Seek ye some pure and thornless rose?
Some friend with changeless eye?
Some fount whence living water flows?
Go, seek those things on high.
Thither bid Hope a pilgrim go,
And Faith her mansion rear,
Even while amid this world of woe
Ye shed the stranger's tear.
If Folly tempts or Sin allures,
Be dead to all their art,
So shall eternal life be yours
When time's brief years depart.
QUEEN ELIZABETH AND THE COUNTESS OF NOTTINGHAM.
Death stood beneath a lordly dome
As pitiless and dread,
As when within some cottage-home
He smites the peasant's head:
"Haste! Call the queen!" a hollow tone
Of fainting anguish cried,
And she who sat on England's throne
Came to the sufferer's side.
The dying Countess strove in vain
Her last request to speak,
Till tears of woe with dews of pain
Blent on her ashen cheek:
