The ducal robes of some old ancestor- She was an only child-her name Ginevra, Just as she looks there in her bridal dress, Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue. Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast, And filled his glass to all-but his hand shook, Flung it away in battle with the Turk. Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, When on an idle day, a day of search, 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, That mouldering chest was noticed: and 'twas said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, "Why not remove it from its lurking place?" 'Twas done as soon as said: but on the way It burst, it fell; and, lo! a skeleton, With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. All else had perished-save a wedding ring, And a small seal-her mother's legacy, Engraven with a name, the name of both, "Ginevra." There then had she found a grave! 2 157055B THE LADY CHRISTABEL. It was a lovely sight to see The lady Christabel, when she Was praying at the old oak tree, Amid the jagged shadows Of mossy leafless boughs, Kneeling in the moonlight, To make her gentle vows: Her slender palms together prest, And both blue eyes more bright than clear, With open eyes (ah woe is me!) O sorrow and shame! Can this be she, A star hath set, a star hath risen, O Geraldine! since arms of thine Have been the lovely lady's prison. Coleridge. O Geraldine! one hour was thine- From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu-whoo! And see! the lady Christabel Gathers herself from out of her trance; Her limbs relax, her countenance Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids Close o'er her eyes; and tears she shedsLarge tears that leave the lashes bright! And oft the while she seems to smile As infants at a sudden light! Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, Like a youthful hermitess, Beauteous in a wilderness, Who, praying always, prays in sleep, PASSIONATE LOVER. Lord Byron. 'Tis sweet to hear At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep; 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; 'Tis sweet to listen as the nightwinds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 'Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words. Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes Sweet is revenge-especially to women, |