The wheels composed of crickets' bones,
And daintily made for the nonce,
For fear of rattling on the stones,
With thistle-down they shod it.

For all her maidens much did fear,

If Oberon had chanced to hear,

That Mab his queen should have been there He would not have abode it.

She mounts her chariot in a trice,
Nor would she stay for no advice,
Until her maids that were so nice,
To wait on her were fitted,

But ran away herself alone;

Which when they heard there was not one But hasted after to be gone,

As she had been diswitted.

Hop, and Mop, and Drap so clear,
Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were
To Mab their sovereign dear,

Her special maids of honour;
Fib, and Tib, and Pink, and Pin,
Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin,
Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,
The train that wait upon her.

Upon a grasshopper they got,
And what with amble and with trot,
For hedge nor ditch they sparéd not,
But after her they hie them.

A cobweb over them they threw,
To shield the wind if it should blow,
Themselves they wisely could bestow,
Lest any should espy them.

DRAYTON.

CLVII

LORD WILLIAM.

No eye beheld when William plunged Young Edmund in the stream;

No human ear but William's heard

Young Edmund's drowning scream.

Submissive all the vassals owned
The murderer for their Lord,
And he, the rightful heir, possessed
The house of Erlingford.

The ancient house of Erlingford
Stood 'midst a fair domain,
And Severn's ample waters near
Roll'd through the fertile plain.

And often the wayfaring man,
Would love to linger there,
Forgetful of his onward road,
To gaze on scenes so fair.

But never could Lord William dare
To gaze on Severn's stream;

In every wind that swept its waves

He heard young Edmund scream.

In vain at midnight's silent hour Sleep closed the murderer's eyes; dream the murderer saw Young Edmund's form arise.

In

every

In vain by restless conscience driven,
Lord William left his home,
Far from the scenes that saw his guilt,
In pilgrimage to roam.

To other climes the pilgrim fled,
But could not fly despair;

He sought his home again, but peace
Was still a stranger there.

Each hour was tedious long, yet swift,
The months appeared to roll;
And now the day returned that shook
With terror William's soul.

A day that William never felt
Return without dismay,

For well had conscience calendered

Young Edmund's dying day.

A fearful day was that! the rains
Fell fast, with tempest roar,

And the swoln tide of Severn spread
Far on the level shore.

In vain Lord William sought the feast,
In vain he quaffed the bowl,
And strove with noisy mirth to drown
The anguish of his soul.

The tempest, as its sudden swell
In gusty howlings came,

With cold and death-like feelings seemed
To thrill his shuddering frame

Reluctant now, as night came on,
His lonely couch he pressed;
And, wearied out, he sunk to sleep,
To sleep, but not to rest.

Beside that couch his brother's form,
Lord Edmund, seemed to stand,
Such and so pale as when in death
He grasped his brother's hand:

Such and so pale his face as when,
With faint and faltering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge,
He left his orphan son.

-“I bade thee, with a father's love, My orphan Edmund guard;

Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge! Now take thy due reward."

He started up, each limb convulsed

With agonizing fear;

He only heard the storm of night—

'Twas music to his ear.

When lo! the voice of loud alarm

His inmost soul appals,

"What ho! Lord William, rise in haste!

The water saps thy walls!

He rose in haste; beneath the walls
He saw the flood appear;

It hemmed him round, 't was midnight now,

No human ear was near.

He heard the shout of joy, for now

A boat approached the wall,

And, eager to the welcome aid,

They crowd for safety all.

"My boat is small," the boatman cried,

This dangerous haste forbear!

Wait other aid; this little bark

But one from hence can bear,"