While thy step passes o'er the necks of Kings
And over common things,-

And into Earth's green orchards making way,

Halts, where the fruits of human hope abound, And shakes their trembling ripeness to the ground.

But hark-a sudden shout

Of laughter! and a nimble giddy rout,

Who know not yet what saddened hours may mean,

Come dancing through the scene!

Ruins! Ruins! let us roam

Through what was a human home.

What care we

How deep its depths of darkness be?

Follow!

Follow !

Down the hollow

Through the bramble-fencing thorns.

Where the white snail hides her horns;

Leap across the dreadful gap

To that corner's mossy lap,-
Do, and dare!

Clamber up the crumbling stair;

Trip along the narrow wall,

Where the sudden rattling fall

Of loosened stones, on winter nights,
In his dreams the peasant frights:
And push them, till their rolling sound,
Dull and heavy, beat the ground.

Now a song, high up and clear,
Like a lark's enchants the ear;
Or some happy face looks down,
Looking, oh! so fresh and fair,
Wearing youth's most glorious crown,

One rich braid of golden hair:

Or two hearts that wildly beat,

And two pair of eager feet,
Linger in the turret's bend
As they side by side ascend,
For the momentary bliss

Of a lover's stolen kiss ;

And emerge into the shining

Of that summer day's declining,

Disengaging clasping hands

As they meet their comrade bands;

With the smile that lately hovered,

(Making lips and eyes so bright,)

And the blush which darkness covered

Mantling still in rosy light!

Ruins! Oh! ye have your charm;

Death is cold, but life is warm; And the fervent days we knew Ere our hopes grew faint and few, Claim even now a happy sigh, Thinking of those hours gone by: Of the wooing long since passed,Of the love that still shall last,Of the wooing and the winning; Brightest end to bright beginning; When the feet we sought to guide Tripped so lightly by our side, That, as swift they made their way Through the path and tangled brake, Safely we could swear and say We loved all ruins for their sake!

Gentle hearts, one ruin more

From amongst so many score—

One, from out a host of names,
To your notice puts forth claims.
Come! with me make holiday,
In the woods of La Garaye,

Sit within those tangled bowers,
Where fleet by the silent hours,

Only broken by a song

From the chirping woodland throng.

Listen to the tale I tell:

Grave the story is—not sad;

And the peasant plodding by

Greets the place with kindly eye

For the inmates that it had!

Tarns into beryl-brown the forest pool,

Sends diamond sparkles over gushing springs,
And showers down glory on the simplest things.
And many a young seigneur and damsel bold
See with delight those beams of reddening gold,
For they are bid to join the hunt to-day
By Claud Marot, the lord of La Garaye;
And merry is it in his spacious halls;