156

CŒUR DE LION.

CŒUR DE LION.

A warrior's arm of stalwart might,

Which well could wield the spear or sword;
A heart undaunted in the fight,

And gallant at the festive board;

A monarch's and a minstrel's fame
In tented fields of Palestine;
A bold crusader's dreaded name :-

These, Cœur de Lion! these were thine.

Yet what was the result of all

Thy skill and prowess in the fray?
Thy bearing in the banquet hall,

The gayest there among the gay?
What meed did sword or lyre obtain,
Once far renowned o'er land and sea?

Rude honours and a ruder strain

Were all, alas! they won for thee.

A name to still a froward child *;
Or taunt a Painim's startled steed;
A wreath by blood and tears defiled-

These were thy valour's empty meed.

• In Palestine Cœur de Lion left behind him an impression that long survived himself. His dreaded name was employed by the Syrian mothers to silence their froward children; and if a horse suddenly started from the way, his rider would exclaim: "Dost thou think King Richard is in that bush?"-Hack's English Stories.

JOHN HOWARD.

Then who would chivalry deplore?
Or who its barbarous splendours sing?
Since all its glories did no more

For England's lion-hearted king.

157

B. BARTON.

JOHN HOWARD.

A spirit of unwearied zeal,

Patience which nothing could subdue,
A heart the woes of man to feel,
In every varied form and hue;

An open hand, and eye, and ear,

For all in prisons doomed to pine;
A voice the captive's hopes to cheer ;-
These, noble Howard! these were thine.

In cells by mercy's feet untrod,

'Twas thine the mourner's lot to scan; Thy polar star the love of God,

Thy chart and compass love to man.

To mitigate the law's stern wrath

Thou trod'st with steadfast heart and eye,

"An open, unfrequented path

To fame and immortality!"

SPRING, THE MORNING OF LIFE.

158

What was thy meed ?

—a stranger's grave,

Divided from thy native land
By many a white and stormy wave,
By many a weary waste of sand.
Yet to that lone and distant tomb
Thy name its memory may entrust,
'Till cloudless glory burst its gloom,
And thou shalt rise to meet the just!

B. BARTON.

SPRING, THE MORNING OF LIFE.
DEW, THE FLOWER OF YOUTH.

PART I.

Sweet is the time of Spring,

When nature's charms appear;
The birds with ceaseless pleasure sing,

And hail the opening year.

But sweeter far the Spring

Of wisdom and of grace,

When children bless and praise their King,
Who loves the youthful race.

SPRING, THE MORNING OF LIFE.

Sweet is the dawn of day,

When light just streaks the sky; When shades and darkness pass away, And morning's beams are nigh.

But sweeter far the dawn

Of piety in youth;

When doubt and darkness are withdrawn,

Before the light of Truth.

PART II.

Sweet is the early dew,

Which gilds the mountains' tops,

And decks each plant and flower we view
With pearly glittering drops.

But sweeter far the scene,

On Zion's holy hill;

When there the dew of youth is seen,

Its freshness to distil.

Sweet is the op'ning flower
Which just begins to bloom,
Which ev'ry day and ev'ry hour
Fresh beauties will assume.

159

Since trifles make the sum of human things,
And half our misery from our foibles springs;
Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease,
And few can save or serve, but all can please;
Oh! let the ungentle spirit learn from hence,
A small unkindness is a great offence.

Large bounties to bestow we wish in vain,
But all may shun the guilt of giving pain.

To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth,

With power to grace them, or to crown with health,

Our little lot denies; but Heaven decrees

To all the gift of ministering to ease.
The gentle offices of patient love,
Beyond all flattery, and all price above;

The mild forbearance of anothers fault;

The taunting word suppressed as soon as thought: