A rustling of proud banner-folds, a peal of stormy drums,

All these are in thy music met, as when a leader

comes.

Thou hast been o'er solitary seas, and from their wastes brought back

Each noise of waters that awoke in the mystery of thy track

The chime of low soft southern waves on some green palmy shore,

The hollow roll of distant surge, the gather'd billows'

roar.

Thou art come from forests dark and deep, thou mighty rushing Wind!

And thou bearest all their unisons in one full swell combined;

The restless pines, the moaning stream, all hidden things and free,

Of the dim old sounding wilderness, have lent their soul to thee.

Thou art come from cities lighted up for the conqueror passing by,

Thou art wafting from their streets a sound of haughty revelry ;

The rolling of triumphant wheels, the harpings in the hall,

The far-off shout of multitudes, are in thy rise and

fall.

THE VOICE OF THE WIND.

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Thou art come from kingly tombs and shrines, from ancient minsters vast,

Through the dark aisles of a thousand years thy lonely wing hath pass'd;

Thou hast caught the anthem's billowy swell, the stately dirge's tone,

For a chief, with sword, and shield, and helm, to his place of slumber gone.

Thou art come from long-forsaken homes, wherein our young days flew,

Thou hast found sweet voices lingering there, the loved, the kind, the true;

Thou callest back those melodies, though now all changed and fled

Be still, be still, and haunt us not with music from the dead!

Are all these notes in thee, wild wind? these many notes in thee?

Far in our own unfathom'd souls their fount must surely be;

Yes! buried, but unsleeping, there thought watches, memory lies,

From whose deep urn the tones are pour'd through all earth's harmonies.

THE VIGIL OF ARMS.'

A SOUNDING step was heard by night
In a church where the mighty slept,
As a mail-clad youth, till morning's light,
'Midst the tombs his vigil kept.

He walk'd in dreams of power and fame,
He lifted a proud, bright eye,

For the hours were few that withheld his name
From the roll of chivalry.

Down the moonlit aisles he paced alone,

With a free and stately tread;

And the floor gave back a muffled tone
From the couches of the dead:
The silent many that round him lay,
The crown'd and helm'd that were,
The haughty chiefs of the war array-
Each in his sepulchre !

But no dim warning of time or fate

That youth's flush'd hopes could chill;
He moved through the trophies of buried state
With each proud pulse throbbing still.
He heard, as the wind through the chancel sung,
A swell of the trumpet's breath;

He look'd to the banners on high that hung,
And not to the dust beneath.

The candidate for knighthood was under the necessity of keeping watch, the night before his inauguration, in a church, and completely armed. This was called "the Vigil of Arms."

THE VIGIL OF ARMS.

And a royal masque of splendour seem'd
Before him to unfold;

Through the solemn arches on it stream'd,

With many a gleam of gold:

There were crested knight, and gorgeous dame,
Glittering athwart the gloom,

And he follow'd, till his bold step came

To his warrior-father's tomb.

But there the still and shadowy might

Of the monumental stone,

And the holy sleep of the soft lamp's light

That over its quiet shone,

And the image of that sire, who died
In his noonday of renown

These had a power unto which the pride
Of fiery life bow'd down.

And a spirit from his early years

Came back o'er his thoughts to move, Till his eye was fill'd with memory's tears, And his heart with childhood's love!

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And he look'd, with a change in his softening glance
To the armour o'er the grave—

For there they hung, the shield and lance,
And the gauntlet of the brave.

And the sword of many a field was there,
With its cross for the hour of need,

When the knight's bold war-cry hath sunk in prayer,
And the spear is a broken reed!

Hush! did a breeze through the armour sigh? Did the folds of the banner shake? Not so!-from the tomb's dark mystery There seem'd a voice to break!

He had heard that voice bid clarions blow,
He had caught its last blessing's breath-
'Twas the same-but its awful sweetness now
Had an under-tone of death!

And it said "The sword hath conquer'd kings,
And the spear through realms hath pass'd;
But the cross, alone, of all these things,
Might aid me at the last."

THE HEART OF BRUCE IN MELROSE ABBEY.

HEART! that did'st press forward still,'
Where the trumpet's note rang shrill,
Where the knightly swords were crossing,
And the plumes like sea-foam tossing,
Leader of the charging spear,
Fiery heart!-and liest thou here?
May this narrow spot inurn

Aught that so could beat and burn?
Heart! that lovedst the clarion's blast,

Silent is thy place at last;

1 "Now pass thou forward, as thou wert wont, and Douglas will follow thee or die!" With these words Douglas threw from him the heart of Bruce into mid-battle against the Moors of Spain.