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A TALE OF ROMANCE.

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This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire,

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, Is what your pretty saints require :

And she heard but the breathings of night in the To pass, nor tell a single bead, With them would be profane indeed! Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell, But, trust me, all this young devotion,

And she saw but the foam of the white billow there. Was but to keep my zeal in motion; And, every humbler altar past,

And often as midnight its veil would undraw, I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last !

As she look'd at the light of the moon in the stream, She thought 't was his helmet of silver she saw,

As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the beam. REUBEN AND ROSE.

And now the third night was begemming the sky,

Poor Rose on the cold dewy margent reclined, The darkness which hung upon Willumberg's walls. There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye,

Has long been remember'd with awe and dismay! When,-hark !—'t was the bell that came deep in For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls,

the wind ! And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day. She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade, Though the valleys were brighten’d by many a beam, A form o'er the waters in majesty glide ;

Yet none could the woods of the castle illume; She knew 't was her love, though his cheek was And the lightning which flash'd on the neighbouring decay'd,

And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the tide. Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom!

Was this what the seer of the cave had foretold ?“Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse ?"

Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a Said Willumberg's lord to the seer of the cave;

gleam; “It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse,

'T was Reuben, but ah! he was deathly and cold, “Till the bright star of chivalry's sunk in the wave!"

And fitted away like the spell of a dream! And who was the bright star of chivalry then ?

Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age ?

From the bank to embrace him, but never, ah! For Reuben was first in the combat of men,

never ! Though Youth had scarce written his name on her Then springing beneath, at a billow she caught,

And sunk to repose on its bosom for ever! For Willumberg's daughter his bosom had beat,

For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet, It walks o'er the flowers of the mountain and lawn!

THE RING. Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever ?

Sad, sad were the words of the man in the cave, That darkness should cover the castle for ever,

Annulus ille viri.- Ovid. Amor. lib. ii. eleg. 15. Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave! She flew to the wizard—“ And tell me, oh tell! The happy day at length arrived Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my When Rupert was to wed eyes ?"

The fairest maid in Saxony, “Yes, yes—when a spirit shall toll the great bell

And take her to his bed. Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise !"

As soon as morn was in the sky,
Twice, thrice he repeated,“ Your Reuben shall rise !"

The feast and sports began;
And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain; The men admired the happy maid,
She wiped, while she listen'd, the tears from her eyes,

The maids the happy man.
And she hoped she might yet see her hero again!

In many a sweet device of mirth Her hero could smile at the terrors of death,

The day was pass'd along; When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose !

And some the featly dance amused,
To the Oder he flew, and there plunging beneath,

And some the dulcet song.
In the lapse of the billows soon found his repose.-
How strangely the order of destiny falls!

1 I should be sorry to think that my friend had any seriNot long in the waters the warrior lay,

ous intentions of frightening the nursery by this story: I When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls, rather hope-though the manner of it leads me to doubt

that his design was to ridicule ibat distempered Casto which And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray! prefers those monsters of the fancy to the speciosa mira

cula" of true poetic imagination. All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,

I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank: story in a German author, FROMMAN upon Fascination, Two days did she wander, and all the long night,

book iii. part. vi. chap. 18. On consulting the work, I per:

ceive that Fromman quotes it from Beluacensis, among In quest of her love on the wide river's bank many other stories equally diabolical and interesting.-E.

A TALE.

The younger maids with Isabel

Disported through the bowers, And deck'd her robe, and crown'd her head

With motley bridal flowers.
The matrons all in rich attire,

Within the castle walls,
Sat listening to the choral strains

That echo'd through the halls.
Young Rupert and his friends repair'd

Unto a spacious court,
To strike the bounding tennis-ball

In feat and manly sport.
The bridegroom on his finger had

The wedding-ring so bright,
Which was to grace the lily hand

Of Isabel that night.
And fearing he might break the gem,

Or lose it in the play,
He look'd around the court, to see

Where he the ring might lay.
Now in the court a statue stood,

Which there full long had been ; It was a heathen goddess, or

Perhaps a heathen queen.
Upon its marble finger then

He tried the ring to fit;
And, thinking it was safest there,

Thereon he fasten'd it.

