And throned immortal by his side A woman sits with eye sublime- But if their solemn love were crime, He perished, but his wreath was won; GEORGE CROLY. A THOUSAND YEARS AGO; OR, THE IN days when Alfred ruled the land, The Ivy was a gardener's lad, And loved a lady well; And the Bell that hangs in the turret high Was the lady pure as snow, The only daughter of an earl, A thousand years ago. That lady fair, so bright and rare, Had suitors many a one, "O Ivy, ever true!" And the Ivy clomb an inch a day, As never did Ivy grow, And reached the Bell and covered it o'er, A mortal hand ne'er rang the Bell, But up in its turret high It pealed sweet tunes like Norland runes Both knights and earls, and knaves and You may hear it ring as oft it THE VISIONARY PORTRAIT. AS by his lonely hearth he sate, The shadow of a welcome dream His home did seem; Therefore he thought of one who might For ever in his presence stay, "Let her be young, yet not a child Too rainbow-like such mirth appears, "Let youth's fresh rose still gently bloom But soft and meek Tell that some sorrow she hath known, Though not a sorrow of her own. "And let her eyes be of the gray The soft gray of the brooding dove, Full of the sweet and tender ray Of modest love; For fonder shows that dreamy hue Than lustrous black or heavenly blue. "Let her be full of quiet grace, No sparkling wit with sudden glow Brightening her purely chiselled face And placid brow Not radiant to the stranger's eye, That, to sad thoughts and torturing fear a Of the high feelings Nature gave, prey, Which only gifted spirits know. One bright-eyed boy was there-Murillo's He touched the brow, the lip; it seemed little slave. Almost a child, that boy had seen Not thrice five summers yet, But genius marked the lofty brow O'er which his locks of jet Profusely curled; his cheek's dark hue His pencil had some magic power: The eye with deeper feeling beamed. Sebastian then forgot the hour, Forgot his master and the threat Of punishment still hanging o'er him; For with each touch new beauties met And mingled in the face before him. At length 'twas finished; rapturously Ask for your "Courage!" his master said, and each Essayed, in kind, half-whispered speech, To soothe his overpow'ring dread. He scarcely heard till some one said, “Sebastian, ask—you have your choicefreedom." At the word The suppliant strove to raise his voice; At first but stifled sobs were heard, And then his prayer, breathed fervently: "Oh, master, make my father free.' "Him and thyself, my noble boy!" Warmly the painter cried; Raising Sebastian from his feet, He pressed him to his side. Thy talents rare and filial love Still be thou mine by other bonds- my |