Thou hast fixed our ark of refuge Where the spoiler's foot ne'er trod; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God! We are watchers of a beacon Whose light must never die; We are guardians of an altar 'Midst the silence of the sky. The rocks yield founts of courage, Struck forth as by thy rod; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God!

He steals the snow from polish'd brow, From soft bewitching eyes the blue, From smiling lips their ruby glow, From velvet cheeks their rosy hue. "Oh, who shall check the spoiler's power? 'Tis more than conquering love may dare; He flutters round youth's summer bower, And reigns o'er hearts like summer fair.

For thee was thy dower of beauty vain, 'Twas the treasure that lured the spoiler's train. Oh, ne'er from these smiling vales shall rise A sword for our vanquished liberties; 'Tis not where the laughing Ceres reigns, And the jocund lord of the flowery plains: Where the iron lies hid in the mountain cave, Is the cradle of empire the home of the brave!

BEATRICE sinks to the ground with a shriek of anguish near the bier. CHORUS. Unhappy mother! 'tis thy son. Thy lips Have uttered what my faltering tongue denied. ISABELLA. My soul! My Manuel! Oh, eternal grief! And is it thus I see thee? Thus thy life Has bought thy sister from the spoiler's rage? Where was thy brother? Could no arm be found To shield thee?

The name of Rolandi et Cie. was printed upon it, but there was nothing which told me whence it came or how long it had been there. Only that scribbled word Hereingefallen on the newly-scraped plaster seemed to fix a date on the spoiler's visit.

In a wild fear and fury he dug again and again, and with the same result. Every chest or box was in its place, but every one was empty! The treasure had been spirited away by some spoiler's hand; the treasure of Trevlyn was lost from that night forward!" Cuthbert was leaning forward drinking all in with eager curiosity. "My father discovered the loss my father?"

However, I could not brook the spoiler's life, and the band did not trust me; so, as we found that Kenilworth had fallen, as soon as my strength had returned to me, we stole away from the outlaws, and came southwards, hoping to find my mother at Odiham. Hearing that Odiham too was gone from us, we have lurked in Alton Wood till means should serve us for reaching the coast."

and just beneath, by the same hand, the following beautiful verses: "The grand old bard that never dies, Receive him in our English tongue! I send thee, but with weeping eyes, The story that he sung. "Thy Troy is fallen, thy dear land Is marred beneath the spoiler's heel I cannot trust my trembling hand To write the things I feel.

Dreary and mournful seems the shrine Where sound their prayers and hymns divine; For every mystic ornament By the rude spoiler's hand is rent; Scarce is its ancient beauty traced In wood-work broken and defaced, Reft of each quaint device and rare, Of foliage rich and mouldings fair; Yet happy is each spirit there; The simple peasantry rejoice To see the altar decked with care, To hear their ancient Pastor's voice Reciting o'er each well-known prayer, To view again his robe of white, And hear the services aright; Once more to chant their glorious Creed, And thankful own their nation freed From those who cast her glories down, And rent away her Cross and Crown.

The blood gushed over his lips; and never, to the latest day of his existence, not even when he saw her lie cold and still in her coffin, did Guly forget the fearful expression in her pallid face, and the almost demoniacal glare in her black eye, as she marked the effect of her blow, and darted by him like some frightened bird, escaped from the spoiler's net.