In days of yore (as now we call) When the First James was king, 20 The courtly knight from yonder Hall His train did hither bring, All seated round in order due, With broidered suit and buckled shoe. On damask cushions decked with fringe, 25 All reverently they knelt; Prayer-books, with brazen hasp and hinge, In ancient English spelt, Each holding in a lily hand, Responsive to the priest’s command. 30 Now, streaming down the vaulted aisle, The sunbeam, long and lone, Illumes the characters awhile Of their inscription-stone: And there, in marble hard and cold, 35 The knight with all his train behold. Outstretched together are exprest He and my lady fair, With hands uplifted on the breast, In attitude of prayer: 40 Long-visaged, clad in armour, he-- With ruffled arm and bodice she. Set forth in order as they died, Their numerous offspring bend, Devoutly kneeling side by side, 45 As if they did intend For past omissions to atone By saying endless prayers in stone. Those mellow days are past and dim, But generations new 50 In regular descent from him Have filled the stately pew, And in the same succession go To occupy the vaults below. And now the polished modern Squire 55 And his gay train appear, Who duly to the Hall retire A season every year, And fill the seats with belle and beau, As ’twas so many years ago; 60 Perchance, all thoughtless, as they tread The hollow-sounding floor, Of that dark house of kindred dead, Which shall, as heretofore, In turn receive to silent rest 65 Another and another guest: The feathered hearse and sable train, In all their wonted state, Shall wind along the village lane, And stand before the gate, 70 Brought many a distant county through, To join the final rendezvous. And when the race is swept away, All to their dusty beds, Still shall the mellow evening ray 75 Shine gaily o’er their heads; While other faces, fresh and new, Shall fill the Squire’s deserted pew. _Jane Taylor._ CLXXV _A DREAM._ Once a dream did weave a shade O’er my angel-guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, ’wildered, and forlorn, 5 Dark, benighted, travel-worn, Over many a tangled spray, All heart-broke, I heard her say: