"See'st thou, king! yon aged tree; Blighted now, alas! like me? Once it bloom'd in strength and pride, And my cottage stood beside. ""Till, on Hastings' fatal field, England's baleful doom was seal'd; 'Till the Saxon stoop'd to own Norman Lord on English throne. "Where the forest holds domain, Then were fields of golden grain, Hamlets then and churches stood Where we see the wide waste wood. "But the Norman king must here Have his wood to hunt his deer, What were we-he waved his hand, And we vanish'd from the land. "Fiercely burn'd my rising ire "Then on William's head abhorr'd Then my deepest curse I pour'd— Turning to this aged oak Thus in madness wild I spoke. "Powers of hell, or earth, or air, "Powers of hell, or earth, or air, "Shun, O king! thy certain lot- "Yes, my curse has work'd too well! 66 Monarch! to my words give heed, Backward, backward turn thy steed! Danger, death, beset thee round,— Chase not on the fated ground! "Away," fierce William cried, " ill-boding seer! Think'st thou to strike thy sovereign's heart with fear? Think'st thou with idle threats to bar my way? -I scorn thy warning-On my gallant grey !" He plunged his spurs deep in his courser's side, When from the blighted oak, as he advanced, Right to the monarch's heart an arrow glanced : The blood gush'd forth in streams,-he FELL!—he GROAN'D!-he DIED ! T. W. A Winter Morning. Ir was upon a winter's morn, When snow flakes on the wind were borne, I mark'd, as where in warmth I stood, Cold and shiv'ring sit alone. The snow fell thick and fast, yet he Did never speak, but piteously Bent his little tearful eye ;- He asked not aid he looked for one Nor e'er again was that sweet boy At length his fears his silence broke, "Oh! mother, come to me-for I "Come, mother, come, nor tarry longer, For oh! this weakness grows still stronger; Come, mother! take me to my home- He said no more, his little breast Heaved at once, then sunk to rest; Now calm, and colder than the stone But soon that wretched mother came, With her eyes in tears and her heart in flame : And-Heavens !-how she stood in mute surprise When first the vision met her eyes: When first his little face she knew So chang'd from the last and lovely hue But who shall tell the pangs she felt And clasp'd him round her in deep distress, The tear at once forsook her eye And she raised a harsh and horrid cry, That seem'd on its rushing wing to bear The last of her knowledge, her grief and her care. Oh! ne'er will she taste sweet rest againFor madness reigns in her troubled brain; For her boy she calls thro' day and thro' night, In coldness-in darkness-in pale moonlight |