“ But

my

lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he

gazes

in
my

face:
He will say, 'O Love, thine eyes
Build the shrine my soul abides in,

And I kneel here for thy grace!'

“ Then, ay, then he shall kneel low, With the red-roan steed anear him,

Which shall seem to understand,

Till I answer, ‘Rise and go!
For the world must love and fear him

Whom I gift with heart and hand.'

With a yes

“ Then he will arise so pale, I shall feel my own lips tremble

I must not say, Nathless maiden-brave,' Farewell,' I will utter, and dissemble

• Light to-morrow with to-day!'

6

“ Then he'll ride among the hills To the wide world past the river, There to put away

all wrong ; To make straight distorted wills, And to empty the broad quiver

Which the wicked bear along.

“ Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream and climb the mountain And kneel down beside my

feet'Lo, my master sends this gage, Lady, for thy pity's counting !

What wilt thou exchange for it?

“And the first time, I will send A white rose bud for a guerdon,

And the second time, a glove;

But the third time-I may bend From my pride, and answer— Pardon, If he comes to take

my

love.'

“ Then the young foot-page will run, Then my lover will ride faster,

Till he kneeleth at my knee:

"I am a duke's eldest son, Thousand serfs do call me master,

But, O Love, I love but thee!'

“He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me as a lover

Through the crowds that praise his deeds :

And, when soul-tied by one troth, Unto him I will discover

That swan's nest among the reeds.”

Little Ellie, with her smile Not yet ended, rose up gayly,

Tied the bonnet, donn'd the shoe,

And went homeward, round a mile, Just to see, as she did daily,

What more eggs were with the two.

Pushing through the elm-tree copse, Winding up the stream, light-hearted,

Where the osier pathway leads,

Past the boughs she stoops-and stopu. Lo, the wild swan had deserted,

And a rat had gnaw'd the reeds !

Ellie went home sad and slow.
If she found the lover ever,

With his red-roan steed of steeds,

Sooth I know not; but I know
She could never show him-never,
That swan's nest among the reeds !

MRS. BROWNING.

PSALM XCV.

O

COME, let us sing unto the Lord ; let us make a

.; joyful noise to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto Him with psalms.

For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above

all gods.

In His hand are the deep places of the earth ; the strength of the hills is His also.

The sea is His, and He made it, and His hands formed the dry land.

O come, let us worship and bow down ; let us kneel before the Lord our maker.

For He is our God; and we are the people of His pasture, and the sheep of His hand. To-day if ye will hear His voice,

Harden not your heart, as in the provocation, and as in the day of temptation in the wilderness :

When your fathers tempted me, proved me, and saw

my work,

Forty years long was I grieved with this generation, and said, It is a people that do err in their heart, and they have not known my ways:

Unto whom I sware in my wrath, that they should not enter into my rest.

BATTLE OF MORGARTEN.

("In the year 1315, Switzerland was invaded by Duke Leopold of Austria, with a formidable army. It is well attested that this prince repeatedly declared he would trample the audacious rustics under his feet ;' and that he had procured a large stock of cordage, for the purpose of binding their chiefs, and putting them to death. But the Swiss were prepared to meet the attack, and the Duke retreated, sullen and dismayed."']

THE wine-month*

shone in its golden prime,

And
But a deeper sound, through the Switzer's clime,
Than the vintage music, rung-

A sound through vaulted cave,

A sound through echoing glen,
Like the hollow swell of a rushing wave;

—'Twas the tread of steel-girt men.

And a trumpet, pealing wild and far,

Midst the ancient rocks was blown,
Till the Alps replied to that voice of war
With a thousand of their own.

And through the forest-glooms

Flash'd helmets to the day;
And the winds were tossing knightly plumes,

Like the larch-boughs in their play.

In Hasli’st wilds there was gleaming steel

As the host of the Austrian pass'd ;
And the Schreckhorn'st rocks, with a savage peal,

Made mirth of his clarion's blast.

Up midst the Righi snows

The stormy march was heard, With the charger’s tramp, whence fire-sparks rose,

And the leader's gathering-word. But a band, the noblest band of all,

Through the rude Morgarten strait, With blazon'd streamers and lances tall, Moved onwards in princely state.

They came with heavy chains

For the race despised so long-
But amidst his Alp-domains,

The herdsman's arm is strong !
The sun was reddening the clouds of morn

When they enter'd the rock-defile,
And shrill as a joyous hunter's horn
Their bugles rang the while.

But on the misty height

Where the mountain-people stood, There was stillness as of night,

When storms at distance brood. There was stillness as of deep, dead night,

And a pause-but not of fear, While the Switzers gazed on the gathering might Of the hostile shield and spear.

On wound those columns bright

Between the lake and wood,
But they look'd not to the misty height

Where the mountain-people stood.
The pass was filled with their serried power,

All helm'd and mail-array'd, And their steps had sounds like a thunder shower

In the rustling forest-shade.

а