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My Battle-Vow!-No Minster-walls

Gave back the burning word,

Nor cross, nor shrine, the low deep tone
Of smother'd vengeance heard:
But the ashes of a ruin'd home

Thrill'd as it sternly rose,

With the mingling voice of blood that shook
The midnight's dark repose.

I breathed it not o'er kingly tombs,
But where my children lay,
And the startled Vulture at my step
Soar'd from their precious clay.
I stood amidst my Dead alone-
I kiss'd their lips-I pour'd,
In the strong silence of that hour,
My spirit on my sword.

The Roof-tree fall'n, the smouldering floor,
The blacken'd threshold-stone,

The bright hair torn and soil'd with blood,
Whose fountain was my own;

These, and the everlasting hills,
Bore witness that wild night ;-
Before them rose the Avenger's soul,
In crush'd Affection's might.

The stars, the searching stars of Heaven,
With keen looks would upbraid,

If from my heart the fiery vow,
Sear'd on it then, could fade.

They have no cause!-Go, ask the streams
That by my paths have swept,

The red waves that unstain'd were born,

How hath my faith been kept?

And other eyes are on my soul,
That never, never close;

The sad, sweet glances of the Lost

They leave me no repose.

Haunting my night-watch midst the rocks,

And by the torrent's foam;

Through the dark-rolling mists they shine,
Full, full of love and home!

Alas! the mountain eagle's heart,

When wrong'd, may yet find rest

Scorning the place made desolate,

He seeks another nest.

But I-your soft looks wake the thirst,
That wins no quenching rain;

Ye drive me back, my Beautiful!
To the stormy fight again.

X.

PARTING WORDS.

One struggle more, and I am free.

BYRON.

LEAVE me, oh ! leave me !-unto all below

Thy presence binds me with too deep a spell; Thou mak'st these mortal regions, whence I go, Too mighty in their loveliness-farewell,

That I may part in peace!

Leave me thy footstep with its lightest sound,
The very shadow of thy waving hair,
Wake in my soul a feeling too profound,

Too strong for aught that loves and dies to bear.
Oh! bid the conflict cease!

I hear thy whisper-and the warm tears gush
Into mine eyes, the quick pulse thrills my heart;
Thou bid'st the peace, the reverential hush,
The still submission from my thoughts depart.

Dear One! this must not be.

The past looks on me from thy mournful eye,
The beauty of our free and vernal days,
Our communings with sea, and hill, and sky—
Oh! take that bright world from my spirit's gaze!
Thou art all earth to me!

Shut out the sunshine from my dying room,
The jas'mine's breath, the murmur of the bee;
Let not the joy of bird-notes pierce the gloom!
They speak of life, of summer, and of thee-

Too much-and death is here!

Doth our own spring make happy music now,
From the old beech-roots flashing into day?
Are the broad lilies imaged in its flow?

-Alas! vain thoughts! that fondly thus can stray
From the dread hour so near!

If I could but draw courage from the light
Of thy clear eye, that ever shone to bless!
-Not now! 'twill not be now!-my aching sight
Drinks from that fount a flood of tenderness,

Bearing all strength away!

Leave me!-thou com'st between my heart and heaven!
I would be still, in voiceless prayer to die.
Why must our souls thus love, and thus be riven?
-Return!-thy parting wakes mine agony !

-Oh! yet awhile delay!

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A voice rang through the olive- wood, with a sudden triumph's power-
"We rise on all our hills! come forth! 'tis thy country's gathering hour.
There's a gleam of spears by every stream, in each old battle-dell-
Come forth, young Juan! bid thy home a brief and proud farewell!"

Then the father gave his son the sword,
Which a hundred fights had seen-
"Away! and bear it back, my boy!

All that it still hath been!

"Haste, haste! the hunters of the foe are up, and who shall stand The lion-like awakening of the roused indignant land?

Our chase shall sound through each defile where swept the clarion's blast, With the flying footsteps of the Moor in stormy ages past."