He search'd the base, and all the court,

And nothing could he find,
But to the castle did return

With sore bewilder'd mind.
Within he found them all in mirth,

The night in dancing flew;
The youth another ring procured,

And none the adventure knew.
And now the priest has join'd their hands,

The hours of love advance!
Rupert almost forgets to think

Upon the morn's mischance.
Within the bed fair Isabel

In blushing sweetness lay,
Like flowers half-open'd by the dawn,

And waiting for the day.
And Rupert, by her lovely side,

In youthful beauty glows,
Like Phæbus, when he bends to cast

His beams upon a rose !
And here my song should leave them both,

Nor let the rest be told,
But for the horrid, horrid tale

It yet has to unfold !
Soon Rupert 'twixt his bride and him,

A death-cold carcase found;
He saw it not, but thought he felt

Its arms embrace him round.
He started up, and then return'd,

But found the phantom still;
In vain he shrunk, it clipp'd him round,

With damp and deadly chill!
And when he bent, the earthy lips

A kiss of horror gave; 'T was like the smell from charnel vaults,

Or from the mouldering grave! Il-fated Rupert! wild and loud

Thou criedst to thy wife,
“Oh! save me from this horrid fiend,

My Isabel! my life !"
But Isabel had nothing seen,

She look'd around in vain;
And much she mourn'd the mad conceit

That rack'd her Rupert's brain.
At length from this invisible

These words to Rupert came; (Oh God! while he did hear the words,

What terrors shook his frame!)

And now the tennis sports went on,

Till they were wearied all, And messengers announced to them

Their dinner in the hall.

Young Rupert for his wedding-ring

Unto the statue went;
But, oh! how was he shock'd to find

The marble finger bent !
The hand was closed upon the ring

With firm and mighty clasp ;
In vain he tried, and tried, and tried,

He could not loose the grasp !
How sore surprised was Rupert's mind,-

As well his mind might be ; “I'll come," quoth he, “ at night again,

When none are here to see." He went unto the feast, and much

He thought upon his ring;
And much he wonder'd what could mean

So very strange a thing !
The feast was o'er, and to the court

He went without delay,
Resolved to break the marble hand,

And force the ring away!
But mark a stranger wonder still

The ring was there no more;
Yet was the marble hand ungrasp'd,

And open as before !

“ Husband ! husband! I've the ring

Thou gavest to-day to me;
And thou 'rt to me for ever wed,

As I am wed to thee!"
And all the night the demon lay

Cold-chilling by his side,
And strain'd him with such deadly grasp,

He thought he should have died'

But when the dawn of day was near,

The horrid phantom fled,
And left the affrighted youth to weep

By Isabel in bed.
All, all that day a gloomy cloud

Was seen on Rupert’s brows;
Fair Isabel was likewise sad,

But strove to cheer her spouse.
And, as the day advanced, he thought

Of coming night with fear:
Ah! that he must with terror view

The bed that should be dear!

At length the second night arrived,

Again their couch they press'd; Poor Rupert hoped that all was o'er,

And look'd for love and rest.

But oh! when midnight came, again

The fiend was at his side, And, as it strain'd him in its grasp,

With howl exulting cried,

“ Husband ! husband ! I've the ring,

The ring thou gavest to me; And thou 'rt to me for ever wed,

As I am wed to thee !" In agony of wild despair,

He started from the bed; And thus to his bewilder'd wife

The trembling Rupert said: “ Oh Isabel! dost thou not see

A shape of horrors here,
That strains me to the deadly kiss,

And keeps me from my dear ?" “No, no, my love! my Rupert, I

No shape of horror see;
And much I mourn the phantasy

That keeps my dear from me!" This night, just like the night before,

In terrors pass'd away,
Nor did the demon vanish thence

Before the dawn of day.
Says Rupert then, “My Isabel,

Dear partner of my woe,
To Father Austin's holy cave

This instant will I go."
Now Austin was a reverend man,

Who acted wondrous maint,
Whom all

untry round believed A devil saint !

