PART THIRD.

Earth had no charm in after life,
With pining care and sorrow rife-

No scene of joy, however fair,

That could with those swift hours compare;
When early love, with trusting faith,
Had felt not how the withering breath
Of time and absence, dimm'd their day,
And stole from life its charm away,
As one by one their hopes decay!
And how like "morning's winged dream,"
Did those past hours in memory seem,
Unreal, bright, not made to bear

The bleak world's cold ungenial air,

A ray that gilded life's fair dawn,

Down time's long lingering vale withdrawn.

Conspiracy was gathering head,

And boldly did their banners spread,
And Ralph de Vere's dark counsels were,

For York's true cause each life to dare;

And Percy vow'd that day,

To shed his life-blood, to pluck down,

The ingrate from King Richard's throne;

Low in the dust to lay,

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E'en Bolingbroke's dominion wide,
And Harry Monmouth's brow of pride.
Did Agnes hail that stormy hour,

And bid them to the conflict hie?
Oh no! Oh no! words have not power
To tell her bosom's agony :-
But Percy's fond and sad farewell
The sorrows of that day may tell.

“Nay, chase not yet thy tears away,
That mournful smile I love to see,
I would not have thee to be gay,
Nor Agnes on our parting day,
To think on aught but me.

I would not have thee e'er forget
What ne'er again may be,—

The swift-wing'd hours when we have met,
Whene'er the golden sun shall set,

'Twill 'mind me still of thee.

For opening flowers and morning beams,

And things that fairest be,

PART THIRD.

The wan bright stars, and moonlight gleams,
That raise the thought to heavenly themes,

Will 'mind me still of thee.

Then hush to rest thy anxious sighs,

Where'er my course may be,

No earthly charm can greet my eyes,
No form before my memory rise,

One half so dear as thee!"

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PART FOURTH.

"Bring me a father that so loved his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak of patience."

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

THE towers of Thornton's monastry,

From Vere's far precincts you might see,

Rising proudly o'er the scene,

The woody vale that lay between,

Was intersected here and there

With winding paths, where pilgrims stray,
And ask for shelter on their way.

And up the long green avenue,

Sir Ralph de Vere was slowly wending;

When near the pond'rous gate he drew,

He cross'd himself, and humbly bending,

Made obeisance low ;

Where high above the Abbey gate,

Were figures ranged in sculptured state—

An awe-inspiring show.

He rang the bell-the hollow sound
Woke echo from the silence round!

"Abbot of Thornton, fare ye well, I may not now the reason tell,

Why I your blessing crave ;

But stormy times are gathering near!

Start not-you have no cause of fear;

The sword of war may wave,

But near your sanctuary calm,

Shall come no scathe, nor cause of harm

Though faction's wildest rage,

Should at your very gates appear

"Twould pass you by,—religion's name,

Would shield your roof, from sword and flame:

Then, father, let your prayers be given,

To win for me the care of heaven!"

The Abbot raised his cautious eye,

And cross'd himself with holiest seeming,

And heaved a deep and heavy sigh;

As if some woeful meaning,

Were in the wild and hurried tone,

And careless guise, the Knight had shown.