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warrior than a bard, and the music the place pleasant and agreeable. was all of a rough and martial kind. Torches were kindled, and placed

It was with a heart free of all sus- within the entrance, and beside them picion that Beatrice gave her hand the mariners and soldiers stood, exto Sir Aymer, and was placed on the pecting the storm to subside, and prow of his barge on a cushion of uttering profane jests, and singing velvet, and under a canopy of silk. licentious songs. Beatrice sat at a Her lover's stag hound, the faithful considerable distance from this rude companion of all her journies, was groupe,-a small torch burned beat her side ; and she sat and looked side her, and before her stood Sir on the darkening waters and the re- Aymer, silent and thoughtful,-a ceding shore with a heart ill at rest. dark flush was on his face,-he seemMore visible cause for alarm sooned forming some evil resolution. She

Since mid-day the distant watched his looks ;-he was ever a clouds had began to gather them- man of few words, and now his power selves together over the bosom of the of speech seemed o’ermastered by sea ;-a dark cloud had descended some internal commotion. Sir Ayamong the neighbouring mountains, mer,' said she, “this fearful storm, and as the procession moved, the and the perils to which Lady Heron cloud moved, and hung dark and vast is exposed, trouble you sore ; look over a line of steep and lofty rocks at out on the night, and tell me if the a little distance. The sun, which tempest is likely soon to abate.' seemed with its fervent light to keep 'Ho there, Stephen,' said Sir Aymer, the clouds of sea and land asunder, look to sea and sky, and say what now sunk fairly down, the gloom of further they bode.' A step was twilight came, the clouds increased heard, and a hoarse voice answered, and came rolling together, and when "The sky is black as hell, and the sea they met, the wind rose with a rush, seethes like a cauldron of pitch,—can't the lightning flashed, and the sea say when the storm may slacken.' swelled and heaved,—and there was Sir Aymer strode a pace or two, and a thick darkness, in which no man said, “By the might of heaven, lady, could see a lance's length. The mirth love for you troubles me more than a of the minstrel, and the merry songs thousand storms ;-) have loved you of the mariners, were drowned in the fondly, and I have loved you long:gusts of wind, and in the chafing of Sir Knight,' said Beatrice, have the waves on beach and cliff. The you forgot your vows of honour and coast along which they sailed was arms,-and have you forgot Sir Hugh dangerous and rocky,—with sharp Heron? But you wish to be pleasant headlands, and wild caverns, in which of speech in this dreary hour ;-I am the storm moaned and roved by fits, glad to hear you speak, and if you -still the sea itself was not vio- will describe one of your well-fought lently agitated, and they moved away battles, you will find me a patient with oar and with sail. All at once, listener, --but talk not of love.' however, the tempest stooped down Lady,' said he, • I have ever lost to the water, and heaved it midmast the love of my bosom for lack of hohigh,—and the big and thick-de- neyed words,—and I must plead my scending drops of rain made the cause in the way that fortune wills; decks reck as if the barge had been —those arms,--and he held out his on fire. The death-shrieks of crea- hands towards her,--can fold ye and tures drowning were heard for a mo- guard ye against all who either love ment above the noise of the storm,- or hate you.' And he seized her and Sir Aymer directed his barge to suddenly by the mantle. In a mothe shelter of a little bay, scooped ment the stag hound which lay at her out of the rocks, overhung with trees, feet sprung at his throat, and had and terminating in a wild and beau- not a thick hunting dress of buff, ortiful cavern.

namented with chains of steel and “ It was with an involuntary shud- gold, which reached high up neck, der that Beatrice submitted to be protected him, the bite had been borne into this lonely and beautiful deadly. He seized the stag hound cavern; cushions were placed in one with one hand,-uttered a deep imof the recesses for her accommoda- precation, and with the other draw, tion, and the rude followers of Sir ing his sword, cleft it in two, and Aymer busied themselves to render flung it on the floor of the cavern.

arms.

And now, fair mistress,' he said, “will roism and a sense of deep wrong I show you how Sir Aymer wooes,- kindle, was burning in his eyes. It I remember your words of jest and was Sir Hugh Heron. He struck scom,—your mockery at the blunt. Sir Aymer with the side of his sword, ness of my speech, -at my insen- and said, “Turn, thou only faithless sibility of the melody of verse, and knight of my name,-turn and draw, the harmony of music, when you else I strike ye dead where ye stand.' danced so gaily with the Dacres and And Sir Aymer drew his sword, and the Selbys, and the hall rung with said, 'I have longed to wet my laughter at me.' And sheathing his sword with thee in this quarrel,— sword he stepped close to where she and I will wet it in thy heart, and stood, and offered to take her in his he made a blow, and there was a sore

