-
The cursed dotard!--'neath the wave,--
Had not thy hateful hand been near.--
Be this the bride thou now shalt wed!
This dungeon dank thy bridal bed!--
And when thy youthful blood shall freeze
In death,--may fiends thy spirit seize!"--

Plantagenet hath minions fell
Who do their master's bidding well:--
Few days Romara pines in dread:--
His soul is with the sainted dead!--

Plantagenet hath reached his bourne!
What terrors meet his soul forlorn
And full of stain,--I may not say:--
Reveal them shall the Judgment Day!--

Her orisons at matin hour,
At noon, and eve, and midnight toll,
For him, doth tearful Agnes pour!--
Jesu Maria! sain his soul!

THE
BARON'S YULE FEAST.

A
Christmas Rhyme.

CANTO II.

Symphonious notes of dulcet plaint
Followed the stranger minstrel's chaunt;
And, when his sounding harp was dumb,
The crowd, with loud applausive hum,
Gave hearty guerdon for his strain;
While some with sighs expressed what pain
Had pierced their simple bosoms thorow
To hear his song of death and sorrow.

"Come bear the mead-cup to our guest,"
Said Thorold to his daughter;
"We thought to hear, at our Yule feast,
A lay of mirth and laughter;
But, to thy harp, thou well hast sung
A song that may impart,
For future hours, to old and young,
Deep lessons to the heart.
Yet, should not life be all a sigh!
Good Snell, do thou a burthen try
Shall change our sadness into joy:
Such as thou trollest in blythe mood,
On days of sunshine in the wood.
Tell out thy heart withouten fear--
For none shall stifle free thoughts here!
But, bear the mead-cup, Edith sweet!
We crave our stranger guest will greet
All hearts, again, with minstrelsy,
When Snell hath trolled his mirth-notes free!"

Fairer than fairest flower that blows,--
Sweeter than breath of sweetest rose,--
Still on her cheek, in lustre left,
The tear the minstrel's tale had reft
From its pearl-treasure in the brain--
The limbec where, by mystic vein,
From the heart's fountains are distilled
Those crystals, when 'tis overfilled,--
With downcast eye, and trembling hands,
Edith before the stranger stands--
Stranger to all but her!
Though well the baron notes his brow,
While the young minstrel kneeleth low--
Love's grateful worshipper!--
And doth with lips devout impress
The hand of his fair min