" There is a place where four roads meet,

Which I will tell to thee;
Be there this eve, at fall of night,

And list what thou shalt see.
Thou 'lt see a group of figures pass

In strange disorder'd crowd,
Trav'ling by torch-light through the roads,

With noises strange and loud.
And one that's high above the rest,

Terrific towering o'er,
Will make thee know him at a glance,

So I need say no more.
To him from me these tablets give,

They 'll soon be understood;
Thou need'st not fear, but give them straight,

I've scrawld them with my blood !"
The night-fall came, and Rupert all

In pale amazement went
To where the cross-roads met, and he

Was by the father sent.
And lo! a group of figures came

In strange disorder'd crowd,
Trav'ling by torch-light through the roads,

With noises strange and loud.
And as the gloomy train advanced,

Rupert beheld from far
A female form of wanton mien

Seated upon a car.
And Rupert, as he gazed upon

The looselyovested dame,
Thought of the marble statue's look,

For hers was just the same.
Behind her walk'd a hideous form,

With eye-balls flashing death ;
Whene'er he breath'd, a sulphur'd smoke

Came burning in his breath!
He seem'd the first of all the crowd

Terrific towering o'er;
“Yes, yes," said Rupert, “ this is he,

And I need ask no more."
Then slow he went, and to this fiend

The tablets trembling gave,
Who look'd and read them with a yell

That would disturb the grave.

And when he saw the blood-scrawl'd name,

His eyes with fury shine; " I thought," cries he,“ his time was out,

But he must soon be mine!"

To Father Austin's holy cave

Then Rupert went full straight, And told him all, and ask'd him how

To remedy his fate. The father heard the youth, and then

Retired awhile to pray; And, having pray'd for half an hour,

Return'd, and thus did say:

Then darting at the youth a look,

Which rent his soul with fear, He went unto the female fiend,

And whisper'd in her ear. The female fiend no sooner heard,

Than, with reluctant look, The very ring that Rupert lost

She from her finger took ;

And, giving it unto the youth,

With eyes that breath'd of hell, She said in that tremendous voice

Which he remember'd well :

“In Austin's name take back the ring,

The ring thou gavest to me; And thou 'rt to me no longer wed,

Nor longer I to thee."

Whether I waste my life in tears,

Or live, as now, for mirth and loving ! This day shall come with aspect kind,

Wherever Fate may cast your rover; He 'll think of those he left behind,

And drink a health to bliss that 's over! Then, oh! my friends, this hour improve,

Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever; And may the birth of her we love

Be thus with joy remember'd ever!

He took the ring, the rabble pass'd,

He home retur'd again ; His wife was then the happiest fair,

The happiest he of men.

SONG. ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF MRS.

TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH.

WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. Is it not sweet, beloved youth,

To rove through erudition's bowers, And cull the golden fruits of truth,

And gather fancy's brilliant flowers ? And is it not more sweet than this

To feel thy parents' hearts approving, And pay them back in sums of bliss

The dear, the endless debt of loving?
It must be so to thee, my youth;

With this idea toil is lighter;
This sweetens all the fruits of truth,

And makes the flowers of fancy brighter! The little gift we send thee, boy,

May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder If indolence or syren joy

Should ever tempt that soul to wander. 'T will tell thee that the winged day

Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavour ; That life and time shall fade away,

While heaven and virtue bloom for ever!

WRITTEN IN IRELAND. Of all my happiest hours of joy,

And even I have had my measure, When hearts were full and every eye

Has kindled with the beams of pleasure ! Such hours as this I ne'er was given,

So dear to friendship, so dear to blisses ; Young Love himself looks down from heaven,

To smile on such a day as this is !
Then, oh! my friends, this hour improve,

Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever!
And may the birth of her we love

Be thus with joy remember'd ever! Oh! banish every thought to-night,

Which could disturb our souls' communion' Abandon'd thus to dear delight,

We'll e'en for once forget the Union ! On that let statesmen try their powers,

And tremble o'er the rights they'd die for; The union of the soul be ours,

And every union else we sigh for! Then, oh! my friends, this hour improve,

Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever; And may the birth of her we love

Be thus with joy remember'd ever! In every eye around I mark

The feelings of the heart o'erflowing, From every soul I catch the spark

Of sympathy in friendship glowing! Oh! could such moments ever fly :

Oh! that we ne'er were doom'd to lose 'em; And all as bright as Charlotte's eye,

And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom. But oh! my friends, this hour improve,

Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever ; And may the birth of her we love

Be thus with joy remember'd ever!

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MARK those proud boasters of a splendid line,
Like gilded ruins, mouldering while they shine,
How heavy sits that weight of alien show,
Like martial helm upon an infant's brow;

Those borrow'd splendours, whose contrasting light
Throws back the native shades in deeper night.

