V.

"The woodland calm is pure-- I cannot choose but have A thought from these, o' the beechen-trees, Which in our England wave, And of the little finches fine Which sang there while in Palestine The warrior-hilt we drave.

"Methinks, a moment gone, I heard my mother pray! I heard, sir knight, the prayer for me Wherein she passed away; And I know the heavens are leaning down To hear what I shall say."

The page spake calm and high, As of no mean degree; Perhaps he felt in nature's broad Full heart, his own was free: And the knight looked up to his lifted eye, Then answered smilingly--