oes out
Some little pang ensues;--
Facts which great soldiers often doubt,
And wits who write reviews.

Oh, Song hath power o'er Nature's springs
Though deep the Nymph has laid them!
The child gazed, gazed, on the gilded wings,
As the next light breeze displayed them;
But he felt the while that the meanest things
Are dear to him that made them!

* * * * *

The sun went down behind the hill,
The breeze was growing colder
But there the minstrel lingered still;
And amazed the chance beholder,
Musing beside a rippling rill,
With a harp upon his shoulder.

And soon, on a graceful steed and tame,
A sleek Arabian mare,
The Lady Juliana came,
Riding to take the air,
With Lords of fame, at whose proud name
A radical would swear.

The minstrel touched his lute again.--
It was more than a Sultan's crown,
When the lady checked her bridle rein,
And lit from her palfrey down:--
What would you give for such a strain,
Rees, Longman, Orme, and Brown?

He sang of Beauty's dazzling eyes,
Of Beauty's melting tone;
And how her praise is a richer prize
Then the gems of Persia's throne:
And her love a bliss which the coldly wise
Have never, never, known.
He told how the valiant scoff at fear,
When the sob of her grief is heard;
How they couch the spear for a smile or tear
How they die for a single word;--
Things which, I own, to me appear
Exceedingly absurd.

The Lady soon had heard enough:
She turned to hear Sir Denys
Discourse, in language vastly gruff,
About his skill at Tennis--
While smooth Sir Guy described the stuff
His mistress wore at Venice.

The Lady smiled one radiant smile,
And the Lady rode away.--
There is not a lady in all our Isle,
I have heard a Poet say,
Who can listen more than a little while
To a poet's sweetest lay.

* * * * *

His mother's voice was fierce and shrill,
As she set the milk and fruit:
"Out on thine unrewarded skill,
And on thy vagrant lute;
Let the strings be broken an they will,
And the beggar lips be mute!"

Peace, peace!--the Pilgrim as he went
Forgot the minstrel's song;
But the blessing that his wan lips sent
Will guard the minstrel long;
And keep his spirit innocent,
And turn his hand from wrong.

Belike the ch