صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

St Ignatius.

I.

A KNIGHT was kneeling on the marble floor,
Before our Lady's sainted image praying;
And he unloosed the glittering sword he bore,
Its trusty blade on Mary's altar laying:
"Lady, my sword I give to thee,

Nor aught from thee my heart can sever;
Thy true and faithful knight I'll be,
Thy slave, for ever and for ever!"

II.

A priest, within his narrow cell in prayer,
Upon his bed of straw so lowly lying,
Worn out with fast and vigil, toil and care,
Our Lady's faithful knight at last is dying :
"Lady, my heart I gave to thee,
Nor death my soul from thee can sever;
I kept the vow, thy knight to be,
Thy slave for ever, and for ever!"

Retribution.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

THE servant his noble lord hath slain ;
The servant to be a knight was fain.

He slew him afar, in a dark, lone wood,
And his body he sunk in the Rhine's deep flood.

He put on the bright steel armour proved,
And he mounted the war-horse his master loved.

He would cross the bridge o'er the river clear, But the steed it began to plunge and to rear.

He dug in its flanks the rowels of gold,
But it threw him down in the waters cold.

With arm and with limb he struggled to swim :The heavy armour hath drowned him.

The Sentinel.

FROM THE GERMAN.

AT midnight's hour alone I stand,
To mount guard in a stranger land;
And then my thoughts fly o'er the sea,
Away, my distant home, to thee.

There kindly hearts remember me,
And therefore am I gay and free ;

My heart beats warm in night's cold gloom,
To think upon my distant home.

Perhaps beneath the lamp's soft ray
My dearest one kneels down to pray
To Him who rules both peace and war,
For the poor soldier now afar.

But when thine eye doth shed a tear,
And when thou deemest danger near,
Be calm; for God will send thee joy :
He loves a faithful soldier boy.

The clock now strikes: the round is near,

And soon it will relieve me here:
Good-night, be pleasant dreams with thee,

And kindly still remember me !

The Violet.

FROM THE GERMAN.

A VIOLET blooms in yonder vale,
It opens to the morning gale,
So fragrant and so blue,

So pure, amid the early dew.

On mossy bed this violet blows,

And in its golden heart there glows A dew-drop clear and lone,

As brilliant as a diamond stone.

The violet in the spring's soft air
Mild breathes its fragrant life so fair,
And 'neath the sun's bright ray
In its sweet vale it dies away.

O maiden, be thus pure and mild,
Secluded in thy valley wild ;-
Thus let thy prayer arise,

Unseen and lowly, to the skies.

The Little Gray Squirrel.

On the dew-besprent lawn, with the earliest dawn,
Ere a floweret of morning had greeted the day,

Where the wild herbs grew sweet, 'neath his light

fairy feet,

The little gray squirrel was bounding so gay.

Not a bird on the tree could be merrier than he, Though it sings all the day among branches so tall; Not the butterfly bright, though she soars in the light, For the little gray squirrel was blithest of all.

Alas! for the sorrow that waits not the morrow

To mar all the hopes of the fair and the bold:

When the first sunny beam awoke earth from her dream,

The little gray squirrel was lifeless and cold.

Oh, thou who art gay beneath life's morning ray,
Who deem'st all around thee so gladsome and free,
To joy succeeds grief, like the fall of the leaf ;-
The little gray squirrel gives warning to thee.

« السابقةمتابعة »