BUT, ah! the deep-toned trump of war Roused round the king his chieftain powers, And Edward, call'd by fame, afar,

Left bridal bliss in Burleigh's shady bowers.

Sиоотя, little page! thy words of wo

And act a kind deceiver's part; Let sorrow, slowly stealing, flow Around thy gentle lady's heart.

I SEE her at the glide of eve,
By yonder battlements on high,

Her boding bosom to relieve

With every art of solace try.

ENJOY, lone dame! the doubtful hour,
Its blissful visions cherish well,

Cling close to hope, the charming power,
A tale awaits to break the spell.

ALAS! to mourning long and deep,

Sad, widow'd, must Matilda yield— Her Edward lies, in dreamless sleep,

A wind-beat corse on Floddon's fatal field.

HARK! whence that groan ? "Tis murder fell-
The blood of man 54 for vengeance cries.

Loud, long, and lone, its solemn knell
Sounds, sadly drear, around the skies.

"Tis done-but ruin, rank and hoar,
The frown of vengeance can appease→→→
These high halls fall to rise no more,

As drop the leaflets from autumnal trees.

YON hoary Ash 55, of height sublime,
And branchless arms of shrivell'd hue,
Bends from the blasting clasp of time

To meet the bosom whence it grew;

AND grimly yawning, dark and dread,

The haunt of noisome broods abhorr'd, Its sidelong hollow shews the shed

That shelter'd once its guilty lord.

THE guests of desolation, here,

'Mid ancient bowers of beauty nod, Their whisker'd heads morosely rear, And blush to grow where grandeur trod.

NURSED by the dews, descending rare,

Yon shrub 56, fann'd by the wind's fleet wing, Roots on that tower where youth would dare With feats of dread to tempt the horrid king.

THE pilgrim swallow, twittering, swims
And through these glassless windows plays.
Along the nettly vista skims,

And on the wareless insect preys.

THE lated boy, with watchful eyes,

On tiptoe, through these alleys steals; The sere leaves rustle-wild he flies

The viewless follower flutters at his heels.

LUGUBRIOUS gloom these haunted shades
Delights with dreary veil to shroud,
And ravage wasteful, rude, prevades
The secret dwellings of the proud.

THE gusty winds, in lonesome groans,
Howl, dismal, through the crannied walls,
And, direly, spright-begetting moans
Glide on the hollow murmuring squalls.

HERE, wrecks of pompous blazon fled,
A sad memento, meet the eye,
While tinsell'd tatters, shred by shred,
Around, in frittery fragments fly.

THE trembling tears of airless damps
Begem the home of princely ease;
Waste, here, the hand of ruin stamps,
And cobwebs waver in the panting breeze.

AND o'er the once gay garnish'd walls,
Where sculpture shew'd its art refined,
The loathsome snail, in safety crawls,
And leaves a slimy trace behind.

AROUND, the spoils of marble lie,

Where gray dust carpets every floor; The hands of childhood, sporting nigh, With giddy joy the glossy playthings store.

AND where was wont the social train,
Within these dark embattled walls,

To raise the bacchanalian strain

Till loudly rung the festive halls,