That some hot-headed frolic youth Had chosen thus to share the day, By dashing in the jousting fray, To bear the highest prize away, And leave them all in wondering doubt,

As oft in ancient tourney-bout.

The two commanders, looking on,
Approved the novel action done,
And said, in accents loud and bluff,
The brave surprise was well per-
formed,

And that it was a knightly thing, Although, perchance, a little rough. And catching this, as from a king, The shout of joy ran round the ring,

Till every clapping hand was warmed,

To send the applause on circling wing.

And now the day was wellnigh spent, And evening closed the tournament.

III.

THE BANQUET.

Он, merry and good is a blooming wood

On a calm, clear afternoon, When every maid, in a flowery hood, Sings, as every maiden should

In the leafy shades of June:

proof

Of what beneath her homestead roof
The loom of Winter weaves,
The blue, and green, and scarlet woof,
The white and flowing sleeves:-
When every archer bends his bow,
To bid the laughing arrow go

Among the laughing leaves!

And merry the call to a Christmas hall,
Where nuts and ale abound,
Where music, with gusty rise and
fall,

Chases the revellers dancing all
In many a mazy round.

But louder, clearer, merrier yet
The music and mirth together met
What time the evening feast was set

That sing and dance on a flowery

shore,

And while the chord still trembling hung

Out rushed the guardian ranks aflame, To put the intruding crew to shame; But, strange to tell, without a blow, To say that there had been the foe, The troopers fled, and left behind Their mocking laughter on the wind. The guards pursued them past the

town,

By the same road which brought them down,

And soon the sentinels descried
The line returning, flushed with pride.

Then laughter filled the hall again,
While pleasure took the place of pain,
And every happy face was lit
With this fresh source of mirth and
wit,

And music spread its circling wing
To lead the dance in ampler swing.

But what was wrong? What ailed
Sir Hugh?

Why sought he thus the assembly through?

What were the questions he would pour
At every outward-leading door?
At last he stood, with sigh long
drawn,-

Both Ugo and the maid were gone.

One said that while the guardian troop Had gone to beat the rebels back, He saw descend a hasty group

Across the lawn, and some were black,

A part of that same turbaned horde Who tended while the wine was poured,

And that they moved towards a barque:

To shield them, then, the white moon bowed

Behind a heavy wall of cloud :He saw no more, for all was dark.

IV.

THE BROTHERS.

WHAT light illumes the eagle's ken, And flames his breast with Free

dom's rage, The first wild daring instant when ? He soars beyond his broken cage!

Yet there beneath the Berkley roof Were looks that angered at the proof,

Dark, sullen brows, which seemed to

say

The morn would bring a hateful day. 'Twas hard to see the old reins slip From out their doting monarch's grip; And so, to nerve them for the worst, The purple flask must cheer the hour,

That they at least might slake their thirst

For wine, if not for tyrant power. "To-morrow, Colonel, you depart:" This was the greeting of Sir Hugh. "Believe me when I say my heart

Is sad to part with such as you. I hoped ere this-but hopes are vain : There is a higher Wisdom rules:Though wise His ways, they are not plain:

'Tis strange, and yet He sometimes deigns

To give an empire's guiding reins Into the hardy hands of fools:I hoped ere this-that hope at least Holds good, and shall not be deniedTo see my family-board increased,

To see my daughter at your side
A lovely and contented bride.

"How stands your glass? The room is dim:

Methinks the twilight settles soon, In spite of the long days of June; And yonder rises the red moon, As if wine flushed her golden brim. So flush your glass; for wine, in truth, Which sparkles in these founts of

ours,

Is that perpetual Spring of Youth Which Ponce de Leon strove, forsooth, To find within the land of flowers. Then never let our spirits sink, Though Time and Fate their worst pursue,

While at the bacchanalian brink

Our hearts their courage may renew. "Ay, courage,-'tis the soldier's word:

The hour is brighter than it seems; To-day, even while you stood deterred, I caught from hope some clearer gleams.