eturn, from the battlement.--

Another moon doth swell and wane:--
But how slowly it waneth!
How her heart now paineth
For sight of the Palmer again!

But the Palmer comes, and her healed heart
Derideth pain and sorrow:
She pledgeth the Palmer, and smirketh smart,
And saith, "we'll wed to-morrow!"--

The morrow is come, and at break of day,
'Fore the altar, the abbot, in holy array,
Is joining the Palmer's and Gertrude's hands,--
But, in sudden amazement the holy man stands!

For, before the castle, a trumpet's blast
Rings so loud that the Palmer starts aghast;
And, at Gertrude's side, he sinks dismayed,--
Is't with dread of the living, or fear of the dead?

The doors of the chapel were open thrown,
And the beams through the pictured windows shone
On the face of De Clifford, with fury flushed,--
And forth on the Palmer he wildly rushed!--

"False Hubert!" he cried; and his knightly sword
Was sheathed in the heart of the fiend-sold lord!--
With a scream of terror, Gertrude fell--
For she knew the pride of Sir Raymond well!

He flew to raise her--but 'twas in vain:
Her spirit its flight in fear had ta'en!--
And Sir Raymond kneels that his soul be shriven,
And the stain of this deed be by grace forgiven:--

But ere the Abbot his grace can dole,
De Clifford's truthful heart is breaking,--
And his soul, also, its flight is taking!--
Christ, speed it to a heavenly goal!--
Oh, pray for the peace of Sir Raymond's soul!

THE
BARON'S YULE FEAST.

A
Christmas Rhyme.

CANTO IV.

What power can stay the burst of song
When throats with ale are mellow?
What wight with nieve so stout and strong
Dares lift it, jolly freres among,
And cry, "Knaves, cease to bellow?"

"'Twas doleful drear,"--the gossips vowed,--
To hear the minstrel's piteous tale!
But, when the swineherd tuned his crowd,[14]
And the gosherd began to grumble loud,
The gossips smiled, and sipped their ale!

"A boon, bold Thorold!" boldly cried
The gosherd from Croyland fen;
"I crave to sing of the fen so wide,
And of geese and goosish men!"

Loud loffe they all; and the baron, with glee,
Cried "begin, good Swithin! for men may see
Thou look'st so like a knowing fowl,
Of geese thou art skilled right well to troll!"

Stout Swithin sware the baron spake well,--
And his halting ditty began to tell