The salique law reversing;
But while the imaginary queen
Prepares to act this novel scene,
Her royal part rehearsing,
O'erturning her presumptuous plan,
Up climbs the old usurper—man,
And she jogs after as she can.
There's George Fisher, Charles Fleming, and Reginald Shore,
Three rosy-cheeked schoolboys, the highest not more
Than the height of a counsellor's bag ;
To the top of Great Haw did it please them to climb;
And there they built up, without mortar or lime,
A Man on the peak of the crag.
They built him of stones gathered up as they lay;
They built him and christened him all in one day,
An urchin both vigorous and hale;
And so without scruple they called him Ralph Jones.
Now Ralph is renowned for the length of his bones;
The Magog of Legberthwaite dale.
Just half a week after, the wind sallied forth,
And, in anger or merriment, out of the north,
Coming on with a terrible pother,
From the peak of the crag blew the giant away.
And what did the schoolboys?—The very next day
They went and they built up another.
Some little I've seen of blind boisterous works
By Christian disturbers more savage than Turks,
Spirits busy to do and undo;
At remembrance whereof my blood sometimes will flag-
Then, light-hearted Boys, to the top of the crag;
And I'll build up a giant with you.
In the hollow tree in the grey old tower,
The spectral owl doth dwell;
Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine hour,
But at dusk,-he's abroad and well:
Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him;
All mock him out right by day;
But at night, when the woods grow still and dim
The boldest will shrink away;
O when the night falls, and roosts the fowl,
Then, then is the reign of the horned owl!
And the owl hath a bride who is fond and bold,
And loveth the wood's deep gloom;
And with eyes like the shine of the moonshine cold,
She awaiteth her ghastly groom!
Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings,
As she waits in her tree so still;
But when her heart heareth his flapping wings,
She hoots out her welcome shrill !
O, when the moon shines, and the dogs do howl,
Then, then is the cry of the horned owl!
Mourn not for the owl nor his gloomy plight!
The owl hath his share of good:
If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight,
He is lord in the dark green wood!
Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate;
They are each unto each a bride —
Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate
Hath rent them from all beside!
So when the night falls, and dogs do howl,
Sing Ho! for the reign of the horned owl!
We know not alway who are kings by day
But the king of the night is the bold brown owl!
BARRY CORNWALL.
Oft had I heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,-
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play;
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
"To-night will be a stormy night-
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."
That, Father! I will gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon-
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!"
At this the father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band;
He plied his work ;—and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb;
But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.
They wept and, turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet !
-When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.
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