directs he To the Holy Grave. In triumphant march advancing, Onward moves the host, While their morion plumes are dancing Where the foes are most. Mortal terror strikes the Paynim At the chieftain's name; But the knight's sad thoughts enchain him—      Grief consumes his frame. Twelve long months, with courage daring, Peace he strives to find; Then, at last, of rest despairing, Leaves the host behind; Sees a ship, whose sails are swelling, Lie on Joppa's strand; Ships him homeward for her dwelling, In his own loved land. Now behold the pilgrim weary At her castle gate! But alas! these accents dreary Seal his mournful fate:—    "She thou seek'st her troth hath plighted To all-gracious heaven; To her God she was united Yesterday at even!"     To his father's home forever Bids he now adieu; Sees no more his arms and beaver, Nor his steed so true. Then descends he, sadly, slowly,—      None suspect the sight,—    For a garb of penance lowly Wears the noble knight. Soon he now, the tempest braving, Builds an humble shed, Where o'er the lime-trees darkly waving, Peeps the convent's head. From the orb of day's first gleaming, Till his race has run, Hope in every feature beaming, There he sits alone. Toward the convent straining ever      His unwearied eyes,—    From her casement looking never Till it open flies, Till the loved one, soft advancing, Shows her gentle face, O'er the vale her sweet eye glancing, Full of angel-grace. Then he seeks his bed of rushes, Stilled all grief and pain, Slumbering calm, till morning's blushes Waken life again. Days and years fleet on, yet never Breathes he plaint or sighs, On her casement gazing ever Till it open flies. Till the loved one, soft advancing, Shows her gentle face, O'er the vale her sweet eyes glancing, Full of angel-grace. But at length, the morn returning Finds him dead and chill;—    Pale and wan, his gaze, with yearning, Seeks her casement still. 

        THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. Why run the crowd? What means the throng That rushes fast the streets along? Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be? In crowds they gather hastily, And, on his steed, a noble knight Amid the rabble, meets my sight; Behind him—prodigy unknown!—    A monster fierce they're drawing on; A dragon stems it by its shape, With wide and crocodile-like jaw, And on the knight and dragon gape, In turns, the people, filled with awe. And thousand voices shout with glee    "The fiery dragon come and see, Who hind and flock 

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