Comes down to the water's brink:
"Tis the first time he there hath gazed,
And straight he shrinks-alarmed—amazed,
And dares not drink.

"Have I till now," he sadly said,

Preyed on my brother's blood, and made
His flesh my meal to-day?”

Once more he glances in the brook,
And once more sees his victim's look;
Then turns away.

With such sharp pain as human hearts
May feel, the drooping thing departs
Unto the dark wild wood;

And there, 'midst briars and sheltering weeds,
He hideth his remorse, and feeds

No more on blood.

And in that weedy brake he lies,

And pines, and pines, until he dies;

And when all 's o'er,

What follows?—Nought! his brothers slake
Their thirst in blood in that same brake,
Fierce as before!

So Fable flows!-But would you find
Its moral wrought in human kind,
Its tale made worse;

Turn straight to Man, and in his fame

And forehead read "The Harpy's" name;

But no remorse!

BARRY CORNWALL.

Drachenfels.

LINES ADDRESSED BY LORD BYRON TO HIS SISTER.

I.

THE castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossomed trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scattered cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strewed a scene, which I should see
With double joy wert thou with me.

II.

And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,
And hands which offer early flowers,

Walk smiling o'er this paradise;

Above, the frequent feudal towers

Through green leaves lift their walls of gray,

And many a rock which steeply lowers,

And noble arch in proud decay,

Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;

But one thing want these banks of Rhine,-
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!

III.

I send the lilies given to me;
Though long before thy hand they touch,
I know that they must withered be,
But yet reject them not as such;
For I have cherished them as dear,
Because they yet may meet thine eye,
And guide thy soul to mine even here,
When thou beholdst them drooping nigh,
And knowst them gathered by the Rhine,
And offered from my heart to thine!

IV.

The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round;
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
Through life to dwell delighted here;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear,
Could thy dear eyes in following mine
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!

BYRON.-[From "Childe Harold." canto iii.]

The Spanish Lady's Love.

WILL you hear a Spanish lady
How she wooed an English man?
Garments gay as rich as may be

Decked with jewels she had on.

Of a comely countenance and grace was she, And by birth and parentage of high degree.

As his prisoner there he kept her,
In his hands her life did lie;
Cupid's bands did tie them faster
By the liking of an eye.

In his courteous company was all her joy,
To favour him in anything she was not coy.

But at last there came commandment

For to set the ladies free,

With their jewels still adorned,

None to do them injury.

Then said this lady mild, "Full woe is me! O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

"Gallant captain, show some pity

To a lady in distress;

Leave me not within this city,

For to die in heaviness:

Thou hast set this present day my body free,
But my heart in prison still remains with thee."

"How shouldst thou, fair lady, love me,
Whom thou knowst thy country's foe?
Thy fair words make me suspect thee:
Serpents lie where flowers grow."

"All the harm I wish to thee, most courteous knight, God grant the same upon my head may fully light.

"Blessed be the time and season

That you came to Spanish ground;
If our foes you may be termed,
Gentle foes we have you found:

With our city you have won our hearts each one;
Then to your country bear away, that is your own."

"Rest you still, most gallant lady!

Rest you still, and weep no more;

Of fair lovers there is plenty,

Spain doth yield a wondrous store."

"Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find,

But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.

"Leave me not unto a Spaniard;

You alone enjoy my heart;

I am lovely, young, and tender,

Love is likewise my desert:

Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;

The wife of every Englishman is counted blest."