And, with a face of new delight, Struck to the rowels the glittering

spurs :

The steed obeyed the urging burrs, And bore proud Berkley out of sight.

The hour went by. Before the town The ship came up; the sails were doft;

The happy crew, alow and aloft, Sang as the anchor rattled down,Down and down, as the windlass flew,

Linking the Old World with the New.

A crowd was gathering on the wharf, A crowd leaned on the vessel's side, And here and there a waving scarf Bespoke some welcome friend descried.

At the open gang a maiden stood,
Reflected in the happy flood,—
Oh, enviable flood, how blest
With such a vision on thy breast!—
Stood like a timid, startled fawn
Gazing where its mates are gone;
Stood like a white star in the dawn,
Looking with inquiring eyes
Where its westward pathway lies.

Loud rumbling to the shore anon
A stately coach came proudly drawn,
With the ancient Berkley arms
thereon;

And soon to land the maid, whose hair

Shed amber beauty in the air,
Was borne, and on her father's breast
The long-expected child was prest.

The gold of fifteen summer suns

Was tangled in young Esther's locks;

Her voice, it was a rill that runs Half spray among the flowers and rocks;

The hues of the dewiest violet Within her liquid eyes were set; Her form was small, her figure light As is some fabled fountain-sprite;

A shape so light, she seemed to be
That vision which poets only see,-
The spirit of that iris small
Poised on the mist of a waterfall.

And full of those obnoxious songs But fit for rebel ears and tongues?"

"Oh, no!" the laughing youth replied;

"Although I come from the mountain-side,

My songs I learned from a school

man gray,

Who, when the children went to play, Oft called us round him in a ring, And, singing, taught us all to sing."

Then Berkley's brow relaxed his frown,

And he looked still more kindly down;

For there was something in that voice Which made him sigh and yet rejoice; And then he cried, "Come in! come in!

I care not, what your kith or kin, Your face and singing please me well;

And, if you will, here may you dwell,

And be, till your maturer age,
A gentle lady's faithful page.'

IV.

THE WELCOME.

DAYS passed; and now from Berkley Hall,

When evening sped her herald star, Gay music, with wild rise and fall, Streamed on the air; the windows all Shot their red beams of splendor

far,

Firing the dark like beacon-torches ; While, like a wedding-train, there flowed

Gay coaches up the winding road, Grating the gravel near the porches.

Form after form, in rich attire

Of gems and rustling garments bright,

Swept like shadows out of the night Into the sudden blaze of light, Gleaming as in a robe of fire. The peasant on the distant slope, Agaze at joys beyond his hope,