Or how it half forgot to pass From spice-wood boughs and sassafrasi

And, like the soul of a mockingbird,

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.

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.

"Ho, landlord of the 'Ship and Sheaf,' Bring us a flagon, and be brief! We must not let the tide go by, To leave us stranded high and dry, Or wait to-morrow's evening flood To lift us o'er the sand and mud; 'Twill never do to stick aground While other barques are sailing round:

Let loose the wine, and, should that fail,

Then swim us off with good brown ale!"

Thus shouted they, then searched the gloom,

To note what guests were in the room: Their glance found only two beside. "Two fellows there I think I spied,"

Than Germantown or Brandywine!
How those poor devils in the gorge,
Hidden away at Valley Forge,
In their tatterdemalion rags,
Making their empty rebel brags,
Would ope their boorish eyes to gaze
Upon the splendors which shall blaze
And burn, until the night is spent,
Around our glorious tournament!
Come, landlord, drink, before we go,
A bumper to the royal show!

"That fellow there, who seems to sulk
And in the shadowy corner skulk,
Go bring him out, and let him clear
His throat, that he may loudly cheer
The golden glories he shall see
Around to-morrow's pageantry!
Come, sirrah, when a colonel bids,
Nor sit with scowl like pirate Kidd's:
This smile will smooth your hostler
frown

When it washes the hay-dust down!"

The stranger rose: through a sideway door

He pushed a young companion out, Then stood a moment as in doubt, The while he scanned the revellers o'er,

Then strode to the table with visage grim, Demanding what they would with him.

"To drink our general's health!" they

cried.

"Our general!" boldly he replied,

And drained the goblet willingly.

That day upon his cherished town,—

That town which in the sylvan wild He reared and tended like a child?

Methinks that patriarch and his peers, Who fashioned all your staid re

treats,

Groaned then in their celestial seats With sad offended eyes and ears; And, had their loving faith allowed, That day, in mournful spirit bowed, Each had turned his olive-wand Into a rod of reprimand.

The May was there, the blue-eyed May;

The sweet south breeze came up the bay,

Fanning the river where it lay
Voiceless, with astonished stare,—
The great sea-drinking Delaware.

There, in the broad, clear afternoon, With myriad oars, and all in tune,

A swarm of barges moved away, In all their grand regatta pride, As bright as in a blue lagoon, When gondolas from shore to shore Swam round the golden Bucentaur

On a Venetian holiday,

What time the Doge threw in the tide

The ring which made the sea his bride.

'Mid these were mighty platforms drawn,

Each crowded like a festal lawn,Great swimming floors, o'er which were rolled

Cloth of scarlet, green, and gold, Like tropic isles of flowery light Unmoored by some enchanter's might, O'erflowed with music, floated down Before the wharf-assembled town.

A thousand rowers rocked and sung, A thousand light oars flashed and flung

A fairy rainbow where they sprung.
Conjoining with the singers' voice,
In ecstatic rival trial,
Every instrument of choice,

Mellow flute and silver viol,
Wooed the soft air to rejoice;
Till on wings of splendor met,

Clearer, louder, wilder yet,
Clarion and clarionet,
And the bugle's sailing tone,
As from lips of tempests blown,
Made the whole wide sky its own,
Shivering with its festal jar
The aërial dome afar.

Thus the music past the town
Winged the swimming pageant down,
Till with one loud crash it dropt,
And the bright flotilla stopt,
Mooring in the bannered port
At the flowery wharves of Sport.

There wide triumphal arches flamed With painted trophies, which proclaimed,

With mottoes wrought in many a line

Around some brave heraldic sign,
That all the splendors here displayed
Were honors to great chieftains paid.
Pavilions round the field were spread,
With flying banners overhead,
Where, on a high and central throne,
The two commanders reigned alone:
The admiral, whose powdered hair
Had oft been fanned by ocean air;
The general, whose eye oft sped
O'er fields transfused from green to

And yet a light to mock his art,
To kindle all a poet's fire,
To waken, madden, and inspire,
Yet leave him mastered and undone,
As faints a taper in the sun,-
Yes, there, in many a beaming row,
Was lit such beauty as might glow
Alone in fabled tourney-rings;

Held in those far enchanted scenes Where all are princesses and queens And all the jousting knights are kings.

Such light was then our city's boast; And such, methinks, it has not lost:

The features Stuart loved to trace

And clothe in his immortal glow Are met by many a soul-lit face, Secured by Sully's touch of grace, As bright as theirs of long ago.

