THE next who rose had that martial air, Such as stately warrior wont to wear; Haughty his step, and sun and toil Had left on his cheek their darker soil, And on his brow of pride was the scar, The soldier's sign of glorious war; And the notes came forth like the bearing bold

Of the knightly deeds which their numbers told.

THE FALCON.

THE LAY OF THE NORMAN KNIGHT.

I HEAR a sound o'er hill and plain,
It doth not pass away.
Is it the valleys that ring forth
Their welcome to the day?
Or is it that the lofty woods,
Touch'd by the morn, rejoice?

No, 'tis another sound than these,-
It is the battle's voice.

I see the martial ranks, I see

Their banners floating there,
And plume and spear rise meteor-like
Upon the reddening air.

One mark'd I most of all, he was
Mine own familiar friend;
A blessing after him was all

My distant lip could send.
Curse on the feeble arm that hung
Then useless by my side!

I lay before my tent and watch'd
Onwards the warriors ride.
DE VALENCE he was first of all,
Upon his foam-white steed;
Never knight curb'd more gallantly
A fiery courser's speed.
His silver armour shone like light,
In the young morning's ray;
And round his helm the snowy plume
Danced like the ocean-spray.
Sudden a bird burst through the air,-
I knew his falcon's flight;
He perch'd beside his master's hand,-
Loud shouts rose at the sight.
For many there deem'd the brave bird
Augur'd a glorious day;

To my dark thoughts, his fond caress
Seem'd a farewell to say.
One moment and he spread his wings,
The bird was seen no more;
Like the sea-waves, the armed ranks
Swept onwards as before.

The height whereon I lay look'd down
On a thick-wooded land,

And soon amid the forest-shade

I lost the noble band.

The snow-white steed, the silver shield,
Amid the foliage shone;

But thicker closed the heavy boughs,
And even these were gone.

Yet still I heard the ringing steps
Of soldiers clad in mail,
And heard the stirring trumpet send
Defiance on the gale.

Then rose those deadlier sounds that tell
When foes meet hand to hand,-
The shout, the yell, the iron clang
Of meeting spear and brand.
I have stood when my own life-blood
Pour'd down like winter-rain;
But rather would I shed its last
Than live that day again.

Squire, page, and leech my feverish haste
To seek me tidings sent;
And day was closing as I paced
Alone beside my tent;

When suddenly upon my hand

A bird sank down to rest,-
The falcon, but its head was droop'd,
And soil'd and stain'd its breast.

A light glanced through the trees: I knew
His courser's snowy hide,—

But that was dash'd with blood; one bound,
And at my feet it died.

I rushed towards my sword,—alas,
My arm hung in its sling;
But, as to lead my venture,

The falcon spread its wing.
I met its large beseeching eye
Turn'd to mine, as in prayer;

I follow'd, such was its strange power,
Its circuit through the air.

It led me on,-before my path
The tangled branches yield;
It led me on till we had gain'd
The morning's battle-field.
The fallen confused, and numberless!
"O grief! it is in vain,

My own beloved friend, to seek

For thee amid the slain."

Yet paused the falcon, where heap'd dead
Spoke thickest of the fray;
There, compass'd by a hostile ring,
Its noble master lay.

None of his band were near, around
Were only foes o'erthrown;

It seem'd as desperate he rush'd,

And fought, and fell alone.

The helm, with its white plumes, was off';
The silver shield blood-stain'd;
But yet within the red right hand

The broken sword remain'd.

That night I watch'd beside, and kept

The hungry wolves away,

And twice the falcon's beak was dipp'd
In blood of birds of prey.
The morning rose, another step
With mine was on the plain;
A hermit, who with pious aid
Sought where life might remain.
We made DE VALENCE there a grave,
The spot which now he prest;

For shroud, he had his blood-stain'd mail,—
Such suits the soldier best.

A chesnut-tree grew on the spot;
It was as if he sought,

From the press of surrounding foes,
Its shelter while he fought.
The grave was dug, a cross was raised,
The prayers were duly said,
While perch'd upon a low-hung bough
The bird moan'd overhead.

We laid the last sod on the grave,-
The falcon dropp'd like lead;

I placed it in my breast in vain,
Its gallant life was fled.

We bade the faithful creature share
Its master's place of rest;

I took two feathers from its wing,
They are my only crest.

Spring-leaves were green upon the trees
What time DE VALENCE fell;
Let autumn's yellow forests say
If I avenged him well.

