I find nothing of a later time, save the verses which I herewith copy, over which there are, in a woman's handwriting, these words: "VERSES "Writ by Sir Christopher when a prisoner among the Turks in Moldavia, and expecting death at their hands.
1.
"Ere down the blue Carpathian hills The sun shall fall again, Farewell this life and all its ills, Farewell to cell and chain 2.
"These prison shades are dark and cold, But darker far than they The shadow of a sorrow old Is on mine heart alway.
3.
"For since the day when Warkworth wood Closed o'er my steed and I,-- An alien from my name and blood,-- A weed cast out to die; 4.
"When, looking back, in sunset light I saw her turret gleam, And from its window, far and white, Her sign of farewell stream; 5.
"Like one who from some desert shore Does home's green isles descry, And, vainly longing, gazes o'er The waste of wave and sky, 6.
"So, from the desert of my fate, Gaze I across the past; And still upon life's dial-plate The shade is backward cast 7.
"I've wandered wide from shore to shore, I've knelt at many a shrine, And bowed me to the rocky floor Where Bethlehem's tapers shine; 8.
"And by the Holy Sepulchre I've pledged my knightly sword, To Christ his blessed Church, and her The Mother of our Lord! 9.
"Oh, vain the vow, and vain the strife How vain do all things seem! My soul is in the past, and life To-day is but a dream.
10.
"In vain the penance strange and long, And hard for flesh to bear; The prayer, the fasting, and the thong, And sackcloth shirt of hair: 11.
"The eyes of memory will not sleep, Its ears are open still, And vigils with the past they keep Against or with my will.
12.
"And still the loves and hopes of old Do evermore uprise; I see the flow of locks of gold, The shine of loving eyes.
13.
"Ah me! upon another's breast Those golden locks recline; I see upon another rest The glance that once was mine! 14.
"'O faithless priest! O perjured knight!' I hear the master cry, 'Shut out the vision from thy sight, Let earth and nature die.' 15.
"'The Church of God is now my spouse, And thou the bridegroom art; Then let the burden of thy vows Keep down thy human heart.' 16.
"In vain!--This heart its grief must know, Till life itself hath ceased, And falls beneath the self-same blow The lover and the priest! 17.
"O pitying Mother! souls of light, And saints and martyrs old, Pray for a weak and sinful knight, A suffering man uphold.
18.
"Then let the Paynim work his will, Let death unbind my chain, Ere down yon blue Carpathian hill The sunset falls again!" My heart is heavy with the thought of these unfortunates.

Where be they now?
Did the knight forego his false worship and his vows, and so marry his beloved Anna?
Or did they part forever,--she going back to her kinsfolk, and he to his companions of Malta?
Did he perish at the hands of the infidels, and does the maiden sleep in the family tomb, under her father's oaks?
Alas! who can tell?
I must needs leave them, and their sorrows and trials, to Him who doth not willingly afflict the children of men; and whatsoever may have been their sins and their follies, my prayer is, that they may be forgiven, for they loved much.
October 20.
I do purpose to start to-morrow for the Massachusetts, going by boat to the Piscataqua River, and thence by horse to Newbury.
Young Mr.Jordan spent yesterday and last night with us.

He is a goodly youth, of a very sweet and gentle disposition; nor doth he seem to me to lack spirit, although his father (who liketh not his quiet ways and easy temper, so contrary to his own, and who is sorely disappointed in that he hath chosen the life of a farmer to that of a minister, for which he did intend him) often accuseth him of that infirmity.

Last night we had much pleasant discourse touching the choice he hath made; and when I told him that perhaps he might have become a great prelate in the Church, and dwelt in a palace, and made a great lady of our cousin; whereas now I did see no better prospect for him than to raise corn for his wife to make pudding of, and chop wood to boil her kettle, he laughed right merrily, and said he should never have gotten higher than a curate in a poor parish; and as for Polly, he was sure she was more at home in making puddings than in playing the fine lady.
"For my part," he continued, in a serious manner, "I have no notion that the pulpit is my place; I like the open fields and sky better than the grandest churches of man's building; and when the wind sounds in the great grove of pines on the hill near our house, I doubt if there be a choir in all England so melodious and solemn.

These painted autumn woods, and this sunset light, and yonder clouds of gold and purple, do seem to me better fitted to provoke devotional thoughts, and to awaken a becoming reverence and love for the Creator, than the stained windows and lofty arched roofs of old minsters.