THE PAGE. BY WILLIAM SAWYER. Like a missal all ablaze With the gold and colours blended, Shine the bright chivalric days In their hazy distance splendid. Knights in long processions go, Tossing plumes and armour flashing, Pennons interblending glow, Glaives are shining, falchions clashing. Maidens lone in 'leagured towns Dreaming over minstrel praises,— Yard-long hair and silken gowns (Sunny meadows prankt with daisies). Lips that meeting lips bespeak, Sidelong glances, smiles ecstatic; Flowers freshening in the cheek, Sighs distinctly aromatic. Nobly born as passing fair, For though sweet are thicket roses, Perfect blooms of the parterre, Only the parterre discloses. Then at every maiden's side, Clad in suit of iris hues, Hawk on wrist, with bells and jesses, Eyes of liquid browns or blues, Maiden cheeks and maiden tresses. Fond of joust and fond of brawl Dagger out ere word is spokenLife of bower, and life of hallYouth's free spirit all unbroken. Critic of the limner's art, Of the poet judge austerestCupid in the censor's part, Piping sentences severest. Singing to the twangling lute Minstrel ballad last in fashion, Till the lips that should be mute Learn the parrot-lisp of passion. Underneath the pleasaunce walls, (Ripe with nectarines and peaches), Glad my Lady's damozels List the lesson that he teaches. Eyes upon a blushing face Curls against a milky shoulderArm about a resting place Might dismay a lover bolder. Of his heart and its despair, Vowing oft and oft protesting, Till so much of love is there, Only half of it is jesting. Happy Page, who thus can move In a round of bright enjoymentHappy to whom song and love Represent life's sole employment! THE FAITHFUL PAGE. Lewis, Duke of Liegnitz, was in his youth fond of travel; and his desire being earnest to visit strange countries and become acquainted with foreign nations, no sooner was he his own master, than he hastened to set forth. In the progress of his journeys, he touched at every part of Europe, and even went so far as the torrid Asia. This young nobleman was attacked whether through fatigue, heat, or contagion-by a violent illness, which seized him at the tomb of Mahomet-that being a curiosity he had long coveted to see. During the violence of his malady, he was faithfully and affectionately attended by Charles of Chila, his chamberlain; who, though an aged man, never failed, either in the night watch, or the day's duty. He was ever by his master's bedside, and soon had the happiness to see him recover from the effects of the struggle between death and life. But the true-hearted servant drew his own death from his lord's safety: he was smitten with the same disease, and received from the Duke attentions almost as assiduous and anxious as those he had bestowed: but they had not the same fortunate result. The chamberlain died; but, before the breath left his body, he commended earnestly to his master's protection, his grandson, a tender boy, then far distant at school, whose father fell at the blockade of Cottbus, by the side of the Duke of Sagen, and whose mother did not survive her husband more than half a year. The Duke bound himself to the dying man, by a solemn oath, to provide for the now destitute child-exclaiming, "So may my last hour be as serene as thine!" "He is the last branch of our race," uttered the chamberlain feebly, his voice being almost extinguished by death: "receive him from me as a solemn legacy: he is virtuous and affee tionate, and will exercise towards you and your | Too surely it was; for there grew up in his family the fidelity that has ever distinguished his ancestors." A few moments afterwards the Duke had to weep the loss of his most zealous friend and devoted follower. Duke Lewis, being smitten with melancholy, hastened back to Europe. He made his entry on his domains amidst the rejoicings of his vassals: and if the pride of rank and power swelled in his breast as he heard their shouts and saw their manifestations of delight, he felt the warmth of kindness towards these, his dependents, accompanying the swelling of his spirit; for sojourning amongst strangers, and encountering hazards, had humanized his disposition, and long absence had hindered him from waxing, by usage, callous to the wretchedness and wrongs of his inferiors, as the best natures at that time too commonly were. Nor did he forget his promise to the dying chamberlain: one of his courtiers was soon despatched to fetch to his palace the young Chila, whom he appointed to be one of his pages. Henry, the grandson of Charles of Chila, was now seventeen; his shape tall and slender; his face fine and manly; his mind richly accomplished; and his manners trained to elegance by the graceful exercises of chivalry. He played on the lute, and accompanied its soft tones with a melodious voice. He became his master's favourite; the ornament of the ducal court; the most gallant of the princely retinue, when his lord pursued the wolf or the bear, or gave tournaments at which the knights might distinguish themselves amongst their companions, and touch the hearts of their mistresses by gratifying their female pride. It was about the Easter of the year 1412, that a messenger presented himself from the Emperor Sigismund, inviting Duke Lewis to repair to the imperial court; the sovereign having in view to bestow a signal mark of his favour on the Prince, his vassal. And precious, indeed, was the boon!-no less than the hand of the Emperor's niece, the Princess Etha of Hungary, a beauty then shining in all the splendour of youthful charms. Brilliant were the festivities at the marriage: but Henry, the Duke's page, was more stricken by the charms of his new mistress, than by the grandeur of the imperial court. The lady soon behaved towards the graceful youth with that affectionate familiarity of which her lord set her the example; and in so doing she gave a proof of the goodness of her disposition, and of her devotion to her husband: but was it not the page's misfortune to be so distinguished? heart a violent passion, which he bitterly wept over in secret, and blushed for in public, dreading its discovery as the signal of his ignominy and utter ruin. Yet, in the midst of this agony of remorse, the hopelessness of his love was a torture felt by him above all the rest; and this he owned to himself and deplored, for thus he knew that the crime would be more tolerable to him if it were not bootless—a