Scarce

you see them now careeeing

Parcel of thy good lord's glory

Now they're lost i' the vapors dun

See them-see them reappearing,

Far above the morning sun.

Now the hawk, in pitch of pride,
Meditates his fatal swoop-
Watch him now, howe'er ye ride-
Watch him, would ye see him stoop.

Lo! he binds him-plumb, together,
Fifty fathoms through the sky,
Falcon's talon, heron's feather,
Down they struggle-win or die!

On the greensward faintly lying,

Heavenward ne'er again to soar, Hawk and heron both are dying,

Beak and single wet with gore.
Wo! for thee, thou bird so daring-
Doomed ignobly thus to fall.
Long thy bells, like warrior's bearing,
Shall bedeck the old oak wall.

Long, the theme of knightly story,
Shall thy gallant feats be told--

Won by river, wood and wold.
Out! alas! I am but dreaming-
In this cold degenerate day,
Naught of high or knightly seeming
Lives, but in the minstrel's lay.
Knightly sports, and knightly daring,
Long ago have passed away-

We, their names and 'scutcheons bearing,
Soon to pass, and be as they.

Well for us! if, when we perish,
History bears as high a trace
Of the things we do and cherish,
As of their renowned race.
But, I fear me, history's showing
Will for us be brief and bare-
All our modern trumpet-blowing
Bootless blasts of empty air-

And I only can deplore me,

As I think, in bygone days, What my fathers were before me, What their labors, what their praise.

WITHOUT a stain the maiden lived,
Unblemished, pure and mild-
A woman grown, she was as sweet
And simple as a child;

I loved her for her gentleness,
Her smiles and winning ways,
And for a virtue in her heart

Above a poet's praise.

Boon Nature lavished charms on her,
Such charms as she bestows
Upon those seraphs of the soil,
The lily and the rose;
The soft expression of her eyes
Came surely from above-

It seemed to me a blended glance
Of Pity and of Love.

Though various as the chasing waves,
She ever was the same;
From every motion of her form

Some grace and beauty came;

The common thoughts she told in words
From her seemed strangely new,
And earth contained no living heart
So constant, fond and true.

Yet o'er the brightness of her soul
A sudden shadow fell,

And Hope, who sang sweet songs to her,
In sorrow breathed farewell.
She knew not why the music ceased
Nor why the heavens were dim;
She only knew her cruel doom,
And that it came from him.

God! who canst heal the wounded heart

And pardon all who err,

This blast of keen and wasting wo

So temper unto her,

That in her guiltless breast may spring
The flowers of peace once more,
And all be fair as summer skies
When summer storms are o'er!