Who, while these doters went their way,
Knew neither how to go nor stay,
But sate bent close, his shame to smother,
Rubbing one hand upon the other.
A page she sent him, bright and mild,
Who led him forth, like his own child.

Out went the beards by a side door; The great one roll'd apart once more, And, as the King had given command, In rode a couple, hand in hand, Who made the stillness stiller:-he A man to grace all jeopardy; And all a lovely comfort, she. The stalwart youth bestrode a steed, A Barbary, the King's own breed; The lady grac'd her palfrey still, Sweet beast, that ever hath his will, And paceth now beside his lord, Straight for the King at the high board, Till sharp the riders halt, and wait The speaking of the crowned state,— The knight with reverential eyes, Whose grateful hope no claim implies: The lady in a bashful glow,

Her bosom billowing to and fro.

"Welcome! Sir William de la Barre,"
The monarch cried; "a right good star
For ladies' palfreys led astray;
And welcome his fair flower of May.
By heavens! I will not have my knights
Defrauded of their lady rights.

I give thee, William de la Barre,
For this thy bride, and that thy scar
Won from the big-limb'd traitor Pole,
The day thou dash'dst out half his soul
And lett'st his ransom free, for ruth
(For which thou wert a foolish youth,)

All those good meadows, lately his,
Down by the Brent, where thy hall is,
And all my rights in that same hall,
Together with the osieries all

That skirt the streams by down and dale,
From Hendon into Perivale.

And now dismount. And hark ye, there,
Sir Priest, my chaplain Christopher,
(See how the honest body dries
The tears of claret in his eyes!)—
Come and betroth these friends of mine,
Till at the good Earl's chapel shrine
Thy holy magic make them one:
The King and Queen will see it done.
But first a royal health to all

The friends we leave in this fair hall;
And may all knights' and ladies' horses
Take, like the palfrey, vigorous courses!

With princely laughter rose the King, Rose all, the laughter echoing, Rose the proud wassail, rose the shout By the trumpets long stretch'd out; You would have thought that roof and all Rose in that heart-lifted hall.

On their knees are two alone;

The palfrey and the barb have gone :

And then arose those two beside,

And the music from its pride
Falls into a beauteous prayer,
Like an angel quitting air;
And the King and his soft Queen
Smile upon those two serene,
Whom the priest, accosting bland,
Puts, full willing, hand in hand.
Ah scarcely even King and Queen
Did they then perceive, I ween,
Nor well to after-memory call,
How they went from out that hall.

What more? Sir Guy, and then Sir Grey,
Died each upon a fine spring day;
And, in their hatred of things small,
Left him, now wanting nothing, all:
(All which, at least, that mighty claw
Permitted them, yclept the law.)

The daughter wept, and wept the more
To think her tears would soon be o'er;
Sir William neither wept nor smil'd,
But grac'd the father for the child,
And sent, to join the funeral shows,
Bearing scutcheons, bearing woes,
The palfrey; and full well he goes;
Oh! merrily well the palfrey goes;
Grief, great as any there, he knows,
Yet merrily ever the palfrey goes.

L'ENVOY.

TO HER, who loves all peaceful glory,
Therefore laurell'd song and story;
Who, as blooming maiden should,
Married blest, with young and good;
And whose zeal for healthy duties
Set on horseback half our beauties;
Hie thee, little book,24 and say—
(Blushing for leave unbegg'd alway;
And yet how beg it for one flower
Cast in the path of Sovereign Power ?)
Say that thy verse, though small it be,
Yet mov❜d by ancient minstrelsy
To sing of youth escap'd from age,
Scenes pleasant, and a Palfrey sage,
And meditated, morn by morn,
Among the trees where she was born,
Dares come, on grateful memory's part,

Not to Crown'd Head, but to Crown'd Heart.

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold :-
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?"-The vision rais'd its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answer'd, "The names of those who love the

Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. 66 Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee then, "Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd,

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

GODIVA.

INSCRIBED TO JOHN HUNTER.

JOHN HUNTER, friend of Leigh Hunt's verse, and lover of all duty,

Hear how the boldest naked deed was clothed in saintliest beauty.

Earl Lefric by his hasty oath must solemnly abide ;

He thought to put a hopeless bar, and finds it turn'd aside;

His lady, to remove the toll that makes the land forlorn,

Will surely ride through Coventry, naked as she was born;

She said-The people will be kind; they love a gentle deed;

They piously will turn from me, nor shame a friend in need.

.

Earl Lefric, half in holy dread, and half in loving care,

Hath bade the people all keep close, in penitence and prayer;

The windows are fast boarded up; nor hath a sound been heard

Since yester-eve, save household dog, or latest summer bird;

Only Saint Mary's bell begins at intervals to go, Which is to last till all be past, to let obedience know.

The mass is said; the priest hath bless'd the lady's pious will;

Then down the stairs she comes undress'd, but in a mantle still;

Her ladies are about her close, like mist about a

star;

She speaks some little cheerful words, but knows not what they are;

The door is pass'd; the saddle press'd; her body feels the air;

Then down they let, from out its net, her locks of piteous hair.

Oh, then how every list'ner feels, the palfrey's foot that hears!

The rudest are awed suddenly, the soft and brave in tears;