But vainly, vainly, the thunder fell, For the soul of the Sleeper was under a spell That time had lately embitter’d-- The Count, as once at her foot he knelt-- That foot, which now he wanted to melt! But--hush!--’twas a stir at her pillow she felt-- And some object before her glitter’d. ’Twas the Golden Leg!--she knew its gleam! And up she started and tried to scream,-- But ev’n in the moment she started-- Down came the limb with a frightful smash, And lost, in the universal flash That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash, The Spark, call’d Vital, departed! * * * * * Gold, still gold! hard, hard yellow, and cold, For gold she had lived, and she died for gold-- By a golden weapon--not oaken; In the morning they found her all alone-- Stiff, and bloody, and cold as stone-- But her Leg, the Golden Leg, was gone, And the “Golden Bowl was broken!” Gold--still gold! it haunted her yet-- At the Golden Lion the Inquest met-- Its foreman a carver and gilder-- And the Jury debated from twelve till three What the Verdict ought to be, And they brought it in as Felo de Se, “Because her own Leg had kill’d her!” HER MORAL. Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Molten, graven, hammer’d and roll’d; Heavy to get, and light to hold; Hoarded, barter’d, bought, and sold, Stolen, borrow’d, squander’d, doled: Spurn’d by the young, but hugg’d by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould; Price of many a crime untold; Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Good or bad a thousand-fold! How widely its agencies vary-- To save--to ruin--to curse--to bless-- As even its minted coins express, Now stamp’d by the image of Good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary. JOHN TROT. A BALLAD. I. John Trot he was as tall a lad As York did ever rear-- As his dear Granny used to say, He’d make a grenadier. II. A serjeant soon came down to York, With ribbons and a frill; My lads, said he, let broadcast be, And come away to drill. [Illustration: HIGH AND LOW BORN.] [Illustration: THE WIDOW’S MITE.] III. But when he wanted John to ‘list, In war he saw no fun, Where what is call’d a raw recruit, Gets often over-done. IV. Let others carry guns, said he, And go to war’s alarms, But I have got a shoulder-knot Impos’d upon my arms. V. For John he had a footman’s place To wait on Lady Wye-- She was a dumpy woman, tho’ Her family was high. VI. Now when two years had past away, Her Lord took very ill, And left her to her widowhood, Of course more dumpy still. VII. Said John, I am a proper man, And very tall to see; Who knows, but now her Lord is low, She may look up to me? VIII.