had joined the American army were now to return to their homes. Hope again dawned upon the mind of Harriet; she remembered Edward's promise, and trusted that a few days would restore him again to the bosom of his family, and to her own affectionate embrace. Whenever she could find a leisure moment she would run to the top of the neighboring hill, which overlooked the path as it wound along a lengthened valley, in hope that she might catch a view of the returning band while yet distant, and be the first messenger of the joyful tidings to his aged parents and anxious friends. One evening as the sun was setting she went upon her accustomed errand, and scarcely had she arrived at the top of the hill when she descried a small company of men ascending upon the other side, and already drawing near her. She forgot her resolution of carrying the news to the village, and flew to meet As the parties approached each other, she recognized the countenances of some of Edward's companions whom she had seen before their departure, but her eye searched in vain for Edward-she sought information from them with eager and confused inquiries, but they could only tell her a tale of mystery.— Soon after their arrival at Boston he suddenly disappeared, and notwithstanding all their efforts they had obtained no clue to his fate. They had searched for him among the wounded and slain after the battle, but he was no where to be found. A deep and fresh wound was now opened in the heart of the disconsolate maiden; instead of returning to the hamlet the messenger of joy, she sought her father's house, that she might hide herself, and give vent to all the agony of her feelings. The news came like a bolt of death to his parents, and the whole village was again thrown into sadness and mourning. Month after month glided away, and as his friends could gain no information respecting him, the impression became general that he must have met his fate in some sudden and mysterious manner. Meanwhile the country was passing through various reverses of fortune-victory and defeat, hope and despair, followed hard upon each other. The colonies were kept in constant agitation by the levying of troops, and the marching of armies. And when at last the voice of Freedom echoed along each valley and mountain, diffusing gladness through every city and hamlet in the land, it awoke but a faint and feeble joy in the minds of those who like Harriet mourned the loss of all they held dear upon earth. The flush of health had now gone from her cheek, and despair was preying upon her soul. She felt but little interest in what was passing around her. Her friends and neighbors saw with deep solicitude this flower of youth and beauty sinking to an early grave. Still she exhibited no traces of disease; the hectic glow of consumption never played upon her cheek-her countenance wore only a pale and saddened expression of care and melancholy. She sought out the solitary retreat, aud found her highest pleasure in being alone

"She strewed her thoughts along the gale,
She gave her heart to earth and sky,
To trees her life's fantastic tale

Was known-but not to mortal eye."

She loved to stray upon the banks of the little stream that ran through the village, and gaze for hours upon its fleeting current.

*

One evening about a month after the cessation of hostilities between these colonies and Great Britain, a stranger was seen descending the path which conducted into the village where lies the scene of our story. The arrival of a traveler, as we have already intimated, was regarded in those days as an event of no little importance. As he was descending the hill, it was observed that he frequently stopped, and seemed wrapped in meditation. As he entered the village his eye was riveted for one moment upon this spot, and then upon that, in a manner strange and unaccountable. As the villagers pressed around to bid him a hospitable welcome to their cottages, they soon discovered in his countenance the features of the long lost Edward. The surprise which they manifested at beholding one who in effect had risen to them. from the grave, was only equalled by the joy which he felt in standing once more by the home of his youth, and gazing upon forms and faces familiarized to him by all the recollections of his early days. He inquired for his parents, and his countenance lightened up with gladness when he was told that they were yet alive. He inquired for Harriet, but ere they had time to tell him the story of her faithful love she was in his arms. He wept as he gazed upon the melancholy languor of her countenance, and her weak and emaciated form. His story was soon toldsoon after his arrival at Boston, he formed the project of going by night alone in disguise into the enemy's quarters, to gather information which might be of use to the Americans; he was discovered by an accident, taken prisoner, and carried into the province of Upper Canada. He had here received kind treatment, but the distress occasioned by absence from his friends, and the desire to aid his suffering country had gradually worn upon his health. The exchange of prisoners which immediately followed the treaty of peace, set him again at liberty, and he traveled on foot to the place of his nativity. The joy which these lovers felt at meeting, after so long a period of disappointment and disaster, shall remain undescribed. The cheek of Harriet soon exhibited the ruddy glow of health, and her mind attained its wonted elasticity and cheerfulness. In the quiet vale where they had seen so much of sorrow, they lived to ripe old age, blessed with a good name and domestic peace.

ARION was the king of song; the harp ne'er left his hand,
An ever-welcome guest was he, the joy of every land.
In days of old, with store of gold, he left Tarentum's shore,
To see his darling native land, his lovely Greece once more.

He longs to see his noble friends, and Corinth's prince again,
Who, ere to foreign lands he went, had begged him to remain :
"To rest thee in my peaceful court, do not," he said, "refuse;
The precious treasures here obtained, 'mong strangers thou may'st lose."

"A wand'rer's life," Arion said, " befits a poet free;

Still may my heaven-inspired art prove countless joys to thee.
Those gifts so well deserved, will I enjoy in future days,
When I have gained in foreign lands a world's undying praise."

He paced the deck the second morn; the heavens still were fair, "O Periander in my arms forget thine idle care!

