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All dimly 'tvaned the russet grey,
And faintly fell each streak of light ;
The latest hues of sunny day
Were merying into stilly night,
And field, and forest died away,
"And seem'd to iving their lingring flight,
** Like witker'd hopes that once were bright,

Burdoomed to silent, slow decay.
"! "Tis sweet to bear 'at evening time:
The curfew's deep and solemo chime,
And in that mild and genıle hour
To find within the heart the power
To think with calmness on the past,
With all its joy and all its griel, s
And from the thorn of pain at last,
To part the rose of soft reliel;
To feel again the joy that erst,
In early years the slo'm'disperst;
That soothed ļhe pang and dried the tear,
And made this waste of earth appear
A lovely spot where beauty dweli,
To feel again as once we felt,
The sparkling light that lived alone
In some departed beings eyes,
Which we in rapture deemned our own.
And all the many fallacies
That cling to manhood's glowing spring,
When life is fresh on pleasure's wing,



When fervent as the solar beam
Was young åflections ardent dream,
The dreani of yowhere time and care
Had blighted hopes and prospects lair;
Or thought Irad power the cup to drain,
And leave the bilier dreg oli pain.


Like music murmuring on the ear,
The waves of Avon'flow'd along;
And as the waters rippled near,
Their sounds were mellow'd into song,
While wood-birds wild their vespers trillid,
And earth and sky with music tillid,
And softly sigh'd the air between
The waving boughs bedeck'd with green,
Of willow trees that'grew beside
All droopingly the sparkling tide.
It was a spot where nature smiled
In rich luxuriance sweetly wild;
A scene that might have raised a glow
In hearts as chill as Alpine snow,
And kindled passions long decayed,
And fired the breast ihai iime had made
The wither'd case of feelings fed,
Affections lingering with the dead;
And hopes that long had learn d to brave
The frown of draili, and seek the grave.

Upon the River's bank appear'd,
In stern and sticly grandeur reard,
A castle flank'd by dich and wall,
and babican and beeiling tower,
Thal guarded sell the feudal ball
Where Warwick ruled with legal power.
And as upon is wails of grey,
The latesi sun-beanis died away,
They seem'd in tell a iale of glom,
And till the gazer's heart with Jread,
And things ui dark and dreadial doom,
The visions of the silent dead
Seem'd by the tancs's mights spell
To peer from every daye tu cul.
The watch is set - be seduies kecp
Their vigil on the currers siexp;
The stars are forth and silenee reigns
O'er princely Warwick's made dormir

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Across the 'far extending'rend,
A single 'borsenian urged bis steed,
Whose reeking fanks and broken pace,
And Toxinas 'wliite'as Ocearrspray,
Bespoke a long and weary race;
And on the rider's corslet lay

The gather'd dust-yet on be sped
Until he pass'd the River''s bed;

Then cursing swiftly ioand the shore, He stood the castle ditch before.

without? the Warder cried, “One who has stood by Warwick's side "From dawn of day till fall of night, “In listed field and baliłe foghl., “Say that Sir Emést Trevor waits " Admission al bis casile gates. Slowly the huge portcullis rose, And harsly creak'd' each ponderous chain, For 'twas a time when hostile foes Induced Lord Warwick to sustain His Castle's strength by all the lies That art or science could đévise. But well the warder knew his guest, And finging bolt and bar atside, Tlio massy portals opened wide, And o'er ilie bridge Sir Ernest prest, And leaping from his garant'steed, That will had served his ülinost need, He quickly pass 'd the Court yard d'er And enlerd at the portal duur.

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The Hall (vas bedeck'd and the least was'spread,
Lord Warwick himsell' graced the table beau ;
And round him were gather'd as brave å band
As ever uushcathed a Warrior's brand.
They had gallaily Bared their battle blades,
In the stirring times of the leiice Crusades;
They had seen the sum of victory shine
On ibe shores of ile distant Palestine.
There was music to them in the gathering hum,
By the leren made wien Ulley onward come.
Bat they thonght not now of the gory plain,
The moments of danger, the hours of pain,
But joyously sat in their polished sleei,
With the golden spur on each knightly beel;
The scars on each corslet--the bright reward
For the splinter'd lance and the slaver'd sword.

Ther mock'd in their revels the darksome night, And the lamps were Aashing a dazzling light. Each hosom was fired, cach hand was opheld With a sparkling draught, and each spirit swellid As they drajued euch cnp to old England's name Her soldier's renown and her spotless faine.


Sir Ernest was there, but his cheek svas palé
As the snowy scarf on his coat of Mail.
And little he reck'd of the banquet sound,
And liudle he heeded the group around;
The clash of the wine-cups, the wassail's din,
His eyes were turned on bis spirit within ;
And he pass'2 the goblet antasted by
With a downcast look and a drooping ege.


Upon his brow there has the slain
of deeply rocted inward pain;
The cureless wound that scorns relief,
And glories in its cherished grief,
Nou grief that like volcauic fires
Bursis madly forth and then expires;
Nor like the sudden summer storm
Skeeps on with wild and fearful furin,
When lightnings rent the lurid sky,
And thunders peal from plain to plain,
And then like magic pisses by,
And all is fair and brighi again.
Bit such as palsies heart and limb,
And makes the eye of beauty dim;
Thai sprinkles raven locks wiih grey,
And itom the cheek extracts away
The joyous hue- and withers up
The spirits sap by slow degrees.
This is to taste the bitter cup,
Alid drain it to




It šás the hushid and stilly time,
When on tbe uit the midnight chime
Had ceased, and all láy mule arvund,..
lihen on the terrace top iliar Trown'd..
Abuse the Aron's geptle food,
Lord, Ilorwick and Sir Ernest stood.

"Sir Ernest on thy pallid cheek
“A mute yet fixt expression tells
"oi grief that words are vain to speak ;
“And in thine eye the fever dwells,
“That marks the latent in ward strife,
"The wasting flame that burus away,
"All silenuy the spirits life,
"In manhood's best and brightest day,


“My Lord of Warwick I have sped
“To reach thy balis since break of day,
*** When from the eastern Ocean's bed,
“'The sun emerged to light my way,
“Yet come I not for sestvie hours,
Or music's strain in courtly bowers;

I come to crave the mighty aid
“Of thee and all thy knightly throng,
"To win with lance and battle blade,
“A deep revenge for burning wrong.


“Say on, Sir Ernest, for I ween
« Thine is no wild or idle tale ;
“And by yon brigkı star's silver sheen,
“If faith there be in knightly mail
Or crested helm or soldiers sword,
“Thy wrongs

shall eain a swift reward.


"My Lord of Warwick well I know, “Yon have one stern unyielding loe, “Whose smiling form and heart of guile “Finds favor 'neath a Monarch's smile. "Piers Gavaston – that hated name “That wither'd all my budding fame, "And in the hour of morning's prime “Made lip as dark as midnight time. “I had a Sister-fairer far "Than glowing fancy's dreamy star ; “Chaste as the pearl content to sleep "Silent bencath the trackless deep, And giving to the gazer's eye, "'That deep impress of majesty, "That all absorbing nameless spell; “The glavice that makes the guileless soul, “Which 'makes the bosom hea ve and swell, "Like Ocean when its billows roll.

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