride,

As answering to a voice,

That seems at once to laugh and chide— "Not mine, dear mistress," still he cried, ""Tis this mad filly's choice."

With sudden bound, beyond the boy,
See! see! that face of hope and joy,

That regal front! those cheeks aglow !
Thou needed'st but the crescent sheen,
A quiver'd Dian to have been,

Thou lovely child of old Du Clos !

Dark as a dream Lord Julian stood,
Swift as a dream, from forth the wood,
Sprang on the plighted Maid!

With fatal aim, and frantic force,

The shaft was hurl'd !—a lifeless corse,
Fair Alice from her vaulting horse,
Lies bleeding on the glade.

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.

WHERE is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? may the grave of that good man be?

Where

By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,

Under the twigs of a young birch tree!
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roar'd in the winter alone,
Is gone, and the birch in its stead is grown.—
The Knight's bones are dust,

And his good sword rust ;—

His soul is with the saints, I trust.*

EA

HYMN TO THE EARTH.

HEXAMETERS.

ARTH! thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the mother,

Hail! O Goddess, thrice hail! Blest be thou! and, blessing, I hymn thee!

Forth, ye sweet sounds! from my harp, and my voice shall float on your surges—

Soar thou aloft, O my soul! and bear up my song on thy pinions.

* The last three lines were quoted in the romance of Ivanhoe (1820), vol. i. p. 156, while this fragment was still unpublished, as follows: "To borrow lines from a contemporary poet, who has written but too little :

"The Knights are dust,

And their good swords are rust,

Their souls are with the saints, we trust."

From this circumstance Coleridge was convinced that Scott was the author of the Waverley Novels. The lines were composed as an experiment for a metre, and repeated by the author to a mutual friend, who repeated them again at a dinner party to Scott, on the following day. (See Gillman's Life of Coleridge, page 277.)

Travelling the vale with mine eyes-green meadows and lake with green island,

Dark in its basin of rock, and the bare stream flowing in brightness,

Thrill'd with thy beauty and love in the wooded slope of the mountain,

Here, great mother, I lie, thy child, with his head on thy bosom !

Playful the spirits of noon, that rushing soft through thy tresses,

Green-hair'd goddess! refresh me; and hark! as they hurry or linger,

Fill the pause of my harp, or sustain it with musical

murmurs.

Into my being thou murmurest joy, and tenderest sadness

Shedd'st thou, like dew, on my heart, till the joy and the heavenly sadness

Pour themselves forth from my heart in tears, and the hymn of thanksgiving.

Earth thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the mother,

Sister thou of the stars, and beloved by the Sun, the rejoicer !

Guardian and friend of the moon, O Earth, whom the comets forget not,

Yea, in the measureless distance wheel round and again they behold thee!

Fadeless and young (and what if the latest birth of creation ?)