But look beneath the shadow of the oak, I hope a noble soldier like his father. SARAH. Aye, and a prince as once his father was, And in God's time a king as he is now. MARIA. I hope my God will hear my nightly voice, And let me sleep in dust before that day-- SARAH. You'll send us all a weeping to our beds him. His counsel and his prudence are my hope I cannot trust them-Yon old crafty Zagal, I doubt he'll pause before he sheds much blood SARAH. If you suspect him, speak it to the king. long. SARAH. He hath rode something further than be thought for In reconnoissance-he will soon be here; De Castro, Zagal, and the other lords Are but assembling in the hall as yet. MARIA. Sleepy, my boy? Well, Sarah, carry him Up to his chamber: when the king returns We both will come together-soon I hope. SARAH. Come, darling, you have watched too long already. [Exit with the boy. MARIA. And now 'tis dark all over-hot and dark The heavens must be relieved from this oppression- The spirit of one must be unclad—a king And yet she couched her curls there ;-my sweet boy [Scene closes. JESSY OF KIBE'S FARM. By Miss M. R. Mitford. ABOUT the centre of a deep winding and woody lane, in the secluded village of Aberleigh, stands an old farm-house, whose stables, out-buildings, and ample yard, have a peculiarly forlorn and deserted appearance; they can, in fact, scarcely be said to be occupied, the person who rents the land preferring to live at a large farm about a mile distant, leaving this lonely house to the care of a labourer and his wife, who reside in one end, and have the charge of a few colts and heifers that run in the orchard and an adjoining meadow, whilst the vacant rooms are tenanted by a widow in humble circumstances and her young family. The house is beautifully situated; deep, as I have said, in a narrow woody lane, which winds between high banks, now feathered with hazel, now thickly studded with pollards and forest trees, until opposite Kibe's farm it widens sufficiently to admit a large clear pond, round which the hedge, closely and regularly set with a row of tall elms, sweeps in a graceful curve, forming for that bright mirror, a rich leafy F frame. A little way farther on the lane again widens, and makes an abrupter winding, as it is crossed by a broad shallow stream, a branch of the Loddon, which comes meandering along from a chain of beautiful meadows; then turns in a narrower channel by the side of the road, and finally spreads itself into a large piece of water, almost a lakelet, amidst the rushes and willows of Hartly Moor. A foot-bridge is flung over the stream, where it crosses the lane, which, with a giant oak growing on the bank, and throwing its broad branches far on the opposite side, forms in every season a pretty rural picture. Kibe's farm is as picturesque as its situation; very old, very irregular, with gable ends, clustered chimneys, casement windows, a large porch, and a sort of square wing jutting out even with the porch, and covered with a luxuriant vine, which has quite the effect, especially when seen by moonlight, of an ivymantled tower. On one side extend the ample but disused farm buildings; on the other the old orchard, whose trees are so wild, so hoary and so huge, as to convey the idea of a fruit forest. Behind the house is an ample kitchen-garden, and before a neat flower court, the exclusive demesne of Mrs. Lucas and her family, to whom indeed the labourer, John Miles, and his good wife Dinah, served in some sort as domestics. Mrs. Lucas had known far better days. Her 3 |