Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet,

Mastered again; and its hand of ice Held her heart crushed, as in a vice! Paul, be not sad! 'Tis a holiday; To-morrow put on thy doublet gay! But leave me now for a while alone." Away, with a hop and a jump, went Paul,

And, as he whistled along the hall,
Entered Jane, the crippled crone.
"Holy Virgin! what dreadful heat!
I am faint and weary, and out of breath!
But thou art cold,-art chill as death;
My little friend! what ails thee,
sweet?"

'Nothing! I heard them singing home the bride;

And, as I listened to the song,

I thought my turn would come ere long,

Thou knowest it is at Whitsuntide. Thy cards forsooth can never lie, To me such joy they prophesy, Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide When they behold him at my side. And poor Baptiste, what sayest thou? It must seem long to him;-methinks I see him now!"

Jane, shuddering, her hand doth

Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love him less!"

"The more I pray, the more I love! It is no sin, for God is on my side!" It was enough; and Jane no more replied.

Now to all hope her heart is barred and cold;

But to deceive the beldame old She takes a sweet, contented air; Speaks of foul weather or of fair, At every word the maiden smiles! Thus the beguiler she beguiles; So that, departing at the evening's close, She says, "She may be saved! she nothing knows!"

Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress ! Now that thou wouldst, thou art no prophetess!

apart

That in a drawer's recess doth lie, And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye,

Convulsive clasps it to her heart.

The one, fantastic, light as air,
'Mid kisses ringing,

And joyous singing,

Forgets to say her morning prayer! The other, with cold drops upon her brow,

Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the floor,

And whispers, as her brother opes the door,

"O God! forgive me now!"

And then the orphan, young and blind, Conducted by her brother's hand, Towards the church, through paths unscanned,

With tranquil air, her way doth wind. Odours of laurel, making her faint and pale,

Round her at times exhale,
And in the sky as yet no sunny ray,
But brumal vapours gray.

Near that castle, fair to see,

Crowded with sculptures old, in every

part,

Marvels of nature and of art,

"Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!" Thus Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend!"

"Yes; seest thou not our journey's end?

Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry?

The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, we know !

Dost thou remember when our father said,

The night we watched beside his bed, 'O daughter, I am weak and low; Take care of Paul; I feel that I am dying!'

And thou, and he, and I, all fell to crying?

Then on the roof the osprey screamed aloud;

And here they brought our father in his shroud.

There is his grave; there stands the cross we set;

Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Mar

garet?

Come in! The bride will be here soon: Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art going to swoon!"

She could no more,-the blind girl, weak and weary!

A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary,

"What wouldst thou do, my daughter?" -and she started;

And quick recoiled, aghast, fainthearted;

But Paul, impatient, urges ever more Her steps towards the open door; And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid

At length the bell,

With booming sound,

Sends forth, resounding round, Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell.

It is broad day, with sunshine and with rain;

And yet the guests delay not long,

For soon arrives the bridal train, And with it brings the village throng.

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant day, Mute as an idiot, sad as yester-morning, Thinks only of the beldame's words of warning.

And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper Feels her heart swell to hear all round

FROM THE SPANISH.
Ан, Love!

Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Enemy

Of all that mankind may not rue!
Most untrue

To him who keeps most faith with thee!
Woe is me!

The falcon has the eyes of the dove!
Ah, Love!

Perjured, false, treacherous love!
Thy deceits

Give us clearly to comprehend
Whither tend

All thy pleasures, all thy sweets!
They are cheats,-
Thorns below, and flowers above!
Ah, Love!

Perjured, false, treacherous Love!

BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO

HEORT.

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. THUS then, much care-worn, The son of Healfden

Sorrowed evermore,

Nor might the prudent hero
His woes avert.

The war was too hard,
Too loath and longsome,
That on the people came,
Dire wrath and grim,
Of night-woes the worst.
This from home heard
Higelac's Thane,

Good among the Goths,
Grendel's deeds.
He was of mankind
In might the strongest,
At that day

Of this life,

Noble and stalwart.
He bade him a sea-ship,
A goodly one, prepare.
Quoth he, the war-king,
Över the swan's road,
Seek he would
The mighty monarch,
Since he wanted men.
For him that journey
His prudent fellows
Straight made ready,
Those that loved him.
They excited their souls,
The omen they beheld.
Had the good-man
Of the Gothic people
Champions chosen,
Of those that keenest
He might find,
Some fifteen men.
The sea-wood sought he,
The warrior showed,
Sea-crafty man!
The landmarks,
And first went forth.

The ship was on the waves,
Boat under the cliffs.
The barons ready
To the prow mounted.
The streams they whirled

The sea against the sands.
The chieftains bore
On the naked breast
Bright ornaments,
War-gear, Goth-like.
The men shoved off,

Men on their willing way,

The bounden wood.

Then went over the sea-waves,

Hurried by the wind,

The ship with foamy neck,

Most like a sea-fowl,

Till about one hour
Of the second day
The curved prow
Had passed onward
So that the sailors
The land saw,

The shore-cliffs shining,
Mountains steep,
And broad sea-noses.
Then was the sea-sailing
Of the earl at an end.
Then up speedily
The Weather people
On the land went,
The sea-bark moored,
Their mail-sarks shook,
Their war-weeds.
God thanked they,

That to them the sea-journey
Easy had been.

Then from the wall beheld
The warden of the Scyldings,
He who the sea-cliffs
Had in his keeping,
Bear o'er the balks
The bright shields,
The war-weapons speedily.
Him the doubt disturbed
In his mind's thought,
What these men might be.
Went then to the shore,
On his steed riding,
The Thane of Hrothgar.
Before the host he shook
His warden's staff in hand,
In measured words demanded
"What men are ye
War-gear wearing,
Host in harness,

Who thus the brown keel
Over the water-street

Leading come

Hither over the sea?

I these boundaries

As shore-warden hold;

That in the Land of the Danes

Nothing loathsome

With a ship-crew

Scathe us might. . . .

Ne'er saw I mightier

Earl upon earth

Than is your own,
Hero in harness.