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Cnholy the eyes that beside her had glis- | Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy ten'd,
arms breaking, And evil the lips she in darkness had Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow prest.
than ire : • When next in thy chamber the bride- Farewell—what a dream thy suspicion
hath broken! Bring near him thy lamp, when ir Thas ever Affection's fond vision is slumber be lies :
crost; And there, as the light o'er his dark fea- Dissolv'd are her spells when a doubt is tures shineth,
but spoken, Thou'lt see what a demon hath won And love, once distrusted, for ever is all thy sighs!'
lost !' Too foud to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing,
HERO AND LEANDER. When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her light;
"The night-wind is moaning with mourn. And saw-such a vision !—no image, ap
ful sigh, pearing
There gleameth no moon in the misty To bards in their day-dreams, wus ever
sky, so bright.
No star over Helle's sea ;
Yet, yet, there is shining one holy light, A youth, but just passing from childhood's One love-kindled star through the deep sweet morning,
of night, While round him still linger'd its inno- To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee!' Chough gleams, from beneath his shut Thus saying, he plung'd in the foamy eyelids gave warning
stream, Of summer-noon lightnings that under Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam them lay.
No eye but a lover's could see;
And still, as the surge swept over his head, His brow had a grace more than mortal | To-night,' he said tenderly, living or around it,
dead, While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee!'
mine, His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that But fiercer around him the wild waves crown'd it
speed; Seen'u fresh from the breeze of some Oh, Love! in that hour of thy votary's garden divine.
Where, where could thy Spirit be? Entranc'd stood the bride, on that miracle He struggles-he sinks-while the hur. gazing,
ricane's breath What late was but love is idolatry now; | Bearz rudely away his last farewell in But, ah-in her tremor the fatal lamp deathraising
Sweet Hero, I die for thee! A sparkle flew from it and dropp'd on
cent ray ;
All's lost--with a start from his rosy sleep THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN.
waking, The Spirit Aash'd o'er her bis glances • Tell me, kind Seer, 1 pray thee, of fire;
So mas the stars obey thee,
So may each airy
When, lo, its bloom was blighted!
And as she ask'd, with voice of woe-
List’ning, the while, that fountain's pow. Say, by what spell, above, below,
• Shall I recover In stars that wink or flow'rs that blow, My truant lover ? I may discover,
The fountain seem'd to answer, No;'
The fountain answer'd, 'No.'
CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS.
A HUNTER once in that grove reclin'd,
To shun the noon's bright eye, Will all thou seek'st supply thee.
And oft he woo'd the wandering wind, Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, To cool his brow with its sigb. Bring thence their fairest leaf below;
While mute lay ev'n the wild bee's hum, And thou'lt discover,
Nor breath could stir the aspen s hair, Ere night is over,
His song was still • Sweet air, oh come!' Whether thy love loves thee or no,
While Echo answer'd, “Come, sweet Whether thy love loves thee.'
air!' See, up the dark tree going, With blossomis round me blowing,
But, bark, what sounds from the thicket
What meaneth that rustling spray? Fairest that there is growing:
'Tis the white-horn'd doe,' the Hunte.
cries, Say, by what sign I now shall know If in this leaf lie bliss or woe;
*I have sought since break of day.'
Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs,
The arrow flies from his sounding bow
Hilliho--billiho!' he gaily sings, Whether my love loves me or no,
While Echo sighs forth • Hilliho!”
Alas, 'twas not the white-horn'd doe
He saw in the rustling grove,
But the bridal veil, as pure as snow,
Of his own young wedded love.
And, ah, too sure that arrow sped, Watch thou if pale or bright it grow,
For pale at his feet he sees her lie;List thon, the while, that fountain's tow, I die, I die,' was all she said,
While Echo murmur'd, 'I die, I die!
Whether thy lover,
YOUTH AND AGE,2
"TELL me, what's Love?' said Youth But, scarce a minute
one day, The leaf lay in it,
To drooping Age, who crost his way.
The ancients had a mode of divination words, was composed by Mrs. Arkwright to somewhat similar to this, and we find the some old verses, "Tell me what's love, kind Emperor Adrian, when he went to consult the shepherd, pray?' and it has been my object Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay-leaf and to retain as much of the structure and phrase. dipping it into the sacred water,
ology of the original words as possible. i The air, to which I have adapted thusa
• It is a sunny hour of play,
of the bark whose speed she waited, For which repentance dear doth pay,
Her hero's scarf, all red Repentance ! Repentance !
With the drops his heart had shed. And this is Love, as wise men say.
One shriekand all was over• Tell me, what's Love?' said Youth once Her life-pulse ceas'd to beat ; more,
The gloomy waves now cover Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore.
That bridal-flower so sweet, 'Soft as a passing summer's wind :
And the scarf is her winding sheet! Would'st know the blight it leaves be
hind ? Repentance! Repentance ! And this is Lovewhen love is o'er.'
THE MAGIC MIRROR. .Tell me, what's Love P' said Youth again,
Come, if thy magic Glass have pow'r Trusting the bliss, but not the pain.
To call up forms we sigh to see;
Show me my love, in that rosy bow'r, * Sweet as a May tree's scented airMark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear,
Where last she pledg'd her truth to me. Repentance ! Repentance ! This, this is Love-sveet Youth, beware.' The Wizard show'd him bis Lady bright,
Where lone and pale in her bow'r sbé Just then, young Love himself came by,
lay; And cast on Youth a smiling eye ;
* True-hearted maid,' said the happy Who could resist that glance's ray ?
Knight, In vain did Age his warning say,
'She's thinking of one, who is far Repentance ! Repentance!
away.' Youth laughing went with Love away.
