I.

THE TANKARD OF WINE.

OH, what delight is in the air

What time the new-born spring is there!
How sweet it is on the breezy slope,
Mid flowers in bloom or about to ope,
When the dog-wood, like a maiden dight
In bridal robes of snowy white,

Beside the flaming maple stands,

While the oak, with priestly hands
Spread above their bowing heads,
His whispering benediction sheds;
Where never a careless wind forgets
To tell of the woodland violets,

Or how it half forgot to pass

From spice-wood boughs and sassafras;

And, like the soul of a mocking-bird,
Repeating every song it heard,

Each sweeter for being brought afar,
As all the joys of memory are.

Such Esther knew were the delights
Clothing the valley and the heights;
And every perfumed air she met,

Fresh breathing of the wood and field,
Filled her with longings and regret

For joys the city could not yield.

Had she a pleasure in her breast,
In secret it was all suppressed;
For every look and every tone
Proclaimed her Melancholy's own.

'Twas true, her captive chains were light,—
Another might have deemed them bright;
But, light or bright, she felt the pain
Of knowing that there was a chain

Which flowers, though twined with subtlest art,

Could not make welcome to her heart:

They could but hide from others' stare

The galling weight she knew was there.

The city and its farthest street
Were free to her unfettered feet;
But there was still that line beyond,
O'er which her feelings, wildly fond,
Took yearning wing, and well she knew
She could not follow where they flew.

Sir Hugh grew daily more appeased:
He mingled with the martial court,
His fetters seemed but things of sport,
And even now might be released
If he in any slight degree

Would bow and sue for liberty.

But no! they had assailed his pride:
His loyalty had been denied:

He would not bow the suppliant limb,—
Nay, rather they must bow to him.
And now, too, all he held most dear
Next to his pride, his child, was here,
And many a noble officer

Bowed supplely low to him and her;
And even those with hearts allied

In secret to the patriot side

Made him obeisance; for they deemed

He might be other than he seemed.

These flattering tributes to him paid

Gave sweet contentment, and he stayed.

'Twas twilight, and the evening air Came dancing over Delaware,

Fanning the easy sailor's hair,

Who laughed and quaffed away his care,
With merry song and gusty din,
Under the stoop before the inn,
Where soon, arrayed in colors fine,
Two officers of the royal line
Reeled singing in at the open door,

Aflush with pleasure and with wine:

'Twas noble, they said,-or rather swore,With such a general to dine.

Each face was scarlet as their dress:

The whole man seemed to loom and shine,

As if the red blood of the vine

Its glowing presence would express
By every visible outward sign.

"Ho, landlord of the 'Ship and Sheaf,' Bring us a flagon, and be brief!