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III. “ Daughter of kings! a holier love
Will thy maturer thoughts employ ;
Exalts the heart to mightier joy;
Lo! countless splendours round thee rise!” “ But will they ever learn to shine · Bright as mine own sweet mother's eyes?
“ I shall not grieve for fair array,
I shall not iniss my toys of gold, Mother! I shall but pine away
In secret tears, in grief untold ;-
Softly, as tenderly as now;
In silent blessings, on my brow!
“Oh, mother! wipe not thence the tears,—
They are our last together shed ! Mine, must be nursed in lonely fears,
Thine, like the summer dew-drops fed. But wilt thou weep, in sooth ? Ah! no,
Thou wouldst not part me from thy side Were but one pleading tear to flow, And thaw thy bosom's frozen tide!
VI. “ Send me not forth! I'll sit so still
Beside thee -watch thy looks, thy words With prompter zeal, with readier will
Than all the slaves thy state affords. They may be, like thy gem-wreathed crown,
Lost, laid aside, or spurned as vain; But Nature binds me as thine own,
By ties 't were sin to rend in twain.
“ Send me not forth! I may not dwell
'Mid' yon cold, lowering looks I see.” “ Peace, gentlest babe! nor thus rebel
Against Heaven's unreversed decree. Nor grieve thee, pretty one! nor weep;
A mother's arms await thee here,— A mother's love will watch thy sleep, A mother's voice thy tasks endear.
VIII. “ Mighty to aid-prompt to forgive
Who, ere she sought her kindred sky, In pity unto all who live,
Resigned her Son, that none might die;Who, from her bright beatitude,
Long-suffering, tender, meek and mild, Gives ease to hearts by grief subdued
Gives shelter to the orphaned child !”
“ Sister! repeat those words of peace !
Oh! guide me to that mother's feet ; There my repining tears shall cease,
There shall I find her service sweet! There shall I breathe, with humblest zeal,
Fond prayers for her who gave me birth; Content to win her heavenly weal,
By rendering up mine own on earth.”
How oft in youth I loved to muse beneath
THE TRIBUTE OF ARMS.
BY MRS. ALARIC WATTS.
There is a legend connected with the Church of Notre-Dame, that one of the earlier French kings rode into that cathedral after a victorious battle, and left there his horse and arms, as an offering to God and the Virgin for his success. Up to the period of the first Revolotion, there existed an equestrian statue of a knight armed cap-a-pee, who is supposed to have been this hero. Historians are agreed as to the fact, but differ respecting the identity of the individual.
There came a knight in his armour dight, to the
Church of Notre-Dame; The victor heir of proud Navarre, and the sun-bright
Oriflamme; The chancel rang 'neath his courser's tread, where the
priests were bowed in prayer, And the mitred Abbot raised his head, for a princely
guest was there.
He greeted not that holy band, but made the accus
tomed sign, And reined his barb with a practised hand, at the foot
of St. Mary's shrine; Then lightly leaped from his saddle down, the monks
stood mute the while, And his kingly brow was lighted now, with a bright
As he bowed him there on the altar-stair, and his
devoir duly paid, For added glory to his crest, and fame to his battle
blade; Then laid aside his helm of pride, nor shunned the
gazing crowd, But kneeling near, where all might hear, his homage
breathed aloud :
“ Mother of God! to thee I bring this hacked and
dinted shield, And this red reaping-hook of death, from Cassel's
bloody field; These trophies true are sure thy due, to whom all
honour be; The strife is done, the battle won, by might derived from thee!