It is thus that afflicted survivors, in talking and meditating on those who are gone before them to the unseen world, derive an enjoyment from musing on the past, and from anticipating in the future what the present is not able to afford. CONSTANTIA TO ISABEL. And dost thou mourn the sad estate Of widow'd love? then silent be; And hark! while for my murder'd mate I wake the lute's soft melody. How dear to me the midnight moon, As through the clouds she sails along, For then with spirits I commune, And Eustace listens to my song. Oh, not to her who wildly mourns Her noble lover basely slain-- Oh, not to her the morn returns With pleasure laughing in her train. So look'd it once, when Eustace sung Of plighted love's perennial joys, Now silent is that tuneful tongue, That graceful form the worm destroys. In vain the feather'd warblers soar, Mid floods of many colour'd light; I hear them not, but still deplore The eye of Beauty quench'd in night. How in the battle flam'd his crest, Refulgent as the morning star: But ruthless murder pierc'd that breast, Which met unhurt the storm of war. My Love, "how beautiful, how brave;" Still, still, her oaths thy Constance keeps; The laurel decks the victor's grave, O'er thine the faithful willow weeps. The disturbed state of England at this time permitted no long indulgence of domestic sorrow. "Griefs of an hour's age did hiss the speaker," and pity and sympathy often claimed the falling tear, which had been wrung forth by "own distress." Ribblesdale was again disturbed by the march of hostile troops. The young King had yielded to the solicitations of his Scottish subjects, and transported himself to that country. Less scrupulous than his father, he swore to observe the conditions of their covenant; and in return, they promised to give him their crown, and assist him to recover the English diadem. No sooner was the Royal standard displayed on the hills of Caledonia, than the welcome signal revived the hopes and unsheathed the swords of the southern Loyalists. The brave Earl of Derby left his retreat in the isle of Man, to spend the remains of his noble fortune in his Master's cause; and, as the event proved, to sacrifice his life. He returned eagerly to Lancashire, and collecting what forces the fallen interests of his family could supply, waited the commands of his Sovereign.