Ask the proud train who glory's shade pursue, Where are the arts by which that glory grew ? The genuine virtues that with eagle gaze Sought young Renown in all her orient blaze ? Where is the heart by chymic truth refined, The exploring soul, whose eye had read mankind ? Where are the links that twined with heavenly art, His country's interest round the patriot's heart? Where is the tongue that scatter'd words of fire ? The spirit breathing through the poet's lyre ? Do these descend with all that tide of fame Which vainly waters an unfruitful name?

For me, whate'er my span of years,

Whatever sun may light my roving;

Justum bellum quibus necessarium, et pia arma quibus

MORALITY. nulla nisi in armis relinquitur spes.

Livy.

A FAMILIAR EPISTLE.

ADDRESSED TO J. AT-NS-N, ESQ. M. R. I. A.' Is luere no call, no consecrating cause,

Though long at school and college, dozing Approved by Heaven, ordain'd by Nature's laws, On books of rhyme and books of prosing, Where justice flies the herald of our way,

And copying from their moral pages And truth's pure

beams upon the banners play? Fine recipes for forming sages ; Yes, there's a call, sweet as an angel's breath

Though long with those divines at school,

Who think to make us good by rule ;
To slumbering babes, or innocence in death;

Who, in methodic forms advancing,
And urgent as the tongue of heaven within,
When the mind's balance trembles upon sin.

Teaching morality like dancing,

Tell us, for Heaven or money's sake, Oh! 't is our country's voice, whose claims should

What steps we are through life to take : meet

Though thus, my friend, so long employ'd, An echo in the soul's most deep retreat ;

And so much midnight oil destroy'd,
Along the heart's responding string should rune I must confess, my searches past,
Nor let a tone there vibrate-but the one !

I only learn'd to doubt at last.
I find the doctors and the sages

Have differ'd in all climes and ages,
SONG.'

And two in fifty scarce agree
Mary, I believed thee true,

On what is pure morality!
And I was blest in thus believing;

'T is like the rainbow's shifting zone, But now I mourn that e'er I knew

And every vision makes its own.
A girl so fair and so deceiving !

The doctors of the Porch advise,
Few have ever loved like me,-

As modes of being great and wise,
Oh! I have loved thee too sincerely !

That we should cease to own or know
And few have e'er deceived like thee,

The luxuries that from feeling flow.
Alas! deceived me too severely!
Fare thee well! yet think awhile

“Reason alone must claim direction,
On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee;

And Apathy's the soul's perfection.
Who now would rather trust that smile,

Like a dull lake the heart must lie;
And die with thee, than live without thee!

Nor passion's gale nor pleasure's sigh,

Though heaven the breeze, the breath supplied, Fare thee well! I'll think of thee,

Must curl the wave or swell the tide !"
Thou leavest me many a bitter token ;
For see, distracting woman! see,

Such was the rigid Zeno's plan
My peace is gone, my heart is broken !

To form his philosophic man ;
Fare thee well!

Such were the modes he taught mankind
To weed the garden of the mind;
They tore away some weeds, 't is true,

But all the flowers were ravish'd too!
SONG.
Why does azure deck the sky ?

Now listen to the wily strains,
'T is to be like thy eyes of blue ;

Which, on Cyrené's sandy plains, Why is red the rose's dye?

When Pleasure, nymph with loosen'd zone, Because it is thy blush's hue.

Usurp'd the philosophic throne;

Hear what the counly sage's tongue"
All that's fair, by Love's decree,

To his surrounding pupils sung :
Has been made resembling thee!
Why is falling snow so white,

" Pleasure's the only noble end
But to be like thy bosom fair?

To which all human powers should tend,
Why are solar beams so bright?

And Virtue gives her heavenly lore,
That they may seem thy golden hair!

But to make Pleasure please us more!
All that 's bright, by Love's decree,

Wisdom and she were both design'd Has been made resembling thee !

To make the senses more refined,

That man might revel, free from cloying,
Why are Nature's beauties felt ?
Oh! 't is thine in her we see !

Then most a sage, when most enjoying !"
Why has music power to melt ?
Oh! because it speaks like thee.

1 The gentleman to whom this poem is addressed, is the All that 's sweet, by Love's decree,

author of some esteemed works, and was Mr. Little's most particular friend.

I have heard Mr. Little very frequently Has been made resembling thee!

speak of him as one in whom “ the elements were so mix

ed," that neither in his head nor heart bad nature left any 1 I believe these words were adapted by Mr. Little to the deficiency.-E. pathetic Scotch air "Galla Water."

-E.

% Aristippur.

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