Their lances in the rest Levelled fair and low, Their heads all stooping down Toward the saddle-bow. The Cid was in the midst, His shout was heard afar: "I am Rui Diaz, The champion of Bivar- Amidst the foe they brake; As many more lay slain : You might see them raise their lances, And level them again. BE "Offensive to love and to me; For if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear by the Virgin that none in your stead Shall husband of Imogine be. "If e'er I, by lust or by wealth led aside, Forget my Alonzo the Brave, EFORE his lord he came and mercy God grant that to punish my falsehood and sought, But to his fellows mercy would not show: pride Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side, May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, And bear me away to the grave!" His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay; To Palestine hastened the hero so bold; behold! He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her O God! what a sight met Fair Imogine's eyes! brain, He caught her affections, so light and so What words can express her dismay and vain, And carried her home as his spouse. surprise When a skeleton's head was exposed? And now had the marriage been blest by the All present then uttered a terrified shout, priest, The revelry now was begun; The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast, Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased When the bell at the castle tolled one. Then first with amazement Fair Imogine A stranger was placed by her side; But earnestly gazed on the bride. His vizor was closed and gigantic his height," Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound, All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his While loudly she shrieked in dismay, sight; The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back in affright; The lights in the chamber burned blue. Then sunk with his prey through the wideyawning ground; Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found, Or the spectre that bore her away. Not long lived the baron, and none, since "And is mine one?" said Abou.-" Nay, that time, To inhabit the castle presume; For chronicles tell that by order sublime There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime. And mourns her deplorable doom. not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still, and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." At midnight four times in each year does The angel wrote, and vanished. The next her sprite, When mortals in slumber are bound, Arrayed in her bridal-apparel of white, night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, Appear in the hall with the skeleton knight, And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the And shriek as he whirls her around. JOHN FREDERICK HERRING. ERRING was the son of a native of New York, of Dutch descent, but was born in Surrey, England, in 1795. He was for some years a leading member of the Society of British Artists, at whose exhibitions, as likewise those of the British Institution, he principally appeared before the public. He was entirely self-taught. His desire to depict the English race-horse was kindled by the first sight he had of a race-the St. Leger at Doncaster when he was nineteen years of age. painted the winner of that important race for thirty-three years in succession, and thus obtained a wide connection in the sporting world. Yet, although he continued to paint the St. Leger winners and studies of other celebrated thoroughbreds, he did not feel quite competent to carry out what he had thus begun. He took to driving, and was nearly four years on the road, finishing his career as coachman on the old and celebrated coach the "York He Her Majesty had eight horses painted by him; he was also sent for by august personages in France to paint their favorite horses. More interesting compositions, however, to the lover of art are his richly-colored studies from the farm-yard, with its motley population of horses, cows, pigs and poultry. Many of his choicest productions have been purchased for America, where he is held in as high esteem as Sir Edwin Landseer is in England. Amongst his last works are his "Returning from Epsom," "Derby Day," "The Scene near the Windmill Inn on Clapham Common," "MarketDay," "Horse Fair" on a heath near a town, also a "Horse Fair" in a country village, "The Road," anterior to rails, likewise four pictures of "Spring," "Summer," "Autumn and "Winter." Two of his most celebrated hunting pictures are "The Long Drop" and "The Last Leap." He died in 1865, in his seventy-first year. and London Highflyer." While thus engaged BR he was continually requested to relinquish that occupation and resume the pencil. At length Mr. Frank Hawksworth promised him if he would give up driving he would ensure him full employment for a twelvemonth in painting hunters and hounds; on the strength of this offer he at once abandoned the ribbons for the easel, and innumerable were his racing scenes and portraits of high-mettled racers. RODRICK. EDWARD WALFORD. RAVE Rodrick was the hero of a No tribute paid, no man as master styled, way The tyrant's minions kept he still at bay. |