These ruin'd walls again shall rise
In all their ancient pride and power,
Again the gorgeous banner float

In triumph from the stately tower!
The moss, the thorn, the poisonous weed
Shall vanish from the cheerful hearth,
And the rude hall again resound

With shouts of revelry and mirth!
Again beside that ruin'd gate

The guard shall pace his weary round,
Again the warder's midnight cry
Within its massive turrets sound;
Again the bright convivial band
Shall close around its joyous hearth,
Again the vaulted halls return

The shouts of revelry and mirth.
Oh, I could tell of thrilling scenes
Enacted in that lone retreat;
How its paved courts have echoed back
The clanking tread of armed feet;
How savage chiefs and knights of old,
With forms and souls of iron mould,
Have gather'd round this mountain hold,
And form'd their councils here,
Then rush'd upon the field below,

With clashing sword and spear;
And I could tell of princely dames,

Of powerful lords and highborn peers, Who dream'd not that their honour'd names Could perish in the lapse of years,

Or only live at times to aid

The wandering minstrel's random song;

An old traditionary tale

To float on memory's tide along;

And I could sing full many a strain
Would call the life-blood from the cheek,
What fancy's eye would shrink to see,
And boldest tongue would fear to speak.

But I will leave to nobler hands

The framing of those mystic lays,

And only weave a simple tale

Of later and of gentler days,

When daring souls of daring deeds

Gave place to peaceful knights and squires,

And warlike gatherings on the field
To feastings round their evening fires;
When nought remain'd of olden times,
Of strife and rivalry and blood,
Save where some sterner barons held
The remnants of an ancient feud.

'Twas morning, and the shades of night
Roll'd backward from her brow of light,

As with majestic step she came,
With dewy locks and eyes of flame,
Her wreath of dancing light to twine
On the broad bosom of the Rhine.

The scene beneath her spread was rife
With sights and sounds of bustling life,
Of joyful shouts, and glad halloo,
And quick steps running to and fro.
The castle walls, so dark and gray
Tinged with the morning's cheerful ray,
Seem'd revelling their gloom away,
While from the court came, long and loud,
The shouts of an assembled crowd,
And on the mountain echoes borne,
Peal'd out the huntsman's mellow horn.
The clanking drawbridge fell across
The sparkling waters of the foss,
And servants hurried here and there
With bustling and important air;
Oft from the forest would appear
A group that bore the slaughter'd deer,
And distant shouts would faintly tell
As some new victim bleeding fell.

Light skiffs were floating down the Rhine,
Laden with casks of choicest wine,
And oarsmen bore the precious freight
For entrance to the postern gate.
Oft on the noisy tide along

The minstrel pour'd his careless song,
And all without was bustling glee.

Within, the castle hall was graced
With oaken tables, closely placed,
In preparation for a feast;

The ancient armour on the wall

Was cleansed, and gilt, and burnish'd all;
And helm, and casque, and corslet shone
Like mirrors in the morning sun;
Oh, could the warlike forms which wore
Those garments grim in days of yore,
Come to their mountain home once more,
How would they frown on scene so gay,
And sigh for spirits past away!

Beside the hearthstone of his hall,
The lord and master of them all,
The owner of this proud domain,
Stood, gazing on his menial train.
His ample robes were rich and gay,
His locks were slightly tinged with gray,
His eye, beneath its darker shroud,
Glanced, like a sunbeam from a cloud.

Hope realized and love's warm glow
Seem'd mingling o'er his furrow'd brow,
And smiles of pleasure told in' part
The inward gladness of his heart.
But ever and anon there stole
Some softer feeling o'er his soul,
And something like a tear would roll
Unnoticed down his furrow'd cheek,—
The child of thoughts he could not speak.

Why rings the old castle with gladness this morn?
Why echoes the wood with the blithe hunter's horn?
Why slandeth their lord with his train at their side,
And his eye beaming lightly with gratified pride?
This day it shall close o'er his doubts and his fears,
It shall witness the realized wishes of years,
And his name shall be join'd, by the dearest of ties,
To the only one worthy so brilliant a prize.
Whose fathers of old were his fathers' allies.
Why stealeth the teardrop so sad to his eye?

