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“ See'st thou, king! yon aged tree;
Blighted now, alas ! like me ?
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.
Fiereely burn'd my rising ire
6. Then on William's head abhorr'd
Then my deepest curse I pour'd-
Thus in madness wild I spoke.
“ Powers of hell, or eartb, or air,
Grant an injured Saxon's prayer-
“ Powers of hell, or earth, or air,
Give a sign ye grant my prayer ;
Shun, O king! thy certain lot
“ Yes, my curse has work'd too well !
Sorrow seized me when they fell,
Monarch! to my words give heed,
“ Away,” fierce William cried, “ ill-boding seer ! Think'st thou to strike thy sovereign's heart with He plunged his spurs deep in his courser's side,
fear? Think'st thou with idle threats to bar my way -I scorn thy warning-On my gallant grey !”
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 !
A Winter Morning.
It was upon a winter's morn,
The snow fell thick and fast, yet he
He asked not aid he looked for one
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-
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 It wore that morn when she left him alone In tempest and storm on a damp cold stone.
But who shall tell the pangs she felt As madly in the snow she knelt, And clasp'd him round her in deep distress, In all his chilling iciness ? The tear at once forsook her eyeAnd 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 again For madness reigns in her troubled brain; For her boy she calls thro' day and thro' night, In coldness-in darkness-in pale moonlight