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A TALE OF ROMANCE.

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How strangely the order of destiny falls !
The darkness that hung upon Willumberg's walls, Not long in the waters the warrior lay,

Had long been remember'd with awe and dismay; When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the calls,
For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray!
And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day.

All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,
Though the valleys were brighten’d by many a

There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank:

Two days did she wander, and all the long night,
Yet none could the woods of that castle illume; In quest cf her love, on the wide river's bank.
And the lightning, which flash'd on the neighboring
stream,

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom!

And heard but the breathings of night in the air ;

Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell, "Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse!"

And saw but the foam of the white billow there.
Said Willamberg's lord to the Seer of the Cave;
It can never dispel,” said the wizard of verse, And often as midnight its veil would undraw,
"Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the

As she look'd at the light of the moon in the
wave!"

stream,

She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw,
And who was the bright star of chivalry then? As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the
Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age ?

beam.
For Reuben was first in the combat of men,
Though Youth had scarce written his name on And now the third night was begemming the sky;

Poor Rose, on the cold dewy margent reclined,

There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye,
For Willumberg's daughter his young heart had When-hark 'twas tho bell that came deep

in the wind !
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn,
When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery She startled, and saw, through the glimmering

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her page.

shade, 1 l walks o'er the flow'ns of the mountain and lawn. A form o'er the waters in majesty glide;

beat,

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That wrinkle, when first I espied it

At once put my heart out of pain ;
Till the eye, that was glowing beside it,

Disturbid my ideas again.

Weep on, weep on,
Heav'n grant no te
Weep on; and, as
I'll taste the luxur

1 This alludes to a curious gem, upon which Claudian has as this that I saw at Vendôm left us some very elaborate epigrams. It was a drop of pure pretend is a tear that our Savis water enclosed within a piece of crystal. See Claudian. Epi- gathered up by an angel, wh gram. “ de Crystallo cui aqua inerat." Addison mentions a and made a present of it to curiosity of this kind at Milan; and adds, “ It is such a rarity Remarks on several Parts of

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IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITICISM8.

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Wey, let the stingless critic chide
With all that fume of vacant pride
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool,
Like vapor on a stagnant pool.
Oh! if the song, to feeling true,
Can please th’ elect, the sacred few,
Whose souls, by Taste and Nature taught,
Thrill with the genuine pulse of thought-
If some fond feeling maid like thee,
The warm-eyed child of Sympathy,
Shall say, while o'er my simple theme
She languishes in Passion's dream,
"He was, indeed, a tender soul —
No critic law, no chill control,
" Should ever freeze, by timid art,
" The flowings of so fond a heart!"
Yes, soul of Nature ! soul of Love!
That, hor’ring like a snow-wing'd dove,
Breathed o'er my cradle warblings wild,
And haild me Passion's warmest child,

-
Grant me the tear from Beauty's eye,
From Feeling's breast the votive sigh ;
Oh! let my song, my mem'ry, find
A shrine within the tender mind;
And I will smile when critics chide,
And I will scorn the fume of pride
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool,
Liko vapor round some stagnant pool !

My fates had destined me to rovo
A long, long pilgrimage of love;
And many an altar on my way
Has lured my pious steps to stay ;
For, if the saint was young and fair,
I turn'd and sung my vespers there
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire,
Is what your pretty saints require :
To pass, nor tell a single bead,
With them would be profane indeed!
But, trust me,

all this young devotion
Was but to keep my zeal in motion;
And, ev'ry humbler altar past,
I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last!

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TO A LADY,

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TO JULIA. Mocz me no more with Love's beguiling dream,

Haply the little simple page,

Which votive thus I've traced for thee, May now and then a look engage,

And steal one moment's thought for me

A dream, I find, illusory

One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem,

as sweet:

Par dearer were than passion's bland deceit!

But, oh! in pity let not those

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, Let not the eye that seldom flows

With feeling's tear, my song behold.

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But must wo, must we part indeed?

Is all our dream of rapture over? And does not Julia's bosom bleed

To leave so dear, so fond a lover ?

Does she too mourn ?-Perhaps she may;

Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting. But why is Julia's eyo so gay,

If Julia's heart like mine is beating?

I oft have loved that sunny glow

Of gladness in her blue eye gleamingBut can the bosom bleed with wo,

While joy is in the glances beaming ?

In vain we fondly strive to trace
The soul's reflection in the face;
In vain we dwell on lines and crosses,
Crooked mouth, or short proboscis;
Boobies have look'd as wise and bright
As Plato or the Stagirite :
And many a sage and learned skull
Has peep'd through windows dark and dull
Since then, though art do all it can,
We ne'er can reach the inward man,
Nor (howsoe'er “ learn'd Thebans” doubt)
The inward woman, from without,
Methinks 'twere well if Nature could
(And Nature could, if Nature would)
Some pithy, short description write,
On tablets large, in black and white,
Which she might hang about our throttles,
Like labels upon physic-bottles ;
And where all men might read—but stay-
As dialectic sages say,
The argument most apt and ample
For common use is the example.

No, no !-Yet, love, I will not chide ;

Although your heart were fond of roving, Nor that, nor all the world beside

Could keep your faithful boy from loving.

You'll soon bo distant from his eye,

And, with you, all that's worth possessing. Oh! then it will be sweet to die,

When life has lost its only blessing !

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