Page:Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands.djvu/382

 RUNNIMEDE. 357

His &quot;white lip to a smile is wreathed,

As their exulting shout From neath the broad, embowering trees

Upon the gale swells out ; Yet still his cowering glance is bent

On Thames translucent tide, As if some sharp and bitter pang

lie from the throng would hide.

��Know ye what visiteth his soul,

AVhen midnight s heavy hand Doth crush the emmet cares of day,

And wield reflection s wand ? Forth stalks a broken-hearted sire,

&quot;Wrapt in the grave-robe drear, And close around his ingrate heart

Doth cling the ice of fear.

��Know ye what sounds are in his ear,

When wrathful tempests roll ; When heaven-commissioned lightnings search,

And thunders try the soul ? Above their blast young Arthur s shriek

Doth make the murderer quake, As if anew the guiltless blood

From Rouen s prison spake.

�� �