N.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing
With song, and the hills are all mantled with bloom;
But fairer than aught which the summer is bringing,
The beauty and youth gone to people the tomb!

Oh! why should I live to hear music resounding,
Which cannot awake ye, my lovely, my brave?
Why smile the waste flow'rs, my sad footsteps surrounding?
My sons! they but clothe the green turf of your grave!

Fair were ye, my sons! and all kingly your bearing,
As on to the fields of your glory you trod!
Each prince of my race the bright golden chain wearing,
Each eye glancing fire, shrouded now by the sod!

I weep when the blast of the trumpet is sounding,
Which rouses ye not, oh, my lovely, my brave!
When warriors and chiefs to their proud steeds are bounding,
I turn from heav'n's light, for it smiles on your grave!

THE HALL OF CYNDDYLAN.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night,
I weep, for the grave has extinguished its light;
The beam of its lamp from the summit is o'er,
The blaze of its hearth shall give welcome no more!

The Hall of Cynddylan is voiceless and still,
The sound of its harpings hath died on the hill!
Be silent for ever, thou desolate scene,
Nor let e'en an echo recall what hath been!

The Hall of Cynddylan is lonely and bare,
No banquet, no guest, not a footstep is there!
Oh! where are the warriors who circled its board?--
The grass will soon wave where the mead-cup was pour'd.

The Hall of Cynddylan is loveless to-night,
Since he is departed whose smile made it bright:
I mourn, but the sigh of my soul shall be brief,
The pathway is short to the grave of my chief!

THE GRAVE OF KING ARTHUR. {94a}

I called on the sun, in his noonday height,
By the power and spell a wizard gave:
Hast thou not found, with thy searching light,
The island monarch's grave?

"I smile on many a lordly tomb,
Where Death is mock'd by trophies fair;
I pierce the dim aisle's hallow'd gloom;
King Arthur sleeps not there."

I watched for the night's most lovely star,
And, by that spell, I bade her say,
If she had been, in her wand'rings far,
Where the slain of Gamlan lay. {94b}

"Well do I love to shine upon
The lonely cairn on the dark hill's side,
And I weep at night o'er the brave ones gone,
But not o'er Britain's pride."

I bent o'er the river, winding slow
Through tangled brake and rocky b