and humiliation were strangely blended in thy manner; both contributed to the glow that burned upon thy cheek; thy glance condemned my hard-heartedness, but the consciousness that thy wretched kindred || had no right to exact the stranger's bounty, softened its light, and as thy lid fell, I thought I saw a tear drop from it-if it did, that tear fell upon my heart. I would have recalled my harsh refusal to the little beggar with half that I was worth.

Whence hadst thou, Nerina, thy witchery of manners, thy gentleness, thy sensibility? || All around thee were subtle and cunninguncultivated and lawless: yet, hated and hunted as they were, thy people were not gross, nor devoid of those affections that best humanize the heart of man. How fervent were their attachments! Their isolation from the rest of the world seemed to concentrate and strengthen their feelings towards each other. Under a better state of society, they might have become beings worthy of esteem and admiration: how much of wit and of originality was there often among them! But thou, under every disadvantage, wast almost all a heart could wish, an imagination picture. Oh! that I could roll back the heavy tide of advancing time, revive every early hope, and preserving my accumulated experience and bettered fortune, behold thee what thou wast, appear to thee what I and was, exclaim, in the language of a poet, who would have pleased thy wild and vivid fancy,

myself thy wandering fancy sometimes pursued me with kind regret and lively pleasure, and I would not relinquish these dreams of the past for all the present pleasures the world has the power to afford me. Nerina, thou wast a gipsey estranged from all those precepts that guide thy happier sisters in the creation; but thou wast not less the creature of an Almighty Creator; thy untutored mind was animated by the kindest feelings-all thy errors were those of education, not of nature, and howsoever it might be subsequently alloyed, the original, the native ore was pure : "Like sunshine broken in the rillThough turned aside, 'twas sunshine still." Shall I not then cherish a hope, that futurity may re-unite a friendship so ill assorted-so utterly dissevered upon earth? In that state where no distinctions are recognized but those of intrinsic worth-where the peasant may find a place while the prince is rejected-I shall yet behold Nerina. This hope shall bear a consoling balm in my heart through the remaining years I have to sojourn here. I shall not, like a romantic lover, have the consolation of sleeping in her grave, of even beholding the spot where the relics of what once was beauty rest, but I shall live and die with a dearer, holier consolation.

The men of the world-aye and the women too, for the latter resign their sensibility with their teens-smile with derision and contempt upon those beings who have cherished and preserved that vital essence of genius-imagination; and who can draw from its warm perennial spring rich draughts of pleasure even when age is shedding its snow upon their temples. Let the worldlings despise that which they can neither

Fly from the desart, fly with me! Thy Arab tents are rude for thee; But oh! the choice what heart can doubt, Of tents with love, or thrones without!" Vain wishes-fruitless imaginings. Nerina, it is well I cannot inquire into thy fate; with the power, I could not with-appreciate nor understand; with them life hold from myself a knowledge, that might for ever invade my peace. I should hear of thy sorrows, thy distress, thy sufferings, and know that fate had consigned thee to thy undistinguished grave, without rendering thee the atonement of a happy hour. I should hear of the decrepitude of thy agile form, the fading of thy blooming cheek and sparkling eye, and I should mourn over the reality of such a change with a bitterness too intense. As it is, I remember thee in all thy lustre. I flatter

has passed on in heartless pleasure, and sordid thrift; their hearts have kept no registry for memory to revert to-the void recesses of their souls contain no hoard of precious looks and feelings, and sensations of by-gone days, to be conjured up in the hour of meditation and marshalled up in bright array. To them age must indeed be

a Siberian winter-a moonless-starless night. To them returns not the young morning of existence

"But clouds instead, and ever-during dark."

ENGLAND'S ANCIENT BAR D S.-No. IV.

ROBERT DE BRUNNE.

THIS author, whose name was Robert || lader, is translated from Ware's Brut Manning, and who was called de Brunne from the place of his residence, flourished during the reigns of the first three Edwards. He was most probably born about the year 1270; for, in the prologue to his first work, which was a translation of a treatise on the decalogue, written in French by Robert Grosthead, bishop of Lincoln, and which was begun in 1303, he informs us, that, for the fifteen years prior to that period, he had lived at Brunne, or Brune, near Deeping, in Lincolnshire, in the priory of black canons. If he were received into this order, therefore, at the age of eighteen, his birth would be thrown back to the above-mentioned year. It would appear from the introduction to his second work, A Metrical Chronicle of England, that he was born at Malton, in Yorkshire. He says

"Of Brunne I am, if any me blame,
Robert Mannyng is my name :
Blessed be he of God of heaven
That me Robert with good will neven. (a)
In the third Edward's time was I
When I wrote all this story.

