COME, let me have thy counsel, for I need it ; THOU bear'st a precious burden, gentle post, Thou art of those, who better help Nitre and sulphur; see that it explode Handsome and valiant, gay and rich, Choose such a time or spot to vent and liberal. Chap. XXIII. HERE come we to our close,-for that Arm and up! the morning beam which follows Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. Steep crags and headlong linns may court the pencil, Hath call'd the rustic to his team, Hath call'd the falc'ner to the lake, Like sudden haps, dark plots, and His dusty tomes of ancient lore. strange adventures; Soldier, wake! thy harvest, fame; But who would paint the dull and fog- Thy study, conquest; war, thy game. VERSES IN THE STYLE OF THE DRUIDS. I ASK'D of my harp, 'Who hath injured thy chords?' And she replied, 'The crooked finger, which I mocked in my tune.' A blade of silver may be bended-a blade of steel abideth : Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips, But they are long corroded by the juice of wormwood; The lamb is brought to the shambles, but the wolf rangeth the mountain; Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. I asked the red-hot iron, when it glimmer'd on the anvil, 'Wherefore glowest thou longer than the firebrand?' 'I was born in the dark mine, and the brand in the pleasant greenwood.' Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. I ask'd the green oak of the assembly wherefore its boughs were dry and sear'd like the horns of the stag: And it show'd me that a small worm had gnaw'd its roots. The boy who remembered the scourge undid the wicket of the castle at midnight. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. Lightning destroyeth temples, though their spires pierce the clouds ; Storms destroy armadas, though their sails intercept the gale. "TWAS near the fair city of Benevent, When the sun was setting on bough and bent, And knights were preparing in bower and tent, On the eve of the Baptist's tournament; When in Lincoln green a stripling gent, mail that to-morrow must see him wear, For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair. 'Thus speaks my lady,' the page said he, And the knight bent lowly both head and knee, 'She is Benevent's Princess so high in degree, And thou art as lowly as knight may well be He that would climb so lofty a trec, Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee, Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see His ambition is back'd by his high chivalrie. "Therefore thus speaks my lady,' the fair page he said, And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head, 'Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad, And don thou this weed of her night gear instead, Fora hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread: Well seeming a page by a princess And charge, thus attired, in the tour nament dread, sent, Wander'd the camp, and, still as he And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed, went, Enquired for the Englishman, Thomas And bring honour away, or remain a Kent. with the dead.' |