Then the mother kiss'd her son, with tears

That o'er his dark locks fell:

"I bless, I bless thee o'er and o'er,

Yet I stay thee not-Farewell!"

"One moment! but one moment give to parting thought or word!
It is no time for woman's tears when manhood's heart is stirr❜d.
Bear but the memory of thy love about thee in the fight,
To breathe upon th' avenging sword a spell of keener might."

And a maiden's fond adieu was heard,
Though deep, yet brief and low:
"In the vigil, in the conflict, Love!

My prayer shall with thee go!"

"Come forth! come as the torrent comes when the winter's chain is burst!

So rushes on the land's revenge, in night and silence nursed

The night is past, the silence o'er-on all our hills we rise

We wait thee, youth! sleep, dream no more! the voice of battle cries."

There were sad hearts in a darken'd home,

When the brave had left their bower;

But the strength of prayer and sacrifice
Was with them in that hour.

POETICAL AND DEVOTIONAL SUPERSTITIONS OF ITALY.

FROM THE JOURNAL OF A MODERN TRAVELLER.

THE inhabitants of ancient. Italy gradually exchanged their native divinities for the historical deities introduced by successive settlers from Greece; thus the dreams, omens, and auguries of Etruria were blended with the fables and ceremonies of Hellas, and the combination became the state religion of Rome. During the em pire, the miracle-loving Romans began to substitute the monsters, the enchantments, and the astrology of Egypt and Chaldæa for the worn-out, but still publicly worshipped, stategods; and, finally, after the establishment of Christianity, the elementary spirits of Teutonic superstition raised into importance and celebrity by the witch-tribunals and other legislative prohibitions of Charlemagne, found their way to Italy, in tales and legends which took a deep and lasting hold of its imaginative inhabitants. It would not be difficult, even in the present day, to separate and class these heterogeneous elements of Italian superstition, were it worth while to trace them to their respective sources. To general readers, however, some illustrative details of their actual working, and wide diffusion in the lower classes of Italian society will be more acceptable. Amidst the numerous vestiges of antique customs, discoverable in modern Italian life, occur not a few of the purest heathenism. For instance, in the Cathedral of Isernia in Molise is still preserved, and honoured under another name, the Egyptian Phallus. Some of the female peasants in the rural districts of Naples wear small figures of Priapus on their bosoms to prevent sterility, while others, for the same purpose, wear smail pictures of certain Christian saints. Thus have many objects of heathen worship, masking their origin under modern names, maintained their ground amidst the images and relics of the Romish Church.

The tales of spectral appearances and haunted houses, which occasionally occur in Italy, are modified by the cheerful habits of the people, and generally assume a lively and even ludierous character. The midnight ghost, which, in northern Europe, is associ

ated with awful groans and rattling chains, becomes in Italy a teazing and a playful spirit, and is called a Spirito folletto. These spirits riot amidst the glass and china, talk to the cats, open and shut doors with sudden violence, or, when in an angry mood, toss the sleepers out of their beds upon the floor. This non lascia dormir la gente is, however, the most grievous offence of which the Italians accuse the Spirito folletto. Instances of haunted houses are of rare occurrence; but for many years a house in Rome, between the Lateran and S. Maria Maggiore remained uninhabited, because at midnight a monk was heard to read the mass and ring his bell. The Romans attach no importance to dreams and omens, except as materials for humorous and speculative discussion. Indeed, the superstitious faculties of the Italians generally are so fully occupied by the miracles of their numerous saints, and by the mysterious powers of relics and pictures, that the belief' in any supernatural agency, unconnected with their religion, lays but slender hold of their credulity, and is nearly confined to the fair sex, who, in Rome especially, are prone to believe in the existence and active agency of witchcraft. The meetings of the Roman witches, who are numerous, and composed of young as well as old women, take place in the ancient Fo rum, or Campo Vaccino. Here are celebrated the nocturnal orgies, of which the most festivous and important occurs on St John's night, when they assemble in great numbers, and in the shape of black cats with fiery eyes. This transformation is accomplished by the aid of a mysterious ointment, supposed to consist in great measure of the root of pimpernel or burnet. With this they anoint themselves from head to foot, a process which will remind the classical reader of the Thessalian enchantresses. These witches are said to compound bevera ges which provoke love or hatred ; they create bad weather, and operate upon the absent by incantations. The greatest crime imputed to them is the sucking of children, who become, in consequence, by quick or slow grada.

