"Now, by St. Louis, braggart base!" fair Isabel replied,
"I tell thee, in thy craven teeth, that loudly thou hast
lied!"

Then bared she straight her snow-white hand, and down
she threw her glove :

"Oh! is there any knight who here, for honour or for love,

Will make the Count Alcaras his unhallowed falsehood

rue,

And win me back that well-known scarf-that scarf of gold and blue."

A hundred swords leaped forth at once to do her proud behest,

A hundred lords were at her feet, a hundred spears in rest;

But she has singled from them all that solitary knight Who wears his coal-black vizor down, nor yet has proved his might.

The heralds sound the onset, and they meet with deadly

shock;

The count has fallen from his horse, the knight sits as a rock;

But when he saw Alcaras down, he stayed not on his
steed;

And when he saw Alcaras' lance was shivered as a reed,
Away, without one word, the knight that instant cast his

own,

And forth he drew his glittering sword, that as a sunbeam shone :

With one fierce blow he cleft the casque the Spaniard proudly wore,

And with the next struck off the arm on which the scarf he bore ;

Then thrice he kissed that well-worn scarf, that scarf of gold and blue,

And raised his vizor as he knelt to her he found so true.

O! dearly was that scarf beloved by Sir Eustace D'Argen

court,

But dearer far the prize he won in Isabel D'Etours!

:

H. G. Bell

U

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

Ir was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;

And by him sported on the green,
His little grandchild, Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
That he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;
She ran to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh-

"Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory.

“I find them in my garden, for
There's many hereabout;
And often when I go to plough

The ploughshare turns them out;
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory.'

"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin, he cries,
And little Wilhelmine looks up

With wonder-waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they killed each other for ?*

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they kill'd each other for
I could not well make out.
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory!

"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by ;

They burn'd his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly :

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to rest his head!.

"With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide;
And many a childing mother then
And new-born baby died!

But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun!

But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won,
And our good Prince Eugene."
"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory!

"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
"But t'was a famous victory."

THE SLAVE'S DREAM.

BESIDE the ungather'd rice he lay,
His sickle in his hand;

His breast was bare, his matted hair
Was buried in the sand;

Again in the mist and shadow of sleep,
He saw his native land.

Southey.

Wide through the landscape of his dreams

The lordly Niger flow'd ;

Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode, And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
Among her children stand;

They clasp'd his neck, they kissed his cheeks,
They held him by the hand:

A tear burst from the sleeper's lids,

And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode
Along the Niger's bank;

His bridle-reins were golden chains,
And, with a martial clank,

At each leap he could feel his scabbard of stecl
Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew ;

From morn till night he follow'd their flight,
O'er plains where the tarmarind grew,
Till he saw the roof of Caffre huts,

And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,

And the hyena scream,

And the river-horse, as he crush'd the reeds Beside some hidden stream;

And it pass'd, like a glorious roll of drums,Through the triumph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,
Shouted of liberty;

And the blast of the desert cried aloud,
With a voice so wild and free,

That he started in his sleep, and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip,
Nor the burning heat of day;
For death had illumined the land of sleep,
And his lifeless body lay

A worn-out fetter, that the soul
Had broken and thrown away!

Longfellow

I'M NOT A LOVER NOW.

THERE was a time when I could feel
All passion's hopes and fears,
And tell what tongues can ne'er reveal,
By smiles, and sighs, and tears!
The days are gone; no more, no more,
The cruel fates allow;

And though I'm hardly twenty-four,
I'm not a lover now!

Lady, the mist is on my sight;

The chill is on my brow;

My day is night, my bloom is blight-
I'm not a lover now!

I never talk about the clouds,

I laugh at girls and boys;
I'm growing rather fond of crowds,
And very fond of noise :

I never wander forth alone

Upon the mountain's brow;

I weighed, last winter, sixteen stone !
I'm not a lover now!

I never wish to raise a veil,
I never raise a sigh;

I never tell a tender tale,

I never tell a lie;

I cannot kneel as once I did;
I've quite forgot my bow;

I never do as I am bid

I'm not a lover now!