Spread its dark shape, and left the sun behind. The lovers driven along from hour to hour, Which sought a shelter on the quivering mast, Sometimes upon his breast she laid her head, Hushing her fears, and 'tween her and the storm ROLAND GRÆME. Cunningham. THE trumpet was rung on Hellvellyn side, And an hundred steeds came hurrying fleet, And the gathering cry, and the warning word, And away they bound-the mountain deer And away they go-the brooks call out, With a hoarse and a murmuring dash h; What foes chase they? for I see no foe; I see no foe-yet a foe they pursue, With bow and brand, and horn and halloo. Sir Richard spurs on his bonny brown steed, There is an hundred steeds, and each Has a Selby on its back; And the meanest man there draws a brand Has silver spurs and a baron's land. The Eden is deep in flood-lo! look How it dashes from bank to bank, They brave the water and breast the banks, The winding and haunted Eske is nigh, With its woodlands wide and green; "Our steeds are white with foam; shall we wash But their steeds may be doom'd to a sterner task, All at once they stoop on their horses' necks, And bury their spur in their coursers' flank, And pluck their bright blades out: The spurned-up turf is scatter'd behind, For they go as the hawk when he sails with the wind. Before them, not far, on the lilied lea, There is a fair youth flying; And at his side rides a lovely maid, Oft looking back and sighing : On his bonnet dances the heron's plume, And fans the maid's cheek, all of ripe rose bloom. "Now do thy best, my bonny grey steed, And carry my true lover over; And thy corn shall be served in a silver dish, O bear her safe, through dark Eske's fords, And leave me to cope with her kinsmen's swords.' Proud looked the steed, and had braved the flood Turn'd his head in joy, and his eye seem'd to say, "I'm proud of my lovely rider: And though Selbys stood thick as the leaves on the trec, All scatheless, I'd bear thee o'er mountain and lea." A rushing was heard on the river banks, Wild rung wood, rock, and linn— And that instant, an hundred horsemen at speed, Came foaming and fearless in. "Turn back, turn back, thou Scottish loon, Let us measure our swords, 'neath the light of the moon." And an hundred horsemen leaped lightly down, With their silver spurs all ringing; And drew back as Sir Richard his good blade bar'd, And Roland Græme down his mantle threw, With a martial smile, and his bright sword drew. With a measuring eye, and a measur❜d pace, Then made a bound and made a blow, "Now yield thee, Roland, and give me back "My sword is steel, Sir Richard, like thine, And again their dark eyes flashed, and again The ring-doves sprung from their roosts, for the blows Sir Richard was stark, and young Roland was strong; There's blood upon young Roland's blade, But blood to the warrior's like dew to the flower; A dash was heard in the moonlight Eske, And up its banks of green, Fair Edith Selby came with a shriek And knelt the knights between : "Oh! spare him, Sir Richard!" she held her white hands, Young Roland look'd down on his true love, and smil'd. "Curse on them that true love would sunder," he sheath'd "And long may the Selbys, abroad and at hame, AN APOSTROPHE TO PEACE. -- PEACE! lasting Peace! There is something in the very sound that makes our hearts throb with expectation and delight! Think of the numerous benefits which will accrue to the world at large by the cessation of War ;they crowd too thick and fast upon the mind to utter them; whilst the vast amount of human misery that would be averted stands paramount. Oh! what victims has the blood-red hand of War sacrificed on its altar! How has it blighted the fairest prospects and torn asunder heaven-born ties! How many hearts has it caused to bleed with grief, and to be stricken with despair! Wherever it has shown its devastating hand it has opened one huge grave that has engulphed the fairest and the best! Gaze on the field of death at the close of an engagement! Listen to the sounds borne along upon the midnight breeze, like the groans of some monster spirit struggling in its agony! Go yet nearer-see the pale wounded, and the paler dead!—Think, at that moment, of the widowed grief-rent hearts at home, and say, does not the thought of these scenes being numbered with the past-of these sighings of broken spirits being exchanged for songs of love and innocence- -seem too much for our feeble frames to bear? Think of the wild cry of joy which ran along our coasts at the last general announcement of peace; what a cry was that! how strangely in it agony and joy were mingled! A people who had been brought up from infancy in scenes of war and bloodshed!-Wives who had lived in the daily expectation of all they cherished as dear being ruthlessly torn from them! Mothers whose parental existence had been one intense anxiety lest the hand of the destroyer should visit them next, and arrest those on whom all their hopes rested, at once their pride and joy. When it was announced that these scenes were to cease, it seemed almost too much for a nation to endure: bitter recollections of the past mingled strangely with anticipations for the future. Oh! when shall a far longer peace than this-a peace uninterrupted and eternal-dawn upon our world? When shall love, the brightest emanation of the Deity, make every spirit to warm, and every face to glow with joy? All nature seems to rebuke our strifes-in all the wide creation every thing seems harmony but man. What exquisite repose! what sublime unity! Gaze upon the setting sun, in all its variety of tints, ever changing in its hue, yet all converging in one golden ray; and imagine, must it not be some burnished pathway to the land of everlasting harmonies. Let man then no longer be the exception;-no longer let us point to plains immortalized by scenes of carnage as the glory of our land; but let each one aid on the time-aid it in the world without and by the home fireside-when every hill, valley, and plain bounded by England's shores, shall send forth the incense of pure and loving hearts to the Fatherland on high; when Peace shall reign triumphant throughout the length and breadth of our land, and War shall be known no more ! THOMAS E. FULLER. GERTRUDE VON DER WART Mrs. Hemans. HER hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes raised, Up to the fearful wheel she gazed All that she loved was there.* The night was round her clear and cold, The holy heaven above; Its pale stars watching to behold The might of earthly love. * She is supposed to be witnessing her husband perish by the rack. |