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The First is for love and thee, Mary,–
The First is for love and thee;

And so firmly hold

Those links of gold,
That the Second it never shall be-Mary!

The Second is ever free, Mary,-
Free as the foaming brine;

As the fires that fly

From the poet's eye,
Or the laugh that speaks in thine-Mary!

Though the First be a wayward thing, Mary,-
Though a wayward thing it be,
When thought hath power

In the midnight hour,
Be sure it is ever with thee-Mary!

* Should the solutions be required, they will be found given in the Table of Contents to this volume.



Through thy short and shadowy span
I am with thee, Child of Man;
With thee still, from first to last,
In pain and pleasure, feast and fast,
At thy cradle and thy death,
Thine earliest wail, and dying breath.
Seek not thou to shun or save,
On the earth, or in the grave;
The worm and I, the worm and I,
In the grave together lie.

(NOVEMBER, 1821.)


Sir Hilary charged at Agincourt,

Sooth 'twas an awful day!
And though in that old age of sport
The rufflers of the camp and court

Had little time to pray,
'Tis said Sir Hilary muttered there
Two syllables by way of prayer.

My First to all the brave and proud

Who see to-morrow's sun; My Next with her cold and quiet cloud To those who find their dewy shroud

Before to-day's be done ; And both together to all blue eyes That weep when a warrior nobly dies.

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A TEMPLAR kneel'd at a friar's knee;
He was a comely youth to see,
With curling locks and forehead high,
And flushing cheek, and flashing eye;
And the monk was as jolly and large a man
As ever laid lip to a convent can,

Or called for a contribution-
As ever read, at midnight hour,
Confessional in lady's bower,
Ordain'd for a peasant the penance whip,
Or spoke for a noble's venial slip

A venal absolution.

“Oh, Father! in the dim twilight

I have sinned a grievous sin to-night;
And I feel hot pain e'en now begun
For the fearful murder I have done.

“I rent my victim's coat of green ;
I pierced his neck with my dagger keen;
The red stream mantled high;

I grasp'd him, Father, all the while
With shaking hand, and feverish smile,
And said my jest, and sang my song,
And laugh'd my laughter, loud and long,

Until his glass was dry !

“Though he was rich, and very old,

I did not touch a grain of gold,
But the blood I drank from the bubbling vein
Hath left on my lip a purple stain."

“My son ! my son ! for this thou hast done, Though the sands of thy life for aye should run,"

The merry monk did say ; “ Though thine eye be bright, and thine heart be light, Hot spirits shall haunt thee all the night,

Blue devils all the day.”

The thunders of the Church were ended,
Back on his way the Templar wended ;
But the name of him the Templar slew
Was more than the Inquisition knew.

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