250

SIR GALAHAD

So pass I hostel, hall and grange;

By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
All-armed I ride, whate'er betide,

Until I find the Holy Grail.

TENNYSON.

SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL

SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!

Jehovah has triumphed,-His people are free!

Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken,

His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave. How vain was their boasting!-the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumphed,-His people are free!

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord!
His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword!—
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?
For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory,
And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumphed,-His people are free!

THOMAS MOORE.

ST. AGNES EVE

EEP on the convent roof the snows

DE

Are sparkling to the moon:

My breath to heaven like vapor goes:
May my soul follow soon!

The shadows of the convent towers
Slant down the snowy sward,
Still creeping with the creeping hours
That lead me to my Lord:
Make thou my spirit pure and clear
As are the frosty skies,

Or this first snowdrop of the year
That in my bosom lies.

As these white robes are soil'd and dark, To yonder shining ground,

As this pale taper's earthly spark,

To yonder argent round;

So shows my soul before the Lamb,

My spirit before Thee,

So in my earthly house I am,

To that I hope to be.

Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,

Thro' all yon starlight keen,

Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star,

In raiment white and clean.

ST. AGNES EVE

He lifts me to the golden doors;
The flashes come and go;
All heaven bursts her starry floors,
And strews her lights below,
And deepens on and up! the gates

Roll back, and far within
For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,
To make me pure of sin.
The sabbaths of eternity,

One sabbath deep and wide-
A light upon the shining sea—
The Bridegroom with his bride!

253

TENNYSON.

THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA

SPEAK and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward

far away,

O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come they near?

Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.

"Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls;

Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!"

Who is losing? who is winning?" Over hill and over plain,

I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain rain."

Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look

once more.

"Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse,

Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course."