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Left for shelter or for show.
Once a convent, old and brown,
Looked, but ah! it looks no more,
In that darksome mill of stone,
Never feeling of unrest
Broke the pleasant dream he dreamed; Only made to be his nest,
All the lovely valley seemed;
True, his songs were not divine;
Were not songs of that high art,
From the alehouse and the inn,
In the castle, cased in steel,
Knights, who fought at Agincourt, Watched and waited, spur on heel;
But the poet sang for sport
In the convent, clad in gray,
Sat the monks in lonely cells,
Gone are all the barons bold,
Gone are all the knights and squires, Gone the abhot stern and cold, And the brotherhood of friars; Not a name Remains to fame, From those mouldering days of old!
But the poet's memory here
Of the landscape makes a part; Like the river, swift and clear,
Flows his song through many a heart;
THE DISCOVEREE OF THE NORTH CAPE.
A LEAF FROM KINO ALFRED'S OROSIUB.
Othere, the old sea-captain,
Who dwelt in Helgoland,
Which he held in his brown right hand.
His figure was tall and stately,
Like a hoy's his eye appeared;
Gleamed in his tawny heard.
Hearty and hale was Othere,
His cheek had the color of oak;