In the house of Sixille I was a throw. (b)
Dan Robert of Malton, that ye know
Did it write for fellows sake,
When they willed solace make.”
"By this passage he seems to mean,"
says Mr. Ellis, “ that he was born at a
place called Malton; that he had resided
some time at a house in the neighbourhood
called Sixhill; and that there he, Robert
de Brunne, had composed at least a part of
his poem during the reign of Edward III."

The first-mentioned work of this author was never printed. The original was entitled Manuele Pecche (Manuel des Péchés) or Manual of Sins, and it treats of the seven deadly sins, which are illustrated with many legendary stories.

It is pre

served in the Bodleian library, and in the British Museum. The second production is also a translation: it is in two parts, the first, containing a metrical history of the period from Eneas to the death of Cadwal

(*) Names. (b) Aforetime.

d'Angleterre ;(©) the second, comprizing the period from Cadwallader, to the death of Edward I., "from a French chronicle, written by Peter de Langtoft, an Augustine canon of Bridlington, in Yorkshire, who is supposed to have died in the reign of | Edward II., and was, therefore, contemporary with his translator." Robert de Brunne also translated into English rhymes, a treatise written by Cardinal Bonaventura, his contemporary, on the Supper of the Lord, and his Passion; as also on the Pains of the Virgin Mary. It appears by the prologues to both his principal works, that he intended them to be sung to the harp at public festivals; and his language and diction are scarcely superior to those of Robert of Gloucester. He, however, informs his readers, that he used plain and simple language, that his poems might be understood by those

"That strange Inglis could not ken ;(d) for which purpose, "he avoided high description, and that sort of phraseology which was then used by the minstrels and harpers." I shall give one or two extracts from each of his first-mentioned works, as specimens of his style.

The following is an extract from the prologue to his translation of Bishop Grosthead's treatise; it fixes the year in which it was written, and also the time he had then been resident at Brunne. The spelling, it will be seen, is modernized,

"For lewed(e) men I undertook

In English tongue to make this book:
For many be of such manner

That tales and rhymes will blythly hear;
In games and festives at the ale(f)
Love men to listen tro to nale :(8)
To all christian men under sun,
And to good men of Brunne,
And specially all by name
The fellowship of Simpringham, (h)

(C) This poem was begun by one Eustace, in the
year 1155; and finished by Ware, whose name
it now generally bears, about 1160. (d) Know.
(e) Laymen, illiterate. (f) i. e. Ale-house.
(8) Truth and all. (h) The name of his order.

Robert of Brunne greeteth you,
In all goodness, that may to prow(a)
Of Brimwake in Kesteven, (b)
Six mile beside Simpringham even,
I dwelled in the priory
Fifteen years in company,

In the time of good Dan(c) John,
Of Camelton, that now is gone;
In his time was I there ten years,
And knew and heard of his manners;
Sythyn(d) with Dan John of Clinton,
Five winters with him gan I own,
Dan Philip was master in that time,
That I began this English rhyme,
The years of grace fyd(e) there to be

A thousand and three hundred and three.
In that time turned I this

In English tongue out of Frankis."

The following is from the work itself, and contains an anecdote of the prelate from whose original tractate he was translating :

"I shall you tell, as I have heard,
Of the bishop Saint Robert,
His toname(f) is Grosteste,
Of Lincoln, so saith the gest.
He loved much to hear the harp,
For man's wit it maketh sharp.

'To worship God at your power,

Aud(k) David in(1) the sauter.(m)

In harp and tabor, and symphan gle,(¤)

Worship God with trumpes(0) and sautre,(P) 'In cords, and organs, and bells ringing, 'In all these worship the heavenly king.'

The next extract is from his English Chronicle; but, as it is of some length, and I have no wish to be deemed tedious, I shall beg leave to defer it till my next. York, June 10, 1825. W.C.S.

(8) Close adjoining. (h) Fiend's; the devil's. (1) Learn. (¿) Minstrel. (k) As. (1) With. (n) Symphony. (0) Trumpets.

(a) Profit. (b) A part of Lincolnshire. (c) || (m) Psalter. Father. (d) Since then. (e) Fell. (f) Surname.

