Cried Friendship, try the ruby tide,--
They did--each obstacle departs;
'Tis still with wine 'reft hearts will glide
Most surely unto kindred hearts.
THE PILGRIM PRINCE.--BALLAD.
At blush of morn, the silver horn
Was loudly blown at the castle gate;
And, from the wall, the Seneschal
Saw there a weary pilgrim wait.
"What news--what news, thou stranger bold?
Thy looks are rough, thy raiment old!
And little does Lady Isabel care
To know how want and poverty fare."
"Ah let me straight that lady see,
For far I come from the North Country!"
"And who art thou, bold wight, I trow,
That would to Lady Isabel speak!"
"One who, long since shone as a prince,
And kiss'd her damask cheek:
But oh, my trusty sword has fail'd,
The cruel Paynim has prevail'd,
My lands are lost, my friends are few,
Trifles all, if my lady's true!"
"Poor prince! ah when did woman's truth,
Outlive the loss of lands and youth!"
* * * * *
THE SKETCH-BOOK.
THE SPLENDID ANNUAL.
_By the Author of "Sayings and Doings_."
Literature, even in this literary age, is not the ordinary pursuit of
the citizens of London, although every merchant is necessarily a man of
letters, and underwriters are as common as cucumbers. Notwithstanding,
however, my being a citizen, I am tempted to disclose the miseries and
misfortunes of my life in these pages, because having heard the
"ANNIVERSARY" called a splendid annual, I hope for sympathy from its
readers, seeing that I have been a "_splendid annual_" myself.
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