tions dry and emaciated, and a thin child is said to have been "Succhiato dalle Streghc." The belief in philtres is peculiar to Naples, where young men, who fall away in flesh and strength, without apparent cause, are said to have taken love-potions. The Neapolitan lover is afraid to accept a lock of hair from his fair-one, from a prevalent belief that some pernicious influence may be thus conveyed. The Romans partake not of this apprehension; but, during the Carnival, they beware of eating the confetti, which are showered upon them by the female masks, and will sometimes warn strangers of the perilous consequences. These precautions often provoke the lively retort of the Roman females: Mangiate, mangiate i confetti. Non siete tanto bello, per aver paura d'una fattura."

The dread of storm-raisers is universally prevalent amongst the country people, and especially in mountainous districts. A Danish botanist, journeying alone upon an ass through the mountains of Abruzzi, was involved in several perilous adventures by this superstitious terror of the peasantry. They had for some time seen him collecting plants amongst the unfrequented cliffs and ravines, and watched his proceedings with suspicious curiosity. A few days later their district was ravaged by a succession of storms, their suspicions grew into certainty, and, assembling in considerable numbers, they attacked the unconscious botanist with a volley of stones, and cursed him as a storm raising enchanter. He made vehement protestations of his innocence, but the enraged peasants took forcible possession of his collection, which they minutely examined. Finding only some harmless leaves and blossoms, and no roots, their fury abated, and, although it was suggested by some that he had probably used the roots in his incantations, the unfortunate herbalist was at length dismissed with fierce menaces, that if he dared to take a single root from the ground, it would cost him his life. In the mountains near Rome, the peasants regard with suspicion a singular costume, a stern cast of countenance, or any striking personal formation, in the strangers who arrive there. All travellers, thus peculiarly marked, are supposed to be enchanters and treasure-seekers, and the

young Germans, in their black dresses, untrimmed beards, and long hair, are especial objects of suspicion.

The Oriental fairies, who followed the fortunes of Charlemagne and his paladins, established themselves in various parts of Italy, where they still hold a distinguished place in the traditionary superstitions of the people. These local fairies, who are more potent than witches, and generally of a benevolent character, are not unworthy of record. One of the most celebrated is the Fata, or Fairy, Morgana, whose realm is the strait between Reggio and Messina. Here her glittering palaces sometimes rise above the waters, and dazzle the eyes of mortals with a transient glimpse of those splendours which are so magnificently described in the Orlando Amoroso of Boiardo. This fairy is said to fall in love with young sailors and fishermen, whom she lures into the deep by this display of her power and grandeur. The causes of this optical illusion are now well understood, but the adjacent inhabitants will not be reasoned out of this highly poetical tradition; and in the popular ballads composed in memory of young men drowned in the Straits of Messina, the surviving relatives are said to console themselves with the belief, that the departed are reposing in the arms of the Fairy Morgana.

In Tuscany the mothers and nurses terrify naughty children by telling them that the ugly fairy, Befana, is coming, and the Carnival of Florence is opened on the night before the festival of the Three Kings, by the procession of the Fata Befana, who is paraded through the city by torchlight, accompanied by the pealing of drums and trumpets, and the acclamations of the people. The fairy is personified by a colossal puppet, representing a sorceress in flowing garments, and the figure is so contrived as to appear taller or shorter at the pleasure of the bearer, whose person is concealed by the long draperies. This monstrous fairy frightens the children by looking into the upper windows of the houses; and after thus passing through the principal streets of Florence, the huge puppet is thrown from a bridge into the Arno, amidst the shouts and imprecations of the multitude. The Tuscan nurses also call by the name of Befana, or Befa

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