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srnings. Oh that I

is my brother die!”
that vexed him then;
wed, again, and yet again.

on, and no Sir Eustace !
rere tidings heard.

d as day, the murderer

England steered.
Hubert sped ;
g now to dread.

by stealth he came,
our which nobody could name.
tell if it were night-time,
y, at even or morn;
nd was heard by no one
slamation-horn.
ubert lives in glee:

years went smilingly; y was his table spread ;

the lady is who shares his bed. he had sons and daughters; ood men do, he sate und by these surrounded, ng in fair estate.

e thus in open day sate, as old books say, was uttered from the horn,

y the castle-gate it hung forlorn. Treath of good Sir Eustace! Sme to claim his right: castle, woods, and mountains Elle challenge with delight.

Hear, then, and neglect me not!
At this time, and on this spot,
The words are uttered from my heart,
As my last earnest prayer ere we depart.
“On good service we are going
Life to risk by sea and land,
In which course if Christ our Saviour
Do my sinful soul demand,
Hither come thou back straightway,
Hubert, if alive that day;
Return, and sound the horn, that we
May have a living house still left in thee!"
“Fear not!" quickly answered Hubert;
As I am thy father's son,
What thou askest, noble brother,
With God's favour shall be done."
So were both right well content:
From the castle forth they went,
And at the head of their array
To Palestine the brothers took their way.
Side by side they fought (the Lucies
Were a line for valour famed),
And where'er their strokes alighted,
There the Saracens were tamed.
Whence, then, could it come—the thought-
By what evil spirit brought?
Oh! can a brave man wish to take
His brother's life, for land's and castle's sake ?
“Sir!" the ruffians said to Hubert,
“Deep he lies in Jordan's flood,"
Stricken by this ill assurance,
Pale and trembling Hubert stood.

“Take your earnings. Oh that I
Could have seen my brother die!"
It was a pang that vexed him then;
And oft returned, again, and yet again.
Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace!
Nor of him were tidings heard.
Wherefore, bold as day, the murderer
Back again to England steered.
To his castle Hubert sped ;
He has nothing now to dread.
But silent and by stealth he came,
And at an hour which nobody could name.
None could tell if it were night-time,
Night or day, at even or morn;
For the sound was heard by no one
Of the proclamation-horn.
But bold Hubert lives in glee :
Months and years went smilingly;
With plenty was his table spread ;
And bright the lady is who shares his bed.
Likewise he had sons and daughters;
And, as good men do, he sate
At his board by these surrounded,
Flourishing in fair estate.
And while thus in open day
Once he sate, as old books say,
A blast was uttered from the horn,
Where by the castle-gate it hung forlorn.
'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace !
He is come to claim his right :
Ancient castle, woods, and mountains
Hear the challenge with delight.

Hubert ! though the blast be blown,
He is helpless and alone:
Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word !
And there he may be lodged, and thou be lord.

Speak ! astounded Hubert cannot ;
And if power to speak he had,
All are daunted, all the household
Smitten to the heart, and sad.
'Tis Sir Eustace ; if it be
Living man, it must be he!
Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,
And by a postern-gate he slunk away.

Long and long was he unheard of:
To his brother then he came,
Made confession, asked forgiveness,
Asked it by a brother's name,
And by all the saints in heaven;
And of Eustace was forgiven:
Then in a convent went to hide
His melancholy head, and there he died.

But Sir Eustace, whom good angels
Had preserved from murderers' hands,
And from pagan chains had rescued,
Lived with honour on his lands.
Sons he had, saw sons of theirs :
And through ages, heirs of heirs,
A long posterity renowned,
Sounded the horn which they alone could sound.

GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL.

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still !
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle grey, and flannel fine,
He has a blanket on his back,
And coats enough to smother nine.
In March, December, and in July,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still !
At night, at morning, and at noon,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still !
Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover;
His voice was like the voice of three.
Old Goody Blake was old and poor;
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who passed her door
Might see how poor a hut she had.
All day she spun in her poor dwelling:
And then her three hours' work at night,
Alas ! 'twas hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for candle-light.
Remote from sheltered village green,
On a hill's northern side she dwelt,
Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean,
And hoary dews are slow to melt.

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