BALLAD.

Far 'neath the dim mountains
The daylight dies—
And Heaven is opening
Her starry eyes;
The Moon o'er the tree-tops
Looks down on the stream,
Where the castle's broad shadow
Sleeps—dark as a dream.
From the Oriel-lattice
A bright Lady gazed—
Her eyes—sad—though tearless,
To heaven upraised.
Her brow was all paleness—
Yet beauty dwelt there—
A picture of sorrow
With raven dark hair.
She marked not the softness
Of dim vale and stream—
The mist on the mountain—
The lake's distant gleam—
She saw not the mimic
Dew-star in the grass,
Nor the pale damp that hung o'er
The haunted morass.
She heard not the owlet's
Sad song from the wood—
Nor the rush of his wings as
He sailed o'er the flood—
Nor rapid hoofs ringing,
And neigh echoed shrill,
As the hurrying horseman
Spurred over the hill.
Oh! her thoughts were far distant
Far—far—in the land,
Where her gallant crusader
Held knightly command.
She prays for his safety,
Who sleeps in his gore
By the crimson-dyed sands of
Far Galilee's shore.
The dark waving cypress
O'ershadows his grave—
A cross tells the pilgrim
Where sleepeth the brave—
And the horseman who knocks at
The castle-gate,
Hath a tale for its Lady,
A seal for her fate.

W. M. R.