Why bursts from his bosom the half-smother'd sigh?
Alas, for that father! this day he must part
From the pride of his household, the joy of his heart;
No more may he gaze on his beautiful child,
Whose step ever bounded, whose lip ever smil'd;
Who cast such a charm o'er his wild mountain life
As the sunbeam may throw o'er the dark frowning cliff.
Now read ye the cause of the joyful array ?

'Tis to welcome the lord of this festival day;

For he comes with his glittering train by his side,
To claim of her father his beautiful bride.

ELEGY UPON LEO, AN OLD HOUSE-DOG.
THOU poor old dog! too long affection's tongue
Hath left thy merits and thy death unsung;
Too long the muse hath sought for themes of fame,
And left untold thy well-remember'd name;
And though that name hath lived on memory's leaf,
Has touch'd for thee no thrilllng chords of grief.
Thou dear old dog! thou joy of childish years!
Here let me shed for thee my heartfelt tears;
Here let me turn from life's cold cares aside,
And weep that thou, my faithful friend, hast died.
Oh that no tears less pure might e'er be shed,
Than those which mourn a loved companion dead!
This is a world where faithful hearts are few,
Where love too oft is vain, too oft untrue;
And when some cherish'd form to earth is borne,
O'er fond affection's scver'd chain we mourn;

Thus I for thee, that one more friend hath gone,
Who, though a dog, could love for love alone.
Thou dear old friend! on memory's starlit tide,
Link'd with a sister's name thy name shall glide;
And when for her our tears flow fast and free,
Our hearts shall breathe a ling'ring sigh for thee;
For thee, that sister's dearest, earliest pet,
Whom even when dying she remember'd yet,
Thou wast her playmate in each childish hour,
When her light footsteps sprang from flower to flower;
When not a cloud on life's fair surface lay,
And joys alternate chased the hours away;
When her young heart beat high with infant glee,
And fondly sought to share those joys with thee.
And when youth's star arose on childhood's morn,
And loftier thoughts on time's dark wing were borne;
When hope look'd forward with exulting eye,
And fear, the coward, still crouch'd trembling nigh;
When long had pass'd those hours of infant glee,
Still, still she loved, and still would sport with thee.
[Unfinished.]

1837.

MORNING.

How calm, how beautiful a scene is this!
When nature, waking from her silent sleep,
Bursts forth in light, and harmony, and joy!
When earth, and sky, and air are glowing all
With gaiety and life, and pensive shades
Of morning loveliness are cast around!

The purple clouds, so streak'd with crimson light,
Bespeak the coming of majestic day;

Mark how the crimson grows more crimson still,
While ever and anon a golden beam
Seems darting out its radiance!

Herald of day! where is that mighty form

Which clothes you all in splendour, and around

Your colourless, pale forms spreads the bright hues
Of heaven? He cometh from his gorgeous couch,
And gilds the bosom of the glowing east.

1837.

LINES

WRITTEN AFTER SHE BEGAN TO FEAR THAT HER DISEASE WAS PAST REMEDY.

I ONCE thought life was beautiful,

I once thought life was fair,

Nor deem'd that all its light could fade

And leave but darkness there.

But now I know it could not last-
The fairy dream has fled!

Though thirteen summers scarce have past
Above this youthful head.

Yes, life-'twas all a dream-but now
I see thee as thou art;

I see how slight a thing can shade
The sunshine of the heart.

I see that all thy brightest hours,
Unmark'd, have pass'd away;

And now I feel how sweet they were,
I cannot bid them stay.

In childish love or childish play

My happiest hours were spent,

While scarce my infant tongue could say
What joy or pleasure meant.

And now, when my young heart looks up,
Life's gayest smiles to meet;

Now, when in youth her brightest charms
Would seem so doubly sweet;

Now fade the dreams which bound my soul
As with the chains of truth;

Oh that those dreams had stay'd awhile,
To vanish with my youth!

Oh! once did hope look sweetly down,
To check each rising sigh;

But disappointment's iron frown
Has dimm'd her sparkling eye.

And once I loved a brother too,
Our youngest and our best,
But death's unerring arrow sped,
And laid him down to rest.

But now I know those hours of peace
Were never form'd to last;

That those fair days of guileless joy
Are past-for ever past!

January, 1837.