Yon path of greensward

Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion;

There is no flint to gall¹ thy tender foot,

There’s ready shelter from each breeze, or shower. —

But duty guides not that way — see her stand,

With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon cliffs.

Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy footsteps,

Oft where she leads thy head must bear the storm.

And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and hunger;

But she will guide thee up to noble heights,

Which he who gains seems native of the sky,

While earthly things lie stretch’d beneath his feet,

Diminish’d, shrunk, and valueless —

ANONYMOUS².

The reader cannot have forgotten that after his scuffle with the commonwealth³ soldier, Sir Henry Lee, with his daughter Alice, had departed to take refuge in the hut of the stout⁴ keeper Joceline Joliffe. They walked slow, as before, for the old knight⁵ was at once oppressed by perceiving these last vestiges⁶ of royalty⁷ fall into the hands of republicans, and by the recollection of his recent defeat. At times he paused, and, with his arms folded on his bosom⁸, recalled all the circumstances attending his expulsion from a house so long his home. It seemed to him that, like the champions of romance of whom he had sometimes read, he himself was retiring from the post which it was his duty to guard, defeated by a Paynim knight, for whom the adventure had been reserved by fate. Alice had her own painful subjects of recollection, nor had the tenor⁹ of her last conversation with her father been so pleasant as to make her anxious to renew it until his temper should be more composed; for with an excellent

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