I had a son, a sea-boy, in A ship at Hartland bay; To Scotland from the Devon's She wrote you by my son, but he For they had wronged you, to elude To die but at your feet, she vowed To roam the world; and we Would both have sped and begged our bread, For when the snow-storm beat our roof, Who grew as fair your likeness proof 'Twas smiling on that babe one morn She shunned him, but he raved of Jane, Who came to us in high disdain, 'Has witched my boy to wish for one So wretched for his wife? Dost love thy husband? Know, my son Has sworn to seek his life.' Her anger sore dismayed us, For our mite was wearing scant, So I told her, weeping bitterly, And she housed us both, when, cheerfully, That even if made a widow, she Here paused the nurse, and then began He heard me long, with ghastly eyes Speak of the worm that never dies, At last by what this scroll attests 'There lived,' he said, 'a fair young Beneath my mother's roof; I loved her, but against my flame Her purity was proof. dame I feigned repentance, friendship pure; As means to search him, my deceit The treachery took: she waited wild; I felt her tears for years and years Fame told us of his glory, while And whilst she blessed his name, her smile No fears could damp; I reached the camp, And if my broadsword failed at last, This wound's my meed, my name's Kinghorn, My foe's the Ritter Bann.' The wafer to his lips was borne, And we shrived the dying man. He died not till you went to fight But I see my tale has changed you pale." P 2 And brought a little page who poured It out, and knelt and smiled: The stunned knight saw himself restored And stooped and caught him to his breast, And with a shower of kisses pressed The darling little one. "And where went Jane?"-"To a nunnery, SirLook not again so pale Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her." "And has she ta'en the veil ?" "Sit down, Sir," said the priest, " I bar Rash words."-They sat all three, And the boy played with the knight's broad star, As he kept him on his knee. "Think ere you ask her dwelling-place," The abbot further said; "Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face Grief may have made her what you can 'Hush, abbot," cried the Ritter Bann, "Or tell me where's my wife." The priest undid two doors that hid The inn's adjacent room, And there a lovely woman stood, One moment may with bliss repay Of the Knight embracing Jane. A DREAM. WELL may sleep present us fictions, Since our waking moments teem With such fanciful convictions As make life itself a dream.Half our daylight faith's a fable; Sleep disports with shadows too, Seeming in their turn as stable As the world we wake to view. Than was left by Phantasy In a bark, methought, lone steering, Sad regrets from past existence Came, like gales of chilling breath; Now seeming more, now less remote, But my soul revived at seeing |