The swannerds, where their sedges are,
Moved on in sunset's golden breath;
The shepherde lads I heard afarre,
And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth ;
Till, floating o'er the grassy sea,
Came downe that kyndly message free,
The Brides of Mavis Enderby.

Then some looked uppe into the sky,
And all along where Lindis flows
To where the goodly vessels lie,

And where the lordly steeple shows.

They sayde, “And why should this thing be,
What danger lowers by land or sea?
They ring the tune of Enderby.

"For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys, warping down, For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,

They have not spared to wake the towne ; But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring The Brides of Enderby?

I looked without, and lo! my sonne

Came riding downe with might and main ; He raised a shout as he drew on,

Till all the welkin rang again: "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)

"The olde sea-wall" (he cryed) "is downe! The rising tide comes on apace; And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place!"

He shook as one that looks on death:

"God save you, mother!" straight he sayth; "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?"

"Good sonne, where Lindis winds away
With her two bairns I marked her long;
And ere yon bells beganne to play,

Afar I heard her milking-song.'
He looked across the grassy sea,
To right, to left, Ho, Enderby!
They rang The Brides of Enderby.

With that he cried and beat his breast;
For lo! along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,
And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noises loud,
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis, backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout, -
Then beaten foam flew round about,
Then all the mighty floods were out.

So farre, so fast, the eygre drave,

The heart had hardly time to beat Before a shallow seething wave

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea.

Upon the roofe we sate that night;
The noise of bells went sweeping by ;

I marked the lofty beacon light

Stream from the church tower, red and high,

A lurid mark, and dread to see ;

And awsome bells they were to mee,
That in the dark rang Enderby.

They rang the sailor lads to guide,

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And I, - my sonne was at my side,

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; And yet he moaned beneath his breath, "O, come in life, or come in death!

O lost my love, Elizabeth!"

And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare,

The waters laid thee at his doore

Ere yet the early dawn was clear:
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace,
The lifted sun shone on thy face,
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea,
A fatal ebbe and flow, alas!

To manye more than myne and mee;
But each will mourne his own (she sayth)
And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

I shall never hear her more

By the reedy Lindis shore,

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews be falling;

I shall never hear her song,

"Cusha! Cusha!" all along, Where the sunny Lindis floweth,

Goeth, floweth,

From the meads where melick groweth, Where the water, winding down, Onward floweth to the town.

I shall never see her more,

Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Shiver, quiver,

Stand beside the sobbing river,

THE MORNING-GLORY.

WE wreathed about our darling's head
The morning-glory bright;

Her little face looked out beneath
So full of life and light,

So lit as with a sunrise,
That we could only say,
"She is the morning-glory true,
And her poor types are they."

So always from that happy time
We called her by their name,
And very fitting did it seem,

For sure as morning came,
Behind her cradle bars she smiled

To catch the first faint ray,

As from the trellis smiles the flower
And opens to the day.

But not so beautiful they rear

Their airy cups of blue,

As turned her sweet eyes to the light,

Brimmed with sleep's tender dew; And not so close their tendrils fine

Round their supports are thrown,

As those dear arms whose outstretched plea Clasped all hearts to her own.

There is a solitary tomb, with rankling weeds o'ergrown,

A single palm bends mournfully beside the mouldering stone

Amidst whose leaves the passing breeze with fitful gust and slow

Seems sighing forth a feeble dirge for him who sleeps below.

Beside, its sparkling drops of foam a desert fountain showers;

And, floating calm, the lotus wreathes its red and scented flowers,

Here lurks the mountain fox unseen beside the vulture's nest;

And steals the wild hyena forth, in lone and silent quest.

Is this deserted resting-place the couch of fallen might?

And ends the path of glory thus, and fame's inspiring light?

Chief of a progeny of kings renowned and feared afar,

How is thy boasted name forgot, and dimmed thine honor's star!

A BARKING Sound the shepherd hears,

A cry as of a dog or fox ;

He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks;

And now at distance can discern

A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.

The dog is not of mountain breed ;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy,
With something, as the shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry;

Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear.
What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,

A silent tarn below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,

Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land, —

From trace of human foot or hand.
There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak
In symphony austere ;

Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud,
And mists that spread the flying shroud;
And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past,
But that enormous barrier holds it fast.
Not free from boding thoughts, awhile
The shepherd stood; then makes his way
O'er rocks and stones, following the dog
As quickly as he may;

Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground.
The appalled discoverer with a sigh
Looks round to learn the history.

From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear.
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day

On which the traveller passed this way.

But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell!

A lasting monument of words

This wonder merits well.

The dog, which still was hovering nigh,

Repeating the same timid cry,

This dog had been through three months' space

A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain, that, since the day

When this ill-fated traveller died,

The dog had watched about the spot,

Or by his master's side.

How nourished here through such long time
He knows who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

HELVELLYN.

[In the spring of 1805 a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months af terwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. ]

I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide :

And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden Edge round the Red Tarn was bending,

And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.

Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain heather,

lying,

Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

decay,

Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay.

Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?

When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?

How many long days and long nights didst thou

number

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? And, O, was it meet that-no requiem read o'er him,

No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,

And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him

Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart?

When a prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,

The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall,

With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming;

In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming;

Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,

Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb,

When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature,

And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.

reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.]

TORCHES were blazing clear, Hymns pealing deep and slow, Where a king lay stately on his bier

In the church of Fontevraud.

Banners of battle o'er him hung,

And warriors slept beneath,
And light, as noon's broad light was flung
On the settled face of death.

On the settled face of death A strong and ruddy glare, Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, Yet it fell still brightest there;

As if each deeply furrowed trace

Of earthly years to show,
Alas! that sceptred mortal's race
Had surely closed in woe!

The marble floor was swept
By many a long dark stole,

As the kneeling priests, round him that slept,
Sang mass for the parted soul;
And solemn were the strains they poured

Through the stillness of the night,
With the cross above, and the crown and sword,
And the silent king in sight.

There was heard a heavy clang,
As of steel-girt men the tread,
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
With a sounding thrill of dread ;
And the holy chant was hushed awhile,

As, by the torch's flame,
A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle
With a mail-clad leader came.

He came with haughty look,
An eagle glance and clear;

But his proud heart through its breastplate shook
When he stood beside the bier!

He stood there still with a drooping brow,
And clasped hands o'er it raised ;-
For his father lay before him low,
It was Cœur de Lion gazed!