'Twas smiling on that babe one morn She shunned him, but he raved of Jane, And where's the face,' she cried, 'Has witched my boy to wish for one Her anger sore dismayed us, For our mite was wearing scant, And, unless that dame would aid us, There was none to aid our want. So I told her, weeping bitterly, And she housed us both, when, cheerfully, That even if made a widow, she Here paused the nurse, and then began He heard me long, with ghastly eyes Speak of the worm that never dies, And the fire that is not quenched. At last by what this scroll attests For years of anguish to the breasts There lived,' he said, 'a fair young dame I loved her, but against my flame I feigned repentance, friendship pure; But let her husband's miniature As means to search him; my deceit The treachery took she waited wild; Whate'er I wished; she clasped her child, I felt her tears for years and years Quench not my flame, but stir; The very hate I bore her mate Increased my love for her. BB Fame told us of his glory, while Struck fire into my brain. her smile No fears could damp; I reached the camp, And if my broad-sword failed at last, This wound's my meed, my name's Kinghorn, My foe's the Ritter Bann." The wafer to his lips was borne, And we shrived the dying man. He died not till you went to fight But I see my tale has changed you pale."- And brought a little page who poured And stooped and caught him to his breast, And with a shower of kisses pressed The darling little one. "And where went Jane ?" 66 Look not again so pale To a nunnery, Sir— Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her." "And has she ta'en the veil?" "Sit down, Sir," said the priest, "I bar. Rash words."-They sat all three, And the boy played with the knight's broad star, As he kept him on his knee. "Think ere you ask her dwelling-place," The abbot further said; "Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face More deep than cloister's shade. you can Grief may have made her what The priest undid two doors that hid And there a lovely woman stood, One moment may with bliss repay Such was the throb and mutual sob Of the Knight embracing Jane. MEN of England! who inherit Rights that cost your sires their blood! Men whose undegenerate spirit Has been proved on field and flood :— By the foes you've fought uncounted, Yet, remember, England gathers What are monuments of bravery, Trophied temples, arch, and tomb? Pageants!-Let the world revere us Bared in Freedom's holy cause. |