strife between them. When Beatrice “With dilated eyes, and hair which beheld her lover, she fell on her knees, seemed moving with horror, and and held up her hands in prayer; with a shuddering frame, Beatrice - she knelt so near, that the blood gazed upon him for a moment. “Vil- which the sword drew was sprinkled lain,' she said, " ye know not the on her white hands, and on her pale might of woman's heroic hate,-ye cheeks. She closed her eyes,-and have never learned to look on her heard for a space the sound of swords, with reverence or with awe--but and the moving to and fro of hurried learn it now,-in the weakest virgin feet ;-they were a moment mute, of my father's house there is a cou- and then the combat grew more rage that scorns ye and defies ye. fierce than ever. At length Sir AyDare but to touch me,-and if hea- mer fell. pierced through and through, ven's fire, which now makes this ca- and while he lay in the agonies of vern as bright as noon, strikes ye not death, Beatrice threw herself in her to the earth,-a hand ye dread not lover's bosom, and sobbed out his shall work God's work. And she name. He sheathed his sword and put her hand in her bosom, and draw- kissed her forehead and her lips, and ing out a dagger, said, “Sir Aymer, said, “My love-my love, I learned see,—this lay in my bosom when I thy danger in a far land, and the first was among pirates ;-with this the voice I heard when the storm drove weak is mighty, and woman is equal our boat into this little lovely bay, with man. Another step, and time was thine calling on God and Hugh has done with one of us. Sir Aymer Heron.'” laughed, and looked on her for a mo- I made a pause in my narrative, ment,---his frame shook, and his and my companion, who had mainbrow darkened, --but grim as his tained silence much longer than I looks grew, he still smiled,-and he expected, looked on me and exclaimsprung towards her like a beast of ed, “ Call ye that the Tale of Hugh prey springing on a deer. • Minion,' Heron? The best of the story is to he said, ye have drawn blood ; come, and will ye stop when the my revenge shall be but a harmless danger is over, and the mirth, and kiss.' And the dagger, as he threw the minstrels, and the bridal lights, it away, rung against the side of the are coming ? Ye have not said how

She called on God and she his mother came and fell on the neck called on her love,-her cries of deep of her son,-how the body of Sir and terrible despair were not uttered Aymer was borne into the shrine of in vain.

our lady, that the vision which Sir “ The storm had now subsided, - Hugh saw might be fulfilled,—the the moon streamed out from among stains of his blood are in the marble the disparting clouds, and the plash floor to this day. And if ye scom of the thunder-rain, and the howling bridal mirth, will ye not tell how of the wind, had ceased. A boat many masses were daily said for the pushed suddenly ashore, --hasty repose of the slain man's soul,--and words, and heavy blows, and death- how many stately sons and fair groans were heard,—and with the daughters blessed the marriage of rapidity of light an armed figure Hugh Heron and the fair maid of came,-a heron plume was in his Moffatdale? Never try to tell a story helmet,-a sword was gleaming in more.”

NALLA. his hand,-and that light which he

cavern.

BIRTH-DAY VERSES.

TRANSLATED FROM THE DUTCH OF TOLLENS.

Restless Time! who ne'er abidest,
Driver ! who life's chariot guidest
O'er dark hills and vales that smile,
Let me, let me breathe awhile :
Whither dost thou hasten? say!
Driver, but an instant stay.
What a viewless distance thou,
Still untired, hast travell’d now;
Never tarrying-rest unheeding
Over thorns and roses speeding,
Through lone places unforeseen-
Cliff and vast abyss between.
Five and twenty years thou'st pass'd,
Thundering on uncheck'd and fast,
And, though tempests burst around,
Stall nor stay thy coursers found :
I am dizzy-faint-oppress'd-
Driver! for one moment rest.
Swifter than the lightning flies
All things vanish from my eyes ;
All that rose so brightly o'er me
Like pale mist-wreaths fade before me;
Every spot my glance can find
Thy impatience leaves behind.
Yesterday thy wild steeds flew
O'er a spot where roses grew;
These I sought to gather blindly,
But thou hurried'st on unkindly:
Fairest buds I trampled, lorn,
And but grasp'd the naked thorn.
Driver, turn thee quickly back
On the self-same beaten track :
I, of late, so much neglected,
Lost-forgot-contemn'd-rejected-
That I still each scene would trace:
Slacken thy bewildering pace!
Dost thou thus impetuous drive,
That thou sooner may'st arrive
Safe within the hallow'd fences
Where delight—where rest commences ?
Where then dost thou respite crave?-
All makes answer: “ At the Grave.”
There, alas! and only there,
Through the storms that rend the air,
Doth the rugged pathway bend:
There all pains and sorrows end;
There repose's goal is won-
Driver ! ride, in God's name, on.

V. D. CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS.

EARLY FRENCH POETS.