Rich votive offerings will we bring to every deity;

And with a throng of happy guests keep joyous jubilee.”

While wind and tide were tranquil, to the crew no thought he gave ;
Too much in man he trusted, too little in the wave.

He hears amid that greedy band a low and murm'ring sound,
And soon they cry, with gesture fierce, as they the bard surround.

"Thy doom is fixed Arion; thou didst desire a grave
Afar from land. Here must thou die : leap then into the wave!"
"And would ye slay me thus?-nay, take my gold and let me live;
Gladly for life and liberty, would I my treasure give."

"No! no! we cannot spare thy life, to be destroyed by thee;
When to the king thy tale is told, ah! whither shall we flee ?
What use were all thy gold to us, when to our happy home,
For fear of Periander we never more might come.'

"Then grant me but this one request, (no more for life ask I,)

As I have lived a poet, so a poet let me die :

When I have sung my death song, and waked once more the lyre,

Then farewell life and light of day, thus will I here expire."

His prayer hath nothing moved them; 'twas his gold they thought on then ;

But yet desire to hear his lyre came o'er those savage men.

"And will ye listen quietly, while o'er the strings I run,

And let me die in poet's garb, as fits Apollo's son?"

The youth has clad his noble limbs in gold and purple all,
And to his feet his shining robe in many a fold doth fall;
His sleeves are clasped with gems of price, his flower-scented hair
Flows lightly down, in graceful curls, o'er neck and forehead fair.

The lyre is in his left hand grasped, the plectrum in his right; The harp-strings dally with the breeze and glitter in the light: The sailor band in wonder stand, while forward stepping, he Looked down, with mien unruffled, on the darkly flowing sea.

"Companion of my lay," he sang, "come, follow me below!
The raging hound of Orcus, the power of song shall know :
Ye heroes of Elysium, that 'scaped the pains of hell!
You soon as brothers shall I greet, with you forever dwell.

"But can ye me from sorrow free? I leave my friend above,
Who found his lost Eurydice, yet won not back his love;
For what his magic song had gained, his rashness took away :
She vanished swift, and he was left to curse the light of day.

"I must away-I fear not death-the gods look down on me,
And for this deed of villainy, accursed may ye be !
The guest that cometh to your arms, ye nymphs of ocean save!"
Thus sprang the king of poets into the briny wave.

fear;

He sank-his murderers sailed away, secure from every
But by his magic lay allured, the finny tribe drew near,
And from the wave a dolphin good uplifted him, and bore
The poet from the jaws of death, safe to his native shore.

"6 Farewell, beloved dolphin! when can we meet again ?
My home is on the quiet land, thine on the rolling main :
Full often in her watery sports shall Galatea fair,
Thee as her holy fav'rite choose, her form divine to bear."

As eager to return was he, as he had been to go;
And soon he stood in joyful mood, old Corinth's towers below:
He thought not of the treasure, by villains from him ta'en,
For lyre and song and noble friends did yet to him remain.

"I come again, my friend," he cried, "from wand'ring wearily;
My heaven-inspired art shall yet prove countless joys to thee:
Those gifts so well deserved were left amid a traitor band,
But I have won eternal fame in many a foreign land."

Then to the wond'ring monarch, his strange escape he told :
"And shall such deeds unpunished go, while I the scepter hold?
Let nought be known-conceal thyself, and silent here remain,
That we may take them unawares, when they return again."

And now to port the sailors come, and to the court draw near:
"What tidings of Arion? I would that he were here!

Say, why returned he not with you?"-the monarch thus demands.
"We left him in Tarentum safe." "See! there Arion stands!

"His noble limbs are richly clad in gold and purple all,
And to his feet his shining robe in many a fold doth fall;
His sleeves are clasped with gems of price, his flower-scented hair
Flows lightly down, in graceful curls, o'er neck and forehead fair.

"The lyre is in his left hand grasped, the plectrum in his right."
All thunder-struck to earth they fall, astonished at the sight:
"And him we would have murdered! sure, a very god is he;
Oh! open earth and cover us, for this our treachery!"

"The king of song yet lives: the gods protect the poet good:
Arion for no vengeance calls-he asks not for your blood:
Go hide you in some foreign land, ye slaves of sordid gold!
No more to hear those strains divine to which your hearts were cold."

THE FATE OF GENIUS;

OR,

A SKETCH OF MY FRIEND P

CHAPTER II.

A LOVELY Spot was that where my friend P— resided, a spot now consecrated by the recollections which hang around the closing scenes of a student's life, and a spot, too, where the student well might choose to die. The house was situated upon a considerable eminence, and commanded the full prospect of one of those limited valleys, which mingle together in so much harmony sentiments of the beautiful and the sublime. There was the grassy plain, garbed in the green of maiden spring; and around were the sloping hills, darkly shaded with the rich luxuriance of the new verdure. There was the fall of the waters, and the eye tired not as it followed their course through the plain. The scenery was all little less than enchantment,

"For the queen of the spring, as she passed o'er the vale,
Left her robe on the trees, and her health on the gale."

My friend and I loved to admire these scenes, and from him at least, they often called forth sentiments of poetic thought, and led his mind away on the daring wing of imagination. We loved to