And the holy chant was hush'd 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 breast-plate shook, When he stood beside the bier!

He stood there still with a drooping brow,

And clasp'd hands o'er it raised ;—

For his father lay before him low,

It was Coeur-de-Lion gazed!

And silently he strove

With the workings of his breast,
-But there's more in late repentant love

Than steel may keep suppress'd!
And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain—
-Men held their breath in awe,

For his face was seen by his warrior-train,

And he reck'd not that they saw.

He look'd upon the dead

And sorrow seem'd to lie,

A weight of sorrow, ev'n like lead,

Pale on the fast-shut eye.

He stoop'd-and kiss'd the frozen cheek, And the heavy hand of clay,

Till bursting words-yet all too weak

Gave his soul's passion way.

"Oh, father! is it vain,

This late remorse and deep?

Speak to me, father! once again,
I weep-behold, I weep!
Alas! my guilty pride and ire!

Were but this work undone,

I would give England's crown, my sire! To hear thee bless thy son.

"Speak to me! mighty grief

Ere now the dust hath stirr'd!

Hear me, but hear me !-father, chief,
My king! I must be heard!

-Hush'd, hush'd-how is it that I call

And that thou answerest not?

When was it thus ?-woe, woe for all
The love my soul forgot!

"Thy silver hairs I see,

So still, so sadly bright!
And father, father! but for me,

They had not been so white!
I bore thee down, high heart! at last,
No longer couldst thou strive ;-
Oh! for one moment of the past,!
To kneel and say- forgive!

"Thou wert the noblest king, On royal throne e'er seen; And thou didst wear, in knightly ring,

Of all, the stateliest mien;

And thou didst prove, where spears are proved

In war, the bravest heart

-Oh! ever the renown'd and loved

Thou wert-and there thou art!

"Thou that my boyhood's guide Didst take fond joy to be!— The times I've sported at thy side,

And climb'd thy parent-knee! And there before the blessed shrine, My sire! I see thee lie,—

-How will that sad still face of thine

Look on me till I die!

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20

THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN TREE.

"Here (at Brereton in Cheshire) is one thing incredibly strange, but attested, as I myself have heard, by many persons, and commonly believed. Before any heir of this family dies, there are seen, in a lake adjoining, the bodies of trees swimming on the water for several days."

Camden's Britannia.

YES! I have seen the ancient oak
On the dark deep water cast,
And it was not fell'd by the woodman's stroke,
Or the rush of the sweeping blast;

For the axe might never touch that tree,

And the air was still as a summer-sea.