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Young Roger de Tracy, and Ralph Bornaville,
The moon she shone mildly, the stars twinkled bright, And flooded the chapel with silvery light;
The spires and grave-stones look'd gay; and the trees Seem'd tipped with fair splendour, and waved in the
And out rush'd the band of the villagers gay,
"Ho! ho!" cried young Roger, "a night such as this,
Then loud laugh'd his comrades, and shouted assent, "Let us to the green;" but now, as they went, The holy monk Francis besought them to stay; "Oh! sin not," he cried, "oh! think on the dayOh! think that God hallowed this day out of sevenOh! think that to pleasure six days hath he given !"
Away with thy priestcraft," cried Roger, with scorn, "We will dance, we will jest, we will revel till morn! Nay, to punish thy pride, and throw shame on thy face, Instead of the green, we will dance in this place! Over the grave-stones, and over the dead!" "Ay, ay," all his revelling company said.
All but one; and he was the young Amourduille; The rest of the band could not hear-could not feel. "Dear Matilda," cried he, "oh ! quit, love, this place!' But she jeer'd at his fears, and laugh'd in his face, "Go, coward," she said, "go, pray if you will, 'Give me dance, and high revel, the sun-beams until."
And now each brave youth has a fair partner led,
Then revell'd they on, and the moon she shone bright,
Still they danc'd,--still they danc'd, but now nothing
As they rush'd over the grave-stones, and over the dead.
They seem'd not to see, or to feel, or to hear!
The morning-blush now, had just dappled the sky,
pray, some lament, some weep, and some kneel, When rush'd from the village the young Amourduille.
"Matilda! Matilda, oh! stop thee," he cried;
In young Amourduille rush'd--the band soon came round,
He flew to Matilda, and caught her fast round.
Then vanish'd the band, though that night every year
New Monthly Magazine. ·
THE entire merit of the following jeu d'esprit, consists in the original thought which suggested it. Throughout the whole, there is no variation in the thought, but the contrast of the name and character is so happily imagined, that it deserves a place in this selection. The versification is smooth, and the manner possesses the curiosa felicitas of genius.-ED.
Men once were surnamed from their shape or estate, (You all may from history worm it,)
There was Lewis the Bulky, and Henry the Great,
But now, when the door-plates of misters and dames
From the owner's trade, figure, and calling, surnames, Seem given by the rule of contraries.
Mr. Box, though provoked, never doubles his fist,
Mr. Playfair won't catch me at hazard or whist,
Mrs. Drinkwater's apt to indulge in a dram,
At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout,
Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout,
Miss Joy, wretched maid, when she chose Mr. Love,
She now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove,
Mr. Child, in a passion, knock'd down Mr. Rock,
Miss Poole used to dance, but she stands like a stock,
Mr. Swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how,
Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea,
Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.