O sir, when William died, he died at peace
With all men; for I ask'd him, and he said,
He could not ever rue his marrying me-
I had been a patient wife: but, sir, he said
That he was wrong to cross his father thus:
'God bless him!' he said, ' and may he never know
The troubles I have gone thro'!' Then he turn'd
His face and pass'd-unhappy that I am!
But now, sir, let me have my boy, for you
Will make him hard, and he will learn to slight
His father's memory; and take Dora back,
And let all this be as it was before."

So Mary said, and Dora hid her face

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By Mary. There was silence in the room;

And all at once the old man burst in sobs :

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"I have been to blame-to blame. I have kill'd my

son.

I have kill'd him-but I loved him-my dear son.
May God forgive me!-I have been to blame.

Kiss me, my children."

Then they clung about
The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many times.
And all the man was broken with remorse;
And all his love came back a hundredfold;
And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's child,
Thinking of William.

So those four abode
Within one house together; and as years
Went forward, Mary took another mate;
But Dora lived unmarried till her death.

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ROBERT SOUTHEY: 1774-1843.

THE INCHCAPE ROCK.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she could be ;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

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Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The Abbot of Aberbrothok

Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.

When the rock was hid by the surge's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous rock,

And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

The sun in heaven was shining gay,

All things were joyful on that day;

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round,

And there was joyance in their sound.

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The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen,

A darker speck on the ocean green;

Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck,

And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of Spring;
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,

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But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;

Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat,

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And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound,

The bubbles rose and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

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Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away,

He scoured the seas for many a day;

And now, grown rich with plundered store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.

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Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers' roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore."
"Now where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They hear no sound, the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock-
"O horror! it is the Inchcape Rock!"

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
He cursed himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,

But even in his dying fear

The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

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One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell
The fiends below were ringing his knell.

JOHN KEATS: 1795-1821.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

A BALLAD.

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Full beautiful-a faery's child;

Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna dew,

And sure in language strange she said— "I love thee true."

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore,

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And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dream'd-ah! woe betide,

The latest dream I ever dream'd

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On the cold hill's side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors; death-pale were they all;

They cried, "La Belle Dame sans Merci

Hath thee in thrall!"

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I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

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