O noble masters, might I here

Seize the light pencil from your grasp,

Then should the picture reappear
Which vainly I attempt to clasp.
What though the vision with me
stays,

The awkward pencil tamely strays,
And leaves me, after all my cost,
To sigh above my labor lost.

But ye who have the conjuring will,
The painter's gift, the poet's heart,
Take the rough lines I cannot fill,
And touch them with your clearer

art.

In middle of the central groupThe fairest maidens of the troop, Each in her flowing Turkish dressSat Esther, in her loveliness.

A graceful turban bound her brow,
Its end flung back in gauzy flow,
And from its sides hung loops of
pearls,

Dripping among the golden curls,
While on its snowy front was set
A diamond stellar coronet,
And in the middle of the stars
A red rose shone, like burning Mars;
The silken robe, of ample fold,
Was white, and bound with belt of
gold,

O'er which a scarf of wondrous lace
Added its wealth of flowing grace.

Her beauty thrilled the gazing crowd, And made the heart of Berkley glad;

But if Sir Hugh that hour was proud,

Still prouder was the stripling lad, Brave Ugo, who beside her chair, With height and form beyond his age,

Stood near, her guardian and her

page;

His large dark eyes and raven hair To hers made contrast rich and rare; And, decked in Oriental suit,

He looked a Turk from head to foot,

Holding superb and tranquil mien, As by the throne of a sceptred queen.

Now rang the bugle to the cloud; And now seven knights, in brave attire

Of white and scarlet gayly donned,

On chargers well caparisoned, And each attended by his squire, Rode in before the admiring crowd; And soft eyes sparkled brightly fond,

As each before his lady bowed. Then rang the herald's trumpet higher,

And swelled the challenge fiercely loud:

"The brave knights of 'The Blended Rose'

Proclaim the fair whom they defend

Are lovelier, nobler in their pride, Than all the world can show beside; And he who dares this vaunt oppose We challenge to the direful end!"

Three times abroad the vaunt was thrown;

And now another bugle blown,
Flinging its scorn around the heaven,
Ushered in the answering troop,-
The gallant and defying seven,
In suits of orange and of black,
With harnessed steeds and squires to
back;

And these with proud and knightly

stoop

Made their obeisance to the fair
Whose beauty they defended there.

Then swelled the other herald's cry:

"The Knights of the Burning Mount' defy,

And, in support of their ladies'
charms,
Challenge all chivalry to arms!"
But how looked Esther on the scene?
Was there no pleasure in the place,
To call the color to her face?
A weary sadness veiled her mien;
Her eye, which took the splendor in,
'Mid all the show no joy could win;

For in her patriotic heart
Another picture, far apart,
Rose, with its drear, contrasted shade,
Before her sympathetic eye,

Which glistened with a pitying
damp.

She saw the starving valley camp, And heard the sufferer's dying sigh,

Saw all the bitter wants that weighed

Her country's only hope and trustA noble army to the dust; And even when her champion proud Bent low, a gallant knight in black,

She scarcely noticed that he bowed; Her sad eye paid no glances back.

Again the flying bugle's flash Across the waiting pealed;

scene was

Then came the sudden shock and dash

Of spears that met in splintering crash

On every loudly-ringing shield. Then sword with sword together rang With many a fierce and fiery clang,

As on some earnest battle-field.

The armor was embossed and rich,

And seemed to Esther to recall The helmet and the breastplate which Formed part of that within the niche,

The ancestral suit of Berkley Hall; As if the knight, so grim and tall, Finding the ancient form too small, Content to shield his head and breast, Had borrowed but cuirass and crest.

His raining blows were swift and bold: No sooner was his weapon set 'Gainst every lifted blade he met, Than flew that blade from out its hold; While many a bravest knight, alarmed, Recoiled apace, abashed, disarmed. But when he met the searched-for foe, Fair Esther's champion in the list, His mighty hand could not resist,He dealt an angry, giant's blow,— Perchance it was intended so:

Somehow, the awkward weapon missed

It glanced beyond the approaching head,

And on the "black knight's" mouth instead

Alit the great hilt-clinching fist! A blow that made the earth swim

round,

And sent him bleeding to the ground.

Then, while the murmur questioned loud,

He dashed to the wondering maid and bowed,

And raised her white glove to his lip. Now seemed her eye to understand; She guessed that form of high command,

And felt a folded paper slip

Stealthily into her startled hand; Then, like an eagle on flashing wing, He sailed beyond the wondering ring.

All marvelled; but few guessed the truth:

They mostly thought it in the play; And even the knights, with frowns uncouth,

And many a savage inward oath, Were pleased among themselves to