Far from the scenes that saw his guilt In pilgrimage to roam. To other climes the pilgrim fled, He sought his home again; but peace Slow were the passing hours, yet swift A day that William never felt A fearful day was that! the rain And the swoln tide of Severn spread In vain Lord William sought the feast, In vain he quaffed the bowl, And strove with noisy mirth to drown The anguish of his soul. The tempest, as its sudden swell In gusty howlings came, With cold and death-like feelings seemed To thrill his shuddering frame. Reluctant now, as night came on, Beside that couch his brother's form, Lord Edmund, seemed to stand; Such and so pale, as when in death Such and so pale his face, as when, "I bade thee with a father's love My orphan Edmund guard— Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge! Now take thy due reward!" He started up, each limb convulsed With agonizing fear: He only heard the storm of night"Twas music to his ear; When, lo! the voice of loud alarm "What, ho! Lord William, rise in haste! The water saps thy walls!" He rose in haste: beneath the walls It hemmed him round, 'twas midnight now, He heard the shout of joy, for now A boat approached the wall; And eager to the welcome aid They crowd for safety all. "My boat is small," the boatman cried, In God's protection stay.” Strange feeling filled them at his voice, Even at that hour of woe, That, save their lord, there was not one But William leaped into the boat, His terror was so sore: "Thou shalt have half my gold!" he cried; "Haste haste to yonder shore!" The boatman plied the oar, the boat The boatman paused: "Methought I heard ""Twas but the howling wind of night," Lord William made reply. "Haste! haste !-ply swift and strong the oar! Haste haste across the stream !" Again Lord William heard a cry, Like Edmund's drowning scream. "I heard a child's distressful voice," "And, oh! Lord William, dost thou know And canst thou, without pitying, hear How horrible it is to sink Beneath the chilly stream To stretch the powerless arms in vain- The shriek again was heard; it came That instant o'er the flood the moon And near them they beheld a child; A little crag, and all around The boatman plied the oar, the boat "Now reach thine hand,” the boatman cried; "Lord William, reach and save!" The child stretched forth his little hands, Then William shrieked: the hand he touched Was cold, and damp, and dead! He felt young Edmund in his arms! A heavier weight than lead! The boat sunk down, the murderer sunk THE BROTHERS. WE are but two--the others sleep Heart leaps to heart-the sacred flood -his honest blood That good old man Alike we fondly claim. SOUTHEY. We in one mother's arms were locked- In the same cradle we were rocked, Our boyish sports were all the same, We are but two-be that the band Shoulder to shoulder let us stand, Till side by side we lie. C. SPRAGUE. THE LITTLE MARINER. Ay, sitting on your happy hearth, beside your mother's knee, How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea? My father was a mariner, and from my earliest years I can remember, night and day, my mother's prayers and tears. I can remember how she sighed when blew the stormy gale; And how for days she stood to watch the long-expected sail : Hers was a silent, patient grief; but fears and long delay, And wakeful nights and anxious days, were wearing her away. And when the gusty winds were loud, and autumn leaves were red, I watched, with heavy heart, beside my mother's dying bed: Just when her voice was feeblest, the neighbours came to say, The ship was hailed an hour before, and then was in the bay. |