But she lies forlorn in the breakers now,
Her stately masts are gone,
And cold are the hearts of the dauntless crew
That yielded their swords to none;
The gun is hush'd in her lofty sides,
And the flute on her silent deck;
Alas! that a queenly form like hers
Should ever have been a wreck!
Thus Hope's illusions droop away
From the heart which their beauty won,
And leave it forlorn as the gallant ship,
Ere its summer of life is begun.
It is peopled with lovely images,
As o'er the sea it glides,
But wreck'd is its deep idolatry
On the dark and stormy tides.
_Deal._ G.R.C.
* * * * *
THE ARBALEST OF ROBIN HOOD.
_(TO THE EDITOR.)_
In No. 538, of _The Mirror_, is described an elegant Cross-bow, and
a desire expressed for information where such things are _now_ to be
seen. I have lived many years in Yorkshire, and have seen several
kinds of these bows at _Kirklees Hall_, the seat of Sir George
Armitage, a few miles from Huddersfield. Amongst those bows I saw one,
at least six feet long; but some of them were not more than two or
three feet in length.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25