knowledge that made him accuse himself of ingratitude and treachery toward his excellent master. And thus torn and worked upon in spirit, the consternation of the poor youth showed itself visibly in his altered appearance, so that none could fail to perceive how heavy a load of secret grief was borne by this once gay and happy, now most miserable, page. The Duke and the Duchess were both incessant in their importunities to be told the cause of their favourite's melancholy. "Dost thou covet the well-trained falcon, which thou knowest so well to fly? Is it the swift charger, that bore thee so gallantly in the last tournament, that thou wouldst be master of?" To these kind inquiries, prompted by anxious affection, Henry gave no answer, but he seemed confounded, and held his peace. "Have I lost thy confidence then?" said the duke: "what hast thou to complain of in my friendship for thee? Have I not always shown myself thy friend, rather than thy lord?" "Ah, my dear, my gracious master," then exclaimed Henry-for he could hold no longer —"take my life—I have lived too long-but never while I live can I forget what I owe to your grace: I am grateful, indeed I am-but miserable, very miserable. Oh my lord, do not press me for the cause of my grief, but rather drive me from your presence; recall your favours, yet leave me your compassion; I have much need of it." The Duke was astonished at this, which he thought little short of frenzy: and, consulting with his Duchess, they agreed to watch the young man narrowly, lest mischief might come of his strange infatuation. One fine evening of the spring, the page went out on the rampart of the castle, and, believing himself to be unobserved, he sat down beneath a lofty pine, while to his lute he sung the following stanzas: SONG. Ye pines that wave on high, Tis love consumes my peace; Yet though it tears this breast, Nor would I it were bless'd. A sigh, a tear deny, meaning of beneficence to its sparkling beauty. He could not bear the effect of this look: it shook him to the very depths of his nature: it brought the music he had just been playing, (Echo)-Ah no! the song he had just been singing, back upon him, like an overpowering wave, dashing his energies to the earth. He hastily muttered some words of thanks, which ran together into one choking sob, and rushed from the presence of his noble protectors to lock himself into his little chamber in the turret, where, during the whole night, he gave passionate utterance to his intolerable affliction. Should I my passion speak; Let gentle sorrow break (Echo)-Ah no! So sung the page, accompanying the words very mournfully with his lute. Just as he had finished, and while he yet listened to the echo of that sad syllable which was a negative to all his happiness, he thought he heard light footsteps approaching; and, turning round tremblingly, to his great surprise and alarm, he perceived the Duke and the Duchess standing close by him. Attracted by the mournful air, the princely couple had soon discovered who the musician was, and were pleased to think that their servant should continue to have pleasure in one at least of his former accomplishments the practice of all the others having been laid aside by him since his unhappy alteration. Marking the words of the song, however, the Duke mused over them; yet forbore to question his page on the subject, recollecting how much disturbance had before been caused in his mind by inquiries of this nature. The noble lady uttered some gentle words to Henry, commending his voice, yet chiding his turn for solitude, and complaining that he should thus fly from friends, to whose pleasures he might administer while he gratified their kindness by his presence. No sooner were the Duke and the Duchess left alone together, than the former said,—— "The cause of this youth's melancholy, I think I have at last divined. He loves your cousin Agnes, who accompanied you here from the court of Sigismund: her rank makes him deem his passion hopeless, and hence his sorrow." "Agnes would not be severe to him, I dare say," replied the Duchess. "If it be love that is the cause of your page's melancholy, then must we compliment his modesty at the expense of his penetration; for he knows not the extent of his own power of pleasing, and the general regard in which he is held, if he allow himself to doubt of a favourable return to his passion on the part of any lady of our court, who can in honour receive and reward his affection." "Do you, then, sound your cousin on this matter," rejoined the Duke; "for my conjecture is right, as time will doubtless show." The fair Agnes owned to her friend and mistress, what she had before confessed to her own heart, that the beautiful youth was not to her an indifferent object; and she added, that, for some time past, she had suspected it was even as the Duchess surmised. It appeared to her, that she was regarded with affection by the duke's page-though as yet he had not said a syllable of his passion-for she had observed that his eyes were ever directed to the balcony, where she usually sat with the duchess, to his lips a handkerchief which she had just dropped from her hand, after taking it from the neck of her royal relation. "Are you, then, too proud to accept our praises?" said she, with one of her sweetest smiles, that no mortal could regard without feeling his heart stirred within him-so exquisitely was goodness of soul there mingled with a free gaiety, the consciousness and pride of beauty, and a deep, native, passionate ten--and once he had been seen to press eagerly derness. Hers was a smile in which all that is rich in woman's nature was concentrated; and it burst forth, like a sudden ray of sunshine, to kindle up ecstacy, and smite high and low with admiration. And it was thus she now smiled upon the page,-only the common fascination of her expression was heightened by a touch of sorrowful sympathy, which hung floatingly in her eyes;-to Henry's conception, it was as if the regard of divinity made itself visible in the brightness of the sky, giving a With this news delighted, and eager to declare them, the Duchess hastened to her husband; who forthwith ordered that his court should take a journey of pleasure to the baths of Warmbrunn, that were even then much celebrated; contriving, at the same time, that the two lovers (as they were esteemed) should be left behind-thus giving them good opportu |