(P) Psalter.

ROMILDA, ERNESTINE, AND LUITGARDE,

THE THREE BEAUTIES OF DRESDEN.

THE troops of the Elector of Saxony || tended attempt upon the capital. A truce were repairing into winter quarters, after a tedious, but at length successful campaign against Frederick the Great. The capital had very lately been threatened with a siege by the Prussian monarch, and it was principally owing to the excellent conduct and astonishing intrepidity of a regiment of dragoons, that the late desperate engagement had terminated in favour of the Electorate. They turned the tide of fortune; the Saxon army, which had been very nearly discomfited, rallied when they beheld the glorious stand made by these brave men, and, inspired by their example, they rushed upon the enemy, and obliged him, beaten at all points, not only to quit the field, but to relinquish, for the present at least, his ambitious designs, and his in

was asked and obtained, and the remains of those gallant hussars who had so gloriously distinguished themselves, galloped into Dresden upon a bright morning in the beginning of December. In addition to their own victorious standards they brought with them the eagle of Prussia, wrested from the King's immediate guard, and with trumpets sounding and banners flying, they || proceeded along the principal streets to the grand square. Shouts and acclamations attended them in their progress through the city, and every window and every balcony were filled with beauties eager to reward the exertions of valour with their smiles. Victor Amadeus Wallenstein, a young man of seven-and-twenty, who had been raised to the rank of colonel by his

the usual cold satisfaction with which she was wont to regard a fresh accession to her train, forbore the practice of those disdainful airs, so chilling to the hopes of her lessfavoured lovers; she received Wallenstein with a sweet graciousness, which convinced him that he was not mistaken in supposing that she possessed a heart fraught with the most amiable and tender emotions. He became every day more and more ena

themselves; and this fair, yet hitherto coldbosomed creature, seemed to melt by degrees, until she returned his fond devotion with an equal sincerity of affection.

almost marvellous achievements, was the chief object of attraction. His bravery scarcely equalled his beauty, and he managed his prancing steed with so much grace, that the whole city rang with the praises of his person and accomplishments. It was a proud and happy moment for the fearless soldier: he had escaped disease, or wounds, in many severe hardships and wellcontested fields; and after a life of toil, and danger, and banishment from social inter-moured, as new perfections developed course with the fairer portion of the world, he was going to spend a whole season in a festive city, with a name that ensured him a general welcome. Wallenstein speedily experienced the hospitality of the inhabi- The triumph which Colonel Wallenstein tants: no ball or party was considered to be had obtained over many titled suitors, afcomplete without the handsome Colonel; forded a theme of conversation to the idle and he entered into the amusements of the portion of the community; the rejected place with the avidity of a young and san- and their friends were not sparing in their guine heart, secure of finding the pleasure sneers and animadversions upon the subwhich it sought. To fall in love was a ject; and a particular party, who generally matter of course, and, though for some assembled at a palace inhabited by Prince time puzzled how to choose amid so many Albert, of Saxe Saalfeldt, then resident beauties, a slight sentiment of vanity de- upon a mission of great importance at cided him. Romilda Blumeberg, a lady of || Dresden, were the most bitter in their inhigh birth, was the star of the Electoral dignation at the success of a man, who had court: all the gay and noble of the city already raised their envy by the fame which paid homage to her charms: she was some- rewarded his martial exploits. Prince Alwhat capricious, and difficult of access, bert had numerous reasons for disliking which, in the opinion of many, enhanced the accomplished soldier. He had once, the value of the rare and brilliant smiles even at the outset of Wallenstein's military she sometimes condescended to bestow. service, been worsted by him in a skirmish; and since his arrival in the capital he had been severely mortified by his steady refusal to join the loud and licentious revels which he was in the habit of holding in his saloons. Victor, disgusted with scenes of drunkenness and riot, had wholly withdrawn himself from the society of the Prince, who, following the bent of a fickle humour, was now running a wild career of dissipation. Never seen in assemblies frequented by the virtuous of either sex, he drained the midnight bowl with companions of the same caste; yet, gifted with considerable talent, and often emerging from a life degraded by vice, he was not entirely condemned as incorrigibly devoted to reprobate habits. His exalted station procured him many friends, who prophesied that he would live to redeem the errors of his youth; and the strong necessity in the existing state of Saxony to conciliate the imperial family, with whom he was allied,

