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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.
A TEMPLAR kneeled 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,
Ordained 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 grasped him, Father, all the while
With shaking hand, and feverish smile,
And said my jest, and sang my song,
And laughed 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
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.
My First, in torrents bleak and black,
Was rushing from the sky,
When, with my Second at his back,
Young Cupid wandered by :
“Now take me in ; the moon hath passed;
I pray ye, take me in
The lightnings flash, the hail falls fast,
All Hades rides the thunder-blast :
I’m dripping to the skin |"
“I know thee well, thy songs and sighs;
A wicked god thou art,
And yet most welcome to the eyes,
Most witching to the heart!”
The wanderer prayed another prayer,
And shook his drooping wing:
The lover bade him enter there,
And wrung my First from out his hair,
And dried my Second's string.
And therefore—(so the urchin swore,
By Styx, the fearful river,
And by the shafts his quiver bore,
And by his shining quiver),
That Lover aye shall see my whole
In Life's tempestuous Heaven;
And when the lightnings cease to roll,
Shall fix thereon his dreaming soul
In the deep calm of even
THE Indian lover burst
From his lone cot by night;--
When Love hath lit my First,
In hearts by Passion nursed,
Oh! who shall quench the light?
The Indian left the shore;
He heard the night wind sing,
And cursed the tardy oar,
And wished that he could soar
Upon my Second's wing.
The blast came cold and damp,
But, all the voyage through,
I lent my lingering lamp,
As o'er the marshy swamp
He paddled his canoe.