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160 SHAKSPEARE ODE.
O thou! to whose creative power We dedicate the festal hour, While Grace and Goodness round the altar stand, Learning's anointed train, and Beauty's rose-lipped
band— Realms yet unborn, in accents now unknown, Thy song shall learn, and bless it for their own. Deep in the West, as Independence roves, His banners planting round the land he loves, Where nature sleeps in Eden's infant grace, In time's full hour shall spring a glorious race : — Thy name, thy verse, thy language shall they bear, And deck for thee the vaulted temple there. Our Roman-hearted fathers broke Thy parent empire's galling yoke, But thou, harmonious monarch of the mind, Around their sons a gentler chain shall bind ;— Still o'er our land shall Albion's sceptre wave, And what her mighty Lion lost her mightier Swan shall save.
BY F. O. HAL LEGS.
Home of the Percy's highborn race,
Home of their beautiful and brave, Alike their birth and burial place,
Their cradle, and their grave! Still sternly o'er the castle gate Their house's Lion stands in state,
As in his proud departed hours; And warriors frown in stone on high, And feudal banners "flout the sky"
Above his princely towers.
A gentle hill its side inclines,
Lovely in England's fadeless green,
Through this romantic scene
While summer's wind blew soft and low,
A thousand years ago.
Gaze on the Abbey's ruined pile:
Her watch around it seem to smile,
ALNWICK CASTLE. J fi3
One solitary turret gray-
The legend of the Cheviot day,
That day its roof was triumph's arch;
The light step of the soldier's march,
And babe, and sire, the old, the young,
And the monk's hymn, and minstrel's song,
And woman's pure kiss, sweet and long,
Wild roses by the Abbey towers
Are gay in their young bud and bloom:
A Templar's knightly tomb.
Where the Cross was damped with his dying breath;
Was thick with the darts of death.
Wise with the lore of centuries,
164 ALNWICK CASTLE.
Of beings born and buried here;
The welcome and farewell,
The Norman's curfew-bell.
I wandered through the lofty halls
And traced upon the chapel walls
From him who once his standard set
Where now, o'er mosque and minaret,
To him who, when a younger son,
Fought for King George at Lexington,
A Major of Dragoons.
That last half stanza—it has dashed
From my warm lip the sparkling cup;
The power that bore my spirit up