Wallenstein had been early struck with the commanding character of her fine features; he saw that she extended even the|| 'common courtesies of life but to few, and attributing the haughty demeanour, which gained her numerous enemies, to a dignified reserve which shrank from the freedoms that others permitted without scruple, he began to feel a restless desire to thaw the ice of this lovely yet frigid maiden. The gallant Colonel was not formed to sue long in vain his paternal estate was large; and the favour which he so justly enjoyed at court seemed to promise promotion to the highest ranks of his profession. In point of birth, fortune and expectations, therefore, he might be deemed a fitting match for any lady below the dignity of a royal descent; and with the addition of his superior personal advantages, there could be little doubt of his success. Romilda, even at first elated by this new conquest beyond No. 8.- Vol. II.

L

next morning he found her laughing over some very fine verses which she had just received: she tore them in his presence, and flung them into the fire. At night the Prince was at his post again, and occasionally extracted a word from the lady, fairly tired, it should seem, of her impenetrability. Wallenstein still would not allow himself to feel uncomfortable; but though, on the following day, he was almost certain that he saw Albert's page in the palaceyard, he was not shewn any more letters; and, in the evening, Romilda was both thoughtful and languid in the dance, and when, complaining of fatigue, she sat down, the Prince was allowed to lean over the back of her chair, and to make as many fine speeches as he pleased.

rendered the court and cabinet anxious to palliate, to overlook, and to excuse excesses, which in others would have been visited with the strongest censure. Though the Prince had for a long time ceased to attend the entertainments given by the nobility, he still retained a lively recollection|| of the charms of Romilda Blumeberg, and regularly paid her the doubtful compliment of pronouncing her name before his libations, in union with the most base and worthless females of the city; and when Wallenstein's reported engagement was announced to him, he exclaimed with a deep oath, that the milk-sop was not worthy of the fairest hand in Dresden. "Ye have done wrong, gallants," he continued, "to allow this gunpowder hero to mingle myrtles with his laurels. By the The Colonel now began to experience red tip of St. Catherine I will overcome my some uneasy sensations. So long as Roconstitutional laziness, meet him in the milda had checked the advances of this infield of love, and snatch away the prize. solent suitor, for her sake he was disposed What say you, friends? I'll wager a to overlook the liberty which he had taken thousand ducats, and the best barb in my with her name; but he now determined stable to boot, that I oblige Wallenstein || upon shewing his resentment upon the first to retreat. The bet was immediately ac- fitting opportunity. Watching their concepted, and the Prince offered fresh stakes, duct closely, he saw that Romilda was his jewels to one, his pictures to another,|| dazzled by the splendour of her supposed and lastly his plate.. They were eagerly conquest. Stung to the quick, he left her taken, for Wallenstein's marriage appeared to the blandishments to which she lent so to be certain, and the chances were very willing an ear; yet, unable to seek his pilstrongly in favour of Albert's forgetfulness low, he wandered around the residence of of the whole affair. The news, however, his beloved for several hours. was buzzed about the city the next day. Victor heard it, but it did not excite any uneasiness in him. It was brought to the toilette of the lady, and she was highly indignant at Prince Albert's presumptuous hopes. To the surprise of many, he appeared that evening at a ball. Romilda displayed her resentment by the most contemptuous neglect; yet she was perhaps not secretly displeased by the obsequious attentions which this noble and insidious personage continued to pay. He yielded to none in the grace and dignity of his deportment; there was no possibility of repulsing his easy assurance; and, undaunted by her disdainful glances, he remained her shadow for the whole evening.

Wallenstein would have been better pleased had Romilda treated the Prince with quiet indifference; but the error was of the judgment only, and he would not pain his fair friend by remarking it. The

Towards morning the light of a waning moon revealed the figure of a man leaping the garden wall. Wallenstein darted forward-it was the Prince! Instantly drawing his sword, he commanded him to defend himself. Albert with cool imperturbability called the guard, and in another moment the challenger was deprived of his sword and placed in close custody. Many days elapsed ere Wallenstein was released; and it required all his own interest, and the strongest exertions on the part of his || friends, to procure his pardon. The laws against duelling were exceedingly severe; and, had not Prince Albert interceded with the Elector, they would probably have been enforced. The Prince gave himself infinite credit for his forbearance; since, had the combat actually taken place, Wallenstein must have been sentenced to banishment at the least, a punishment little less than that which he endured in