Ah! evil days have fallen upon the land; A storm that brooded long has burst at last; And friends, like forest trees that closely stand With roots and branches interwoven fast, May aid awhile each other in the blast; But as when giant pines at length give way The groves below must share the ruin vast, So men who seemed aloof from Fortune's sway Fall crushed beneath the shock of loftier than they. Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew Misfortune's troubles; and foreboding fears, That rose like distant shadows nearer drew O'ercasting the calm evening of his years; Yet still amidst the gloom fair hope appears, A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space, Till the horizon closes round of clears, Returns our tale the enchanted path to trace Where youth's fond visions rise with fair but fleeting grace. Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood, A lake blue gleaming from deep forest bowers, Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude: Oft by the margin of that quiet flood, And through the groves and hoary ruins round, Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood; Or here, amid tradition's haunted ground, Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned. * * * * * Here Arthur loved to roam--a dreaming boy-- Erewhile romantic reveries to frame, Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy. Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame; But with fair manhood's dawn a softer flame 'Gan mingle with his martial musings high; And trembling wishes--which he feared to name, Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh-- Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie. And there were eyes that from long silken lashes With stolen glance could spy his secret pain-- Sweet hazel eyes, whose dewy light out-flashes Like joyous day-spring after summer rain; And she, the enchantress, loved the youth again With maiden's first affection, fond and true, --Ah! youthful love is like the tranquil main, Heaving 'neath smiling skies its bosom blue-- Beautiful as a spirit--calm, but fearful too! Our limits compel us to break off once more, which is a source of regret, especially when our path is strewn with such gems as these:-- A gentle star lights up their solitude And lends fair hues to all created things; And dreams alone of beings pure and good Hover around their hearts with angel wings-- Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent rapture springs. Here is a beautiful apostrophe--