But, lo! a page, with looks of joy,
Brings tidings to the Lady's ear;
""Tis,' said the Knight, the same bright THE DYING WARRIOR.
Who used to guide me to my dear.' A wounded Chieftain, lying
By the Danube's leafy side, Thus faintly said, in dying,
The Lady now, from her fav’rite tree, • Oh! bear, thou foaming tide,
Hath, smiling, pluck'd a rosy flow'r; This gift to my lady-bride.'
Such,' he exclaim'd, ‘was the gift that
she "Twas then, in life's last quiver,
Each niorning sent me from that bow'r!' He flung the scarf he wore Into the foaming river,
She gives her page the blooming rose, Which, ah too quickly, bore
With looks that say, “Like lightning That pledge of one no more!
• Thus, ought the Knight, 'she soothes With fond impatience burning, The Chieftain's lady stood,
By fancying, still. ber true-love nigh.' To watch her love returning, In triumph down the flood,
But the page returns, and-oh, what a From that day's field of blood.
For trusting lover's eyes to see !-
Leads to that bow'r another Knight,
As young and, alas, as lov'd as bé!
Such,' quoth the Youth, 'is Woman's Though brightest of maidens, the proudlove I'
est was she; Then, darting forth, with furious bound, Brave chieftains they sought, and young Dash'd at the Mirror his iron glove,
minstrels they sued her, And strew'd it all in fragments round. But worthy were none of the high-horn
Whomsoerer I wed,' said this maid, so The Wizard would still have kept his
* That Knight must the conqu’ror of And the Knight still thought his Lady He must place me in halls fit for monarchs true.
to dwell in ;None else shall be Lord of the biglie
born Ladye!' THE PILGRIM. Still thus, when twilight gleam'd,
Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn Far off his Castle seem'd,
looking round her Trac'd on the sky;
On Knights and on Nobles of highest
degree; And still, as fancy bore him To those dim tow'rs before him,
Who humbly and hopelessly left as they He gaz'd, with wishful eye,
found her, And thought his home was nigh.
And worshipp'd at distance the high
born Ladye. • Hall of my Sires !' he said, • How long, with weary tread, Must I toil on?
At length came a Knight from a far land Each eve, as thus I wander,
to woo her, Thy tow'rs seem rising yonder,
With plumes on his helm like the foam
of the sea ; But, scarce hath daylight shone, When, like a dream, thou'rt gone!' Ilis vizor was down-but, with voice that
thrill’d through her, So went the Pilgrim still,
He whisper'd his vows to the high-bor) Down dale and over hill,
• Proud maiden! I come with high spousBut still, with morning's ray,
als to grace thee, Melting, like mist, away!
In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors Where rests the Pilgrim now?
see; Here, by this cypress bough,
Enthron'd in a ball fit for monarchs I'll Clos'd his career ;
place thee. That dream, of Fancy's weaving,
And mine thou'rt for ever, thou highNo more his steps deceiving,
born Ladye!' alike past hope and fear, The Pilgrim's home is here. The maiden she smild, and in jeweis
array'd her, of thrones and tiaras already dreamt
she; THE HIGH-BORN LADYE. And proud was the step, as her brido.
groom conveyed her Ly rain all the Knights of the Underwald In pomp to his home of that bigb-born woo'å her,
• But whither, she, starting, exclaims, And many a day • have you led me ?
To night gave way, Here's nonght but a tomb and a dark And many a morn succeeded :
While still his flight, cypress tree; Is this the bright palace in which thou Through day and night, wouldst wed me?'
That restless mariner speeded. With scorn in her glance, said the high. Who knows-who knows what sea, born Ladye.
He is now careering o'er? ''Tis the home,' he replied, of earth's Behind, the eternal breeze,
And that mocking bark, before ! loftiest creatures
For, oh, till sky Then lifted his helm for the fair one to
And carth shall die, see ;
And their death leave none to rue it, But she sunk on the ground—'twas a
That boat must flee skeleton's features, And Death was the Lord of the high. And that ship in vain pursue it.
O'er the boundless sea, born Ladye!
THE INDIAN BOAT.
THE STRANGER. 'Twas midnight dark,
Come list, while I tell of the heart-wound. The seaman's bark,
ed Stranger 3wift o'er the waters bore him,
Who sleeps her last slumber in this When, through the night,
haunted ground; He spied a light
Where often, at midnight, the lonely Bhoot o'er the wave before him.
wood-ranger "A sail! a sail!' he cries ;
Hears soft fairy music re-echo around. 'She comes from the Indian shore,
None e'er knew the name of that heart. And to-night shall be our prize,
stricken lady, With her freight of golden ore: Sail on! sail on!
Her language, though sweet, none
could e'er understand ; When morning shone He saw the gold still clearer;
But her features 80 sunn'd, and ber eye
lash so shady,
Bespoke her a child of some far Eastern
land. That boat seem'd never the nearer. Bright daylight came,
'Twas one summer night, when the village And still the saine
lay sleeping, Rich bark before him floated.
A soft strain of melody came o'er our While on the prize
ears ; His wishful eyes
So sweet, but so mournful, half song and
half weeping, Like any young lover's doated : • More sail ! more sail!' he cries,
Like music that sorrow had steep'd in
her tears. While the waves o'ertop the mast; And his bounding galley flies,
We thought 'twas an anthem some angel Like an arrow before the blast.
had sung us ;Thus on, and on,
But, soon as the day-beams had gush'd Till day was gone,
from on high, And the moon through hear'n did hie her, With wonder we saw this bright stranger He swept the main,
among us, But all in vain,
All lovely and lone, as if stray'd from That boat seem'd never the nigher.