And then I laid aside my sword,
And took, my lute, to thee,

And vow'd for my sworn brother's sake
I would a wanderer be.
Till for a year I had proclaim'd
In distant lands his fame,

And taught to many a foreign court
DE VALENCE's brave name.
Never was heart more kind and true,
Never was hand more bold;
Never was there more loyal knight.—
Gentles, my tale is told.

STRANGE contrast to each gorgeous vest, His rough plaid crost upon his breast, And looking worn, and wild, and rude, As just from mountain-solitude; Though weary brow and drooping eye Told wanderer 'neath a distant sky. Heedless of all, with absent look, The key of his clairshach he took; But the first breath, oh! it was sweet, As river gliding at your feet, And leaving, as it murmurs by,

THE DREAM.

THE LAY OF THE SCOTTISH MINSTREL.

THERE are no sounds in the wanderer's ear,
To breathe of the home that he holds so dear:
Your gales pass by on the breath of the rose,
The vines on your sunny hills repose;
And your river is clear as its silver tide
Had no task save to mirror the flowers beside.
Thou art fair, Provence, but not fair to me
As the land which my spirit is pining to see,
Where the pine rises darkly, the lord of
the wood,

Or stands lone in the pass, where the warrior has stood;

The one looked proudly up to the sky,
The other bent meekly, as if to share
The shelter its proud boughs flung on the air.
There came no cloud on the face of day,
Yet even as she look'd they pass'd away,
Unmark'd as though they had never been,
Save a young green shoot that had sprung
between.

And while she gazed on it, she conld see
That sapling spring up to a noble tree.
Again she woke, and again she slept,
But the same dream still on her eyelids kept.
The morning came at last, but its light
Seem'd not to her as her mornings bright.
A sadness hung on her lip and brow,
She could not shake off, she shamed to avow.

While the hounds that chase the stag and roe Were gathering in the court below,

And again it wail'd for the gentle bride Who with hastening love soon slept by his side.

He pass'd away in the early spring,
And she in the summer, whose sun could
bring

Warmth and life, in its genial hour,
To all save the drooping human flower.
I left the land, I could not stay
Where the gallant, the lovely, had pass'd
away;

Yet now my spirit is pining to greet
My youthful chief in his parent's seat.
I saw him once in a foreign land,
With plume on head, and with spear in hand;
And many a lady's eye was bent

On the stranger knight in the tournament;
He had his father's stately brow,
And the falcon-eye that flash'd below;
But when he knelt as the victor down,
(Fair was the maiden who gave the crown)
A few low words the young warrior said,
And his lip had his mother's smile and red.
He is dwelling now in his native glen,
And there my harp must waken again;
My last song shall be for him young, him
brave,

Then away to die at my master's grave!

LED by a child whose sunny air, And rosy cheek young Health might wear, When rising from the mountain-wave, Fresh as the stream its freshness gave; But gentle eyes, with softness fraught, As if their tenderness they caught From gazing on the pallid brow Whose only light was from them now. Beautiful it was to see Such love in early infancy. Far from the aged steps she led Long since the guiding light had fled; And meek and sad the old man grew, As nearer life's dark goal he drew; All solace of such weary hour Was that child's love, and his own power O'er music's spirit, and the store He treasured up of legend-lore. She led him gently to his seat, And took her place beside his feet, Up gazing with fond fixed eye, Lest sigh should pass unnoticed by. A clear rich prelude forth he rang, Brighten'd his look as thus he sang; The colour lit his forehead pale, As the master told his ancient tale.

THE CHILD OF THE SEA.

THE LAY OF THE SECOND PROVENÇAL BARD.

It was a summer-evening; and the sea Seem'd to rejoice in its tranquillity ;

Rolling its gentle waters to the west,
Till the rich crimson blush'd upon their
breast,

Uniting lovingly the wave and sky,
Like Hope content in its delight to die.
A young queen with her maidens sat and
sung,

While ocean thousands of sweet echoes flung,
Delighting them to hear their voices blent
With music from the murmuring element.
Then cast they on the winds their radiant
hair,

Then gather'd of the pink-shells those most

rare,

To gem their flying curls, that each might

seem

A Nereid risen from the briny stream. When sudden cried the queen: "Come, gaze with me

At what may yonder in the distance be.”
All gather'd round. A little speck was seen,
Like a mere shadow, on the billows green.
Nearer and nearer, more distinct it grew,
Till came a fragile vessel full in view;
As if at random flung to a chance-gale,
Uncheck'd, unguided, flapp'd a silken sail;
And saw they all alone a lady there,
Her neck and arms to the rude sea-wind bare,
And her head bow'd as in its last despair.
It came no nearer, on the sea it lay;
The wind, exhausted, had died quite away.
They had a fairy-boat, in which 't was sport
Amid the inland channels to resort;
Their fair hands raised the sail, and plied
the oar,

