Comes down to the water's brink: "Have I till now," he sadly said, Preyed on my brother's blood, and made Once more he glances in the brook, With such sharp pain as human hearts And there, 'midst briars and sheltering weeds, 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 So Fable flows!-But would you find 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 II. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, 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,- III. I send the lilies given to me; IV. The river nobly foams and flows, BYRON.-[From "Childe Harold." canto iii.] The Spanish Lady's Love. WILL you hear a Spanish lady 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 courteous company was all her joy, 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, "How shouldst thou, fair lady, love me, "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; With our city you have won our hearts each one; "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." |