Shall oft remind thee, waking-sleeping,
Of those who by the Wharf were weeping,—
Of those who would not be consoled,
When red with blood the river rolled.

THE KNIGHT OF MALTA.

BY MISS A. M. PORTER.

THE moon was bright, the sky serene,
And the waters softly crept;

And trees were thick on the bank so green,
Where the Knight of Malta slept.

Beside him grazed his milk-white steed,
And beside him lay his spear;

While his raven locks, from the helmet freed,

Were wet with many a tear.

His cheek was once like the orange red,

But now like the olive pale;

And his heart, that erst with pity bled,
Now heaves through pitiless mail.

Was never a lord in Alphonso's court,
That danced like him at the ball;
'Mid nobles gay, at each graceful sport,
Don Carlos eclipsed them all.

Was never a minstrel like him could sing,

Or tinkle the sweet guitar;

Was never a knight at tilt or ring,

So brave in the Tourney's war.

Was never a brother like him so blest,
In brother's dear rivalry ;

For the twin he clasped to his faithful breast,
Was gallant and true as he.

O look you now, how a pleasant dream
That brother to life restores ;

How bright is the glow which raptures beam,
O'er the face of Carlos pours.

He dreams they sail in their yacht so gay,
By gentle light of the stars;

Where through bowery banks flows Duero away,

To the sound of their soft guitars.

O days of Youth! O days of Joy!

Will ye ever again return ?

Can the penitent heart or the streaming eye,

Give life to the death-cold urn!

Now sudden he wakes, and with blissful glance,
Looks round for that form so dear;

But vanished the image with fancy's trance,
And all is solitude drear.

The groan that riveth his manly heart,

As comfort and hope remove,

With its dismal sound makes echo start,

And scareth the lone wood-dove.

* Of the happy effect on the mind, of the return of early recollections and associations, the Welch bards, or sages, have left on record a striking aphorism.

"Three things restored will prolong a man's life:-The country where in childhood he was brought up;-The food that in childhood nourished him ;-The train of thought that in childhood amused him.”—ED.

He beats his breast, and he lifts his eyes,
Whence tears like the rain-drops fall;
And loud his wild and sorrowful cries
On Jesu for mercy call.

"Who mourneth here, this smiling night,
When nature and man should sing;
Doth a sinner's voice mine ear affright,
Or grief with its murmuring?

"O, whether by sin or sorrow driven
To scenes of holy peace;

Let them teach thee, my son, the road to Heaven, And thy earthly cares will cease."

The Hermit stood among evergreen boughs,

That curtained a cavern wide,

Whence he called the knight to bless'd repose,
In his saintly solitude.

He led the way, that knight before,
With many a stifled sigh,

Then gently dropped his leafy door,

And shut out the cheerful sky.

But the soft, pale moon, with tender light,
Streamed through the branching space,
And glimmering faint on the cavern's night,
Diffused a soothing grace.

The Hermit's couch was a heap of moss,
From neighbouring mountains torn;
And the rocky step of his wooden Cross,
With kneeling, and tears, was worn.

O, soothing it is to the sad, sad heart,
Some mournful tokens to see,

When its load of grief it would fain impart—
When it longeth for sympathy!

Don Carlos' pulse beat calmly now,

As he saw the hermit's throb;

And the death-damps left his tortured brow, When he heard the hermit sob.

The good man knelt, and inly prayed,
And long at a distance kept;

And low at the foot of the Crucifix laid,
With smothered anguish wept.

He covered his face with his dark-gray hood,
Like one who repenteth sore;

And still, as he kissed the holy Rood,
He wept and he groaned the more.

“Oh! I have suffered!" at length he cried,
As back to the knight he came :
"For soul in grief, what fitter guide
Than he that hath felt the same?

"Then confess thy sin, or tell thy grief,
And if Christian love may save,
Ah! look at least for that faint relief,
Which shriving penitents have.”

"O father, father! deep is my guilt,
But deeper, sure, are my pains;
For innocent blood, in fury spilt,

What pardon,—what hope remains ?

“Yet time there was, when of bird or deer I shuddered to end the breath;

And ever beheld, with womanish tear,
E'en childhood's easy death.

"And time there was, when glory in vain
Called, on his murderous throne;

The wreath that grows on a hill of slain,
My brows abhorred to own.

THE KNIGHT OF MALTA.

“ But see me here, to holy St. John *
Self-vowed his knight to be,

And sworn fair woman's love to shun,
In stainless chastity.

"And see me here, self-doomed to aid
(O penance sad and right!)

With this guilty arm, and this fatal blade,
Each suffering lady, or knight.”

Don Carlos paused, and with ghastly look

Regarded his guilty brand;

His brow grew damp, and his cold limbs shook,
And the weapon left his hand.—

* The original and proper title of the Knights of Malta, was, "SANCTI IOANNIS HIEROSOLYMITANI," of Saint John of Jerusalem. They were also called "Hospitallers" and "Johannites." The Crusaders gave them

several towns, the principal of which was Acre. In the year 1191, they removed to Cyprus; and in 1308, to Rhodes, which they held for upwards of two hundred years; but, after a most gallant defence, being obliged by the Turks to relinquish it, the Emperor Charles V. gave them the island of Malta, which they maintained for three hundred years against all attacks, and fortified, so as to render it impregnable. In this situation, they were considered as the principal bulwark of Christendom against the Infidels.

They wore a black robe, and a Cross Patonce, of gold enamelled with white, on the left shoulder. This order partook of the defects of the period in which it originally flourished; but was yet, in many respects, one of the most noble and unexceptionable of the chivalrous institutions. Its energies were, collectively, of great service to Europe; and every individual member was obliged to fulfil his vow of Knighthood, according to the custom of the age, by redressing all wrongs within the sphere of his private influence. They also distributed large sums in charity. The number of Knights was never less than one thousand; of whom, five hundred were supposed to be resident on the Island. Each Knight, before admission, was obliged to prove nobility of descent, on both father's and mother's side, for four generations. This rendered it one of the highest orders in Europe; the Grand Master ranking with Sovereign princes, and the Grand Prior in England sitting as an Earl in the House of Peers, before the Reformation. The last Lord Prior in England, and also the last surviving Knight of the English Commandery, was Sir Thomas Docwra, of Lilley, Herts., who, in the year 1508, erected, at his own charge, one of the City Gates of London, viz. St. John's, Clerkenwell, on which his name and arms were lately to be seen.—ED.