And brought the lonely wanderer to their shore ;

Then mark'd they how her scarlet mantle's fold

Was round a young, a lovely infant roll'd. They brought the wearied stranger to their

tent,

Flung o'er her face cool water, gifted scent, And touch'd her lips with wine, though all too plain

That death was darkening in each frozen vein: Eager she gazed where the queen stood beside,

Her hands stretch'd to her own fair boy, and died.

And thus the babe was left without a name, Child of the Sea, without a kindred claim: He never felt the want; that gentle queen Nurtured his infancy, as though he had been The brother of her own sweet ISABELLE; But as he grew she thought it need to tell His history, and gave the cloak whose fold Was heavy with rich work and broider'd gold;

And also gave his mother's carkanet,
With precious stones in regal order set.
In truth he was well worthy of her care;
None of the court might match his princely

air,

weak

In tenderness, yet it sought strength to show An outward firmness, whate'er lurk'd below. T was but a moment's struggle; and the pride

On the young victor in the tilters' ring.

Oh! give me but my gallant steed,
My spurs and sword to serve at need,
The shield that has my father's crest,
Thy colours, lady, on my breast,
And I will forth to wild warfare,
And win thee, or will perish there.
I am unknown, of a lost line,
And thou, love, art the flow'r of thine.
I know thou art above me far,
Yet still thou art hope's leading star;
For love is like the breathing wind
That every where may entrance find.
I saw thee, sure the fairest one
The morning-light e'er look'd upon;
No wonder that my heart was moved,
"T were marvel if I had not loved.
Long, long held by a spell too dear,
Thy smile has kept the loiterer here.
Almost it seem'd enough for me
Of Heav'n to only gaze on thee.
But love lights high and gallant thought,
A rich prize must be dearly bought.
'Unworthy votary at thy shrine,
I scorn my falchion's idle shine;
To-morrow I will wend away
To dim it in the battle-fray.
Lady, farewell! I pray thee give
One look whereon may absence live,
One word upon my ear to dwell,
And, then, sweet lady mine, farewell.

Then softly open was a casement flung, And a fair face from out the lattice hung;

That nerves the softness of a hero's bride
Was on her lofty forehead, as she gave
A sunny curl beside his plume to wave.
"I have another gift which you must take,
And guard it, EGLAMOUR, well for my sake:
It is a charmed ring, this emerald stone
Will be a sign, when thou art from me gone.
On the now spotless ground of lighted green,
Mark if it changes; if a spot be seen
Danger is round me; haste thou then to me,
Thou knowst how fearless is my trust in

thee.

There is a weight to-night upon my heart;
She spoke no more, she felt her bosom swell,
Ah! peace for me can be but where thou art."
How could her lip find utterance for farewell?
He took the curl, one kiss is on it press'd,
And doff'd his plumed helm: "Dear lady, now
Then gave it to its sanctuary, his breast;
Take the last offering of thy lover's vow;
And for thy beauty's honour, I will go
Bareheaded to the battle, weal or woe.
Never shall crested casque my temples grace
Until again I look on thy sweet face."
A shriek burst from her-it was lost in air;
She call'd upon his name,—he was not there.
But leave we her, her solitude to keep,
To pray the Virgin's pity, wail and weep
O'er all the tender thoughts that have such
power

Upon the constant heart in absent hour;
And go we forth with our young knight to

see

What high adventure for his arms may be.
Onward he rode upon a barbed steed,
Milk-white as is the maiden's bridal weed,
Champing his silver bit. From throat to heel
Himself was clad in Milan's shining steel;
The surcoat that he wore was work'd with
gold;

And from his shoulder fell the scarlet fold
Of a rich mantle lined with miniver,
His mother's once, all that he held from her,
Save the bright chain, with pearl and ruby
strung,
Which rainbow-like outside his hauberk
hung;

His ashen lance lay ready in its rest;
His shield was poised beside him, and its crest
Was a young eaglet trying its first flight,
The motto: I must seek to win my right;
Two grayhounds ran beside; and mortal
sight

Had never look'd upon more gallant knight.
Bareheaded so his features met the view
Touch'd by the tender morning's early hue:
And eyes like the wild merlin's when she
springs

After long prison on her eager wings,