Long and long was he unheard of:
To his brother then he came,
Made confession, asked forgiveness,
Asked it by a brother's name,
And by all the saints in heaven;
And of Eustace was forgiven:
Then in a convent went to hide
His melancholy head, and there he died.
But Sir Eustace, whom good angels
Had preserved from murderers' hands,
And from pagan chains had rescued,
Lived with honour on his lands.
Sons he had, saw sons of theirs:
And through ages, heirs of heirs,
A long posterity renowned
Sounded the horn which they alone could sound.
THE MIRACLE OF THE ROSES.
BY ROBERT SOUTHEY.
There dwelt in Bethlehem a Jewish maid,
And Zillah was her name, so passing fair
That all Judea spake the virgin's praise.
He who had seen her eyes' dark radiance,
How it revealed her soul, and what a soul
Beamed in the mild effulgence, woe to him!
For not in solitude, for not in crowds,
Might he escape remembrance, nor avoid
Her imaged form, which followed everywhere,
And filled the heart, and fixed the absent eye.
Alas for him! her bosom owned no love
Save the strong ardour of religious zeal;
For Zillah upon heaven had centred all
Her spirit's deep affections.
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