66 What, all this household at his will?

And all are yet too few ?

More servants, and more servants still, — This pert young madam too!"

"Servant! fine servant!" laughed aloud The man of coach and steeds; "She looks too fair, she steps too proud, This girl with golden beads!

"I tell you, you may fret and frown,
And call her what you choose,
You'll find my Lady in her gown,
Your Mistress in her shoes!"

Ah, gentle maidens, free from blame,
God grant you never know

The little whisper, loud with shame,
That makes the world your foe!

Why tell the lordly flatterer's art,
That won the maiden's ear,

The fluttering of the frightened heart,
The blush, the smile, the tear?

Alas! it were the saddening tale
That every language knows, -
The wooing wind, the yielding sail,
The sunbeam and the rose.

And now the gown of sober stuff
Has changed to fair brocade,

With broidered hem, and hanging cuff,

And flower of silken braid;

And clasped around her blanching wrist A jewelled bracelet shines,

Her flowing tresses' massive twist

A glittering net confines;

And mingling with their truant wave

A fretted chain is hung;
But ah! the gift her mother gave,

Its beads are all unstrung!

Her place is at the master's board,
Where none disputes her claim;
She walks beside the mansion's lord,
His bride in all but name.

The busy tongues have ceased to talk,
Or speak in softened tone,
So gracious in her daily walk
The angel light has shown.

No want that kindness may relieve
Assails her heart in vain,

The lifting of a ragged sleeve
Will check her palfrey's rein.

A thoughtful calm, a quiet grace
In every movement shown,
Reveal her moulded for the place
She may not call her own.

And, save that on her youthful brow
There broods a shadowy care,
No matron sealed with holy vow
In all the land so fair!

PART FOURTH.

THE RESCUE.

A SHIP comes foaming up the bay,
Along the pier she glides ;.
Before her furrow melts away,
A courier mounts and rides.

"Haste, Haste, post Haste!" the letters bear; "Sir Harry Frankland, These."

Sad news to tell the loving pair!

The knight must cross the seas.

"Alas! we part!"- the lips that spoke

Lost all their rosy red,

As when a crystal cup is broke,

And all its wine is shed.

"Nay, droop not thus, where'er," he cried,

"I go by land or sea,

My love, my life, my joy, my pride,

Thy place is still by me!"

B

Through town and city, far and wide,
Their wandering feet have strayed,
From Alpine lake to ocean tide,
And cold Sierra's shade.

At length they see the waters gleam
Amid the fragrant bowers

Where Lisbon mirrors in the stream
Her belt of ancient towers.

Red is the orange on its bough,
To-morrow's sun shall fling

O'er Cintra's hazel-shaded brow

The flush of April's wing.

The streets are loud with noisy mirth,

They dance on every green; The morning's dial marks the birth Of proud Braganza's queen.

At eve beneath their pictured dome
The gilded courtiers throng;

The broad moidores have cheated Rome

Of all her lords of song.