Lo! where my Second, in gorgeous array,
Leads from his stable her beautiful bay,
Looking for her as he curvets by

With an arching neck and a glancing eye.

Spread is the banquet and studied the song,
Ranged in meet order the menial throng,
And the priest is ready with book and stole,
And the maidens strew flowers;-but where is my Whole?

Look to the hill! is he climbing its side?
Look to the stream! is he crossing its tide?
Out on the false one! he comes not yet-
Lady, forget him! yea, scorn and forget!

--

IV

IVAN THE CZAR.

He sat in silence on the ground,
The old and haughty Czar,

Lonely, though princes girt him round,
And leaders of the war ;

He had cast his jewelled sabre,
That many a field had won,

To the earth beside his youthful dead –

His fair and first-born son.

PRAED.

With a robe of ermine for its bed
Was laid that form of clay,
Where the light a stormy sunset shed
Through the rich tent made way;
And a sad and solemn beauty

On the pallid face came down,
Which the lord of nations mutely watched
In the dust, with his renown,

Low tones, at last, of woe and fear,

From his full bosom broke.

A mournful thing it was to hear
How then the proud man spoke!
The voice that through the combat
Had shouted far and high,

Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones,
Burdened with agony.

"There is no crimson on thy cheek,

And on thy lip no breath;

I call thee, and thou dost not speak-
They tell me this is death!
And fearful things are whispering

That I the deed have done-
For the honour of thy father's name;
Look up, look up, my son!

"Well might I know death's hue and mien;

But on thine aspect, boy!

What, till this moment, have I seen

Save pride and tameless joy?

Swiftest thou wert to battle,
And bravest there of all

How could I think a warrior's frame
Thus like a flower should fall?

"I will not bear that still cold look
Rise up, thou fierce and free!
Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook
All, save this calm, from thee.
Lift brightly up and proudly,
Once more thy kindling eyes!

Hath my word lost its power on earth?
I say to thee, arise!

"Didst thou not know I loved thee well?

Thou didst not! and art gone

In bitterness of soul, to dwell

"Thou wert the first, the first fair child
That in mine arms I pressed:
Thou wert the bright one, that hast smiled
Like summer on my breast!

I reared thee as an eagle,

To the chase thy steps I led; I bore thee on my battle-horseI look upon thee - dead!

"Lay down my warlike banners here,
Never again to wave,

And bury my red sword and spear,
Chiefs, in my first-born's grave!
And leave me; I have conquered

I have slain my work is done.
Whom have I slain? Ye answer not
Thou, too, art mute, my son!"

And thus his wild lament was poured
Through the dark resounding night;
And the battle knew no more his sword,
Nor the foaming steed his might.

He heard strange voices moaning

In every wind that sighed;

From the searching stars of heaven he shrank.
Humbly the conqueror died.

DEATH THE LEVELLER.

The glories of our birth and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;

There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings.

Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down,

F. HEMANS.

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade;
All heads must come

To the cold tomb:

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.

SHIRLEY.

VI

THE SWORD.

'Twas the battle-field, and the cold pale moon
Looked down on the dead and the dying;
And the wind passed o'er with a dirge and a wail,
Where the young and the brave were lying.

With his father's sword in his red right hand,
And the hostile dead around him,

Lay a youthful chief; but his bed was the ground,
And the grave's icy sleep had bound him.

A reckless rover, 'mid death and doom,
Passed a soldier, his plunder seeking;
Careless he stepped where friend and foe
Lay alike in their life-blood reeking.

Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword,
The soldier paused beside it;

He wrenched the hand with a giant's strength,
But the grasp of the dead defied it.