Her maidens came, and strove to cheer,
But in vain was all their care;
The townsfolk wept to see that lady
O'erwhelmed with despair.

They rais'd her from the danky ground,
And sprinkled water fair:

But the coldest water from the spring
Was not so cold as her.

And now came horsemen from the town,
That the Prince had sent with speed,
With tidings to Alice that he did live,
To ease her of her dread.-

For, when the hapless Prince did fall,
The arrow did not him slay;
But his followers did bravely rescue him,
And convey'd him safe away:

Bravely they rescu'd that noble Prince,
And to fair Carlisle him bore;
And there that brave young Prince did live,
Though wounded sad and sore.——

Fair Alice the wondrous tidings heard,
And thrice, for joy, she sigh'd!
That hapless fair, when she heard the news,
She rose-she smil'd-and died.

The tears that her fair maidens shed,
Ran free from their bright eyes:
The echoing wind, that then did blow,
Was burden'd with their sighs.

The page he saw the lovely Alice
In a deep grave let down;

And at her head a green turf laid,
And at her feet a stone!

Then, with many a tear and many a sigh,
Hath he hied him on his way;

And he hath come to Carlisle town,
All clad in black array.

And now he hath come to the Prince's hall,

And lowly bent his knee. "And how is the lady Alice, so fair? My page, come and tell to me."

"Oh! the lady Alice, so lovely fair,
Alas! is dead and gone;

And at her head is a green grass turf,
And at her heels a stone.

"The lady Alice is dead and gone,

And the worms feed by her side; And all for love of thee, O Prince! That beauteous lady died.

"And where she's laid the green turf grows, And a cold grave-stone is there;

But the dew-clad turf, nor the cold cold stone, Is not so cold as her."

Oh! then Prince Henry sad did sigh,
His heart all full of wo:

That hapless Prince he beat his breast,
And his tears began to flow.

"And art thou gone, my sweet Alice! And art thou gone?" he cried :

"Ah! would to Heaven that I with thee, My faithful love, had died.

"And have I lost thee, my sweet Alice?
And art thou dead and gone?

And at thy dear head a green grass turf,
And at thy feet a stone!

"The turf that's o'er thy grave, dear Alice!
Shall with my tears be wet:

And the stone at thy feet shall melt, love!
E'er I will thee forget."

And when the news came to merry England,
Of the battle in the North;

Oh, then King Stephen and his nobles
So merrily marched forth :

And they have had justs and tournaments,
And have feasted o'er and o'er,
And merrily merrily have they rejoic'd
For the victory of Cuton Moor.

But many a sigh adds to the wind,
And many a tear to the shower,
And many a bleeding heart hath broke,
For the battle of Cuton Moor!

And many's the widow all forlorn,
And helpless orphan poor,
And many's the maiden, that shall rue
The victory of Cuton Moor.

The lady Alice is laid full low,

And her maidens' tears do pour; And many's the wretch with them shall weep, For the victory of Cuton Moor.

The holy priest doth weep, as he sings

His masses o'er and o'er;

And all for the souls of them that were slain At the battle of Cuton Moor!

DURANDARTE AND BELERMA.

M. G. LEWIS.

SAD and fearful is the story
Of the Roncevalles fight;
On those fatal plains of glory
Perish'd many a gallant knight.

There fell Durandarte; never
Verse a nobler chieftain nam'd;
He, before his lips for ever

Clos'd in silence, thus exclaim'd :

"Oh, Belerma! oh, my dear one!

For my pain and pleasure born! Seven long years I serv'd thee, fair one; Seven long years my fee was scorn.

"And when now thy heart, replying To my wishes, burns like mine, Cruel fate, my bliss denying,

Bids me every hope resign.

"Ah! though young I fall, believe me,
Death would never claim a sigh;
'Tis to lose thee, 'tis to leave thee,
Makes me think it hard to die.

"O my cousin, Montesinos!

By that friendship firm and dear,

Which from youth has liv'd between us, Now my last petition hear :

"When my soul, these limbs forsaking, Eager seeks a purer air,

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From my breast the cold heart taking,
Give it to Belerma's care.

Say, I of my lands possessor

Nam'd her with my dying breath;
Say, my lips I op'd to bless her,
Ere they clos'd for aye in death!

"Twice a-week, too, how sincerely
I ador'd her, cousin, say :-
Twice a-week, for one who dearly
Lov'd her, cousin, bid her pray.

"Montesinos, now the hour

Mark'd by fate is near at hand: Lo! my arm has lost its power; Lo! I drop my trusty brand!

"Eyes, which forth beheld me going,
Homewards ne'er shall see me hie :-
Cousin, stop these tears o'erflowing,
Let me on thy bosom die.

"Thy kind hands my eye-lids closing,
Yet one favour I implore;
Pray thou for my soul's reposing,
When my heart shall throb no more.

"So shall Jesus, still attending

Gracious to a Christian's vow, Pleas'd accept my ghost ascending, And a seat in beaven allow."