GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. In future times no gentle little one, To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me? Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding thee. 47 Hushed were his Gertrude's lips! but still their bland And beautiful expression seemed to melt With love that could not die! and still his hand Of them that stood encircling his despair, He heard some friendly words ;-but knew not what they were. Thomas Campbell. A GRAY old minster on the height, With Church stamped on its face. The quiet Close, secluded, dim, The And the old sanctities. THE BISHOP'S WALK." And beautiful the gray old place Begrimed with smoke, a monotone With jalousie and portico, And oriel large, where sea-winds blow, Far otherwise the old church town, E 49 50 THE BISHOP'S WALK. Yet there the morning broke, And it is well, amidst the whirr Like ivy clasping ruin gray, Like garden haunted to this hour With smell of some old-fashioned flower; So sweet the dim old town Orwell. IT was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived, whom you may know, By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love which was more than love I and my Annabel Lee With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven |