THE MOATED HOUSE.

119

Along that garden's terrace green,

Came nobles of a former reign,

In antique fashion drest;

Collars vandyke, and ruffs were there,

And many a lady, "passing fair,"

The shadowy pageant blest.

It was, methought, the stormy time
Of Cromwell's iron sway;

An exile in a foreign clime,

Was the royal Charles that day,And loyal hearts in secret mourn'd, And the usurper's fetters spurn'd.

They whisper'd of a murder'd King,

And look'd with sorrow pale:

They were afraid to speak that thing,

Lest the soft passing gale

Should bear the murmur none may breathe,

Lest treachery should lurk beneath.

But fleeting fast, the pageant faded,

Dissolv'd in air away!

And from the moated house paraded,

A troop in long array ;

Bards, statesmen,-of Eliza's reign,

Revisiting this earth again.

They glided by, a courtly band :-

The noble Raleigh there,

All pale, one moment seem'd to stand,

Then melted into air!

Leicester, with haughty mien and eye,
And Essex, slowly passed by.

The faithful Cecil,-wise and true ;
Southampton stalk'd alone,-

And then among that motley show,

With a lustre o'er him thrown,

Came the sweet bard of Avon's stream.

I woke,-and found "'twas but a dream!"

LLANGOLLEN VALE.

"Did you know,

Where joy, heart's-ease, and comforts grow,

You'd scorn proud towers,

And seek them in those bowers

Where winds sometimes our woods perchance may shake,

But blustering care could never tempest make;

Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us,

Saving of fountains that glide by us!"

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

HEART-SICK and weary, I have sigh'd,

Sweet mountain vale, to rest in thee;
To dwell some clust'ring wood beside,
Far from the world's cold treachery!-
To hear the lark's wild melody,

Among the gleamy clouds of morn,
And nature's own sweet harmony,
On every wand'ring zephyr borne !

A rippling stream should murmur near,
With verdant meadows bound!

Wild roses scent the "desert air,"
And violets there be found :-

And never should a jarring sound,

Wake lonely echo from her cell, As softly came the seasons round, Within that peaceful dell.

The earliest footsteps of the Spring,
In that sequester'd vale should be,-
There Summer all her sunshine bring,

And Autumn all her witchery :—

When Winter through the wither'd tree,
Blew coldly round my cottage wall,
How calm the evening hour should be-
How bright the blazing light should fall!

No hollow smile should there intrude

No worldling's scorn my heart to grieve; But in that blessed solitude,

Friendship her charmed net should weave, And sympathetic hearts should leave The world, to those who love it best, Nor let its frown their souls bereave Of calm reflection's hallow'd rest.

Thus would I leave the busy road,

My noiseless path to journey o'er;
With patience bear the pilgrim's load,
Along time's still receding shore.-
And calmly hear the billows roar,
And see the bounding waves arise,
Pass the dread gulf,—and evermore
Join the bright dwellers of the skies.

THE LOST ONE.

"Long since, the lovely brow of which I sing,
Is lost amid the dark and mould'ring earth."
MISS M. A. BROWNE.

ALL duskily the evening ray,

Gleams on yon Gothic window pane,
Where, clad in mail, a warrior grey,
Long-long, in effigy hath lain :

And a couchant lion, carv'd in stone,
The slumberer's feet are resting on.

With sword begirt, with helm and shield,
As if prepared for battle strife,—

As if again the "tented field”

Could stir Earl Mowbray's life :—

As if the soldier imaged there,

Again could to such scenes repair.