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There is a solitary tomb, with rankling weeds o'er

grown, A single palm bends mournfully beside the mould.

ering stone Amidst whose leaves the passing breeze with fit

ful gust and slow Seems sighing forth a feeble dirge for him who

sleeps below. Beside, its sparkling drops of foam a desert foun

tain showers; And, floating calm, the lotus wreathes its red and

scented flowers, Here lurks the mountain fox unseen beside the

vulture's nest; And steals the wild hyena forth, in lone and silent

quest. Is this deserted resting place the couch of fallen

might? And ends the path of glory thus, and fame's in

spiring light? Chief of a progeny of kings renowned and feared

afar, Howisthy boasted name forgot, and dimmed thine

honor's star! Approach, — what saith the graven verse ? “Alas

for human pride ! Dominion's envied gifts were mine, nor earth

her praise denied. Thou traveller, if a suppliant's voice find echo in

thy breast, 0, envy not the little dust that hides my mortal

rest !"

Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land,
From trace of human foot or hand.
There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak
In symphony austere ;
Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud,
And mists that spread the flying shroud ;
And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past,
But that enormous barrier holds it fast.
Not free from boding thoughts, awhile
The shepherd stood ; then makes his way
O'er rocks and stones, following the dog
As quickly as he may ;
Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground.
The appalled discoverer with a sigh
Looks round to learn the history.
From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear.
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day
On which the traveller passed this way.
But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell !
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.
The dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This dog had been through three months' space
A dweller in that savage place.
Yes, proof was plain, that, since the day
When this ill-fated traveller died,
The dog had watched about the spot,
Or by his master's side.
How nourished here through such long time
He knows who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate !

ANONYMOUS.

HELVELLYN.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

A BARKING sound the shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox ;
He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks ;
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.
The dog is not of mountain breed ;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy,
With something, as the shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry ;
Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear.
What is the creature doing here ?
It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below!
Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,

HELVELLYN. [In the spring of 1805 a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months af. terwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. 1 I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty He'vellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed

misty and wide :

All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was And more stately thy couch by this desert lake yelling,

And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden Edge round the Red Tarn was bending,

And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,
When I marked the sad spot where the wan-
derer had died.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?

When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?

How many long days and long nights didst thou

Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain heather,

[The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey-church of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Coeur de Lion, whe

Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the decay, means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.] Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay.

Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

number

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? And, 0, was it meet thatno requiem read o'er him, No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,

And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him

Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart?

When a prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,

The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall, With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming;

In the proudly arched chapel the banners are
beaming;

Far adown the long aisle sacred music is stream-
ing,
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.

lying,

Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying,
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,
In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain
lanıb,
When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge
in stature,
And draws his last sob by the side of his
dam.

COEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS
FATHER.

TORCHES were blazing clear,
Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier
In the church of Fontevraud.
Banners of battle o'er him hung,

And warriors slept beneath,
And light, as noon's broad light was flung
On the settled face of death.

On the settled face of death
A strong and ruddy glare,

Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath,
Yet it fell still brightest there;

As if each deeply furrowed trace
Of earthly years to show,
Alas! that sceptred mortal's race
Had surely closed in woe!

The marble floor was swept
By many a long dark stole,

As the kneeling priests, round him that slept,
Sang mass for the parted soul;
And solemn were the strains they poured
Through the stillness of the night,
With the cross above, and the crown and sword,
And the silent king in sight.

There was heard a heavy clang,
As of steel-girt men the tread,
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
With a sounding thrill of dread;
And the holy chant was hushed awhile,

As, by the torch's flame,
A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle
With a mail-clad leader came.

He came with haughty look,
An eagle glance and clear;

But his proud heart through its breastplate shook
When he stood beside the bier!

He stood there still with a drooping brow,
And clasped hands o'er it raised ;-
For his father lay before him low,

It was Cœur de Lion gazed!

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