It is now (in 1823) but a few the way place, like the Castle of years since the first publication of Otranto. The manuscript, which some French poems, written at the contains them, was noticed in the beginning of the fifteenth century, Royal Library at Paris, near a cena which not only excel any other of tury back, by the Abbé Sallier, who that time that we are acquainted inserted three papers on the subject, with, but might at any time be re- in the Memoirs of the Academie des garded as patterns of natural ease Inscriptions : * Another, from which and elegance. What makes this long the publication was made, is in the neglect the more difficult to account public library at Grenoble ; and, to for, is, that the author of them was a put the matter out of doubt, a third, prince, grandson to one of the French of singular splendour, is to be seen in kings, father to another, and uncle to our own national library of the Bria a third ; the first, (Charles V.) re- tish Museum. The last of these was nowned for his wisdom; the next, once the property of Henry VII. of (Louis XII.) for his paternal care of England, whose daughter Mary was his subjects'; and the third, (Francis married to the son of the poet himI.) for his courtesy, and his love of self, the above-mentioned Louis XII. letters. When we are told that the The Abbé Sallier remarks, that if writings of a person thus distin- Boileau had seen these productions, guished had been so long suffered to he would not have called Villon the remain in darkness, it is natural to restorer of the French Parnassus. I suspect that some imposition may am not sure of this. The palate of have been practised on the public re- Boileau required something more specting them. But there is no ground poignant. In these there is as much for such suspicion. They have not simplicity as in some of Wordsbeen discovered by some apprentice worth's minor pieces. The chief boy, in an old church coffer, like the difference is that these are almost all poems of Rowley, nor by the son of a love verses. prime minister, in some other out of

En songe, souhaid et penser,

En songe, souhaid et pensée, Vous voye chacun jour de sepmaine, Vous voy chascun jour de sepmaine. Combien qu'estes de moy loingtaine,

Du tout vous ay m'amour donnée, Belle très loyaument amée.

Vous en povez estre certaine :

Ma seule Dame souveraine, Pour ce qu'estes la mieulx parée,

De mon las cueur moult desirée,
De toute plaisance mondaine :

En songe, souhaid et pensée.
In dream, and wish, and thought, my Love,
I see thee every day;
So doth my heart to meet thee move,
When thou art far away.
For that all worldly joys above
Thou shinest in thy array ;
In dream, and wish, and thought, my Love,
I see thee every day.

* Tome xiii. p. 580. Tome xv. p. 795, and Tome xvii. Mars. 1742. In the first of the Abbé's papers here referred to, the manuscript in the Royal Library at Paris is thus described. It had belonged to Catherine of Medicis. The arms of Charles, Duke of Orleans, impressed on the first leaf, together with those of Valentina, of Milan, his mother, showed that Catherine had got it from the library of her husband, Henry II. It contained 131 songs, about 400 rondels ; and, lastly, a discourse pronounced before Charles VII. in favour of John II. Duke of Alençon. Sept. 1923.

X

No care, no hope, no aim I prove,
That is not thine to sway:
O! trust me, while on earth I rove,
Thy motions I obey,
In dream, and wish, and thought, my Love.

(Poesies de Charles d'Orléans, p. 208.

Paris, small 8vo. 1809.)

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J'ay fait l'obseque de Madame

Et forma merveilleusement; Dedans le moustier amoureux ;

C'estoit a parler plainement Et le service pour son ame

Le trésor de tous biens mondains. A chanté penser dóloreux :

N'en parlons plus, mon cueur se pame, Maint cierges, de soupirs piteux

Quant il oyt les fais vertueux Ont esté en son luminaire :

D'elle qui estoit sans nul blame, Aussy j'ay fait la tombe faire,

Comme jurent celles et ceulx De regrets tous de larmes paints ;

Qui congnoissoient ses conseulx. Et tout en tour moult richement

Si croy que Dieu l'a voulu traire Est escript : Cy gist * vraiement

Vers luy, pour parer son repaire Le trésor de tous biens mondains.

De paradis, où sont les saints :

Car c'est d'elle bel parement,
Dessus elle gist une lame
Faiste d'or et de saffirs bleux :

Que l'on nommoit communément
Car saffir est nommé la jame

Le trésor de tous biens mondains. De Loyauté et l'or cureux :

De rien ne servent pleurs ne plains ; Bien luy appartiennent ces deux;

Tous mourrons tart ou briefvement, Car Eure et Loyauté pourtraire

Nul ne peust garder longuement Voulu en la très-débonnaire,

Le trésor de tous biens mondains.
Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains

(P. 237.)
To make my lady's obsequies
My love a minster wrought,
And in the chantry, service there
Was sung by doleful thought;
The tapers were of burning sighs,
That light and odour gave;
And sorrows, painted o’er with tears,
Enlumined her grave;
And round about, in quaintest guise,
Was carved : “ Within this tomb there lies
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.”
Above her lieth spread a tomb
Of gold and sapphires blue;
The gold doth show her blessedness,
The sapphires mark her true:
For blessedness and truth in her
Were livelily portray'd,
When gracious God with both his hands
Her goodly substance made :
He framed her in such wond'rous wise,
She was, to speak without disguise,
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.
No more, no more : my heart doth faint
When I the life recal
Of her, who lived so free from taint,
So virtuous deem'd by all :
That in herself was so complete,
I think that she was ta'en
By God to deck his paradise,
And with his saints to reign;
For well she doth become the skies,
Whom, while on earth, each one did prize

The fairest thing in mortal eyes.
In the MS. of the British Museum, it is, Cy gist bravement, which is a better reading.

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