Slow sunk the glorious sun, a roseate light Spread o'er the forest from his lingering rays; The glowing clouds upon Gualberto's sight Soften'd in shade,.. he could not chuse but gaze; And now a placid greyness clad the heaven, Save where the west retain'd the last green light of even.

Cool breathed the grateful air, and fresher now The fragrance of the autumal leaves arose ; The passing gale scarce moved the o'erhanging bough, And not a sound disturb'd the deep repose, Save when a falling leaf came fluttering by, Save the near brooklet's stream that murmur'd quietly.

Is there who has not felt the deep delight,
The hush of soul, that scenes like these impart ?
The heart they will not soften is not right,

And

young Gualberto was not hard of heart. Yet sure he thinks revenge becomes him well, When from a neighbouring church he heard the

The Catholic who hears that vesper-bell,
Howe'er employ'd, must send a prayer to

Heaven.

In foreign lands I liked the custom well,

For with the calm and sober thoughts of even It well accords; and wert thou journeying there, It would not hurt thee, George, to join that vesperprayer.

Gualberto had been duly taught to hold
Each pious duty with religious care,
And,..for the young man's feelings were not cold,

He never yet had mist his

vesper-prayer.

But strange misgivings now his heart invade,

And when the vesper-bell had ceased he had not pray'd?

And wherefore was it that he had not pray'd?
The sudden doubt arose within his mind,

And many a former precept then he weigh'd,

The words of Him who died to save mankind; How 'twas the meek who should inherit heaven, And man must man forgive, if he would be forgiven.

Troubled at heart, almost he felt a hope,
That yet some chance his victim might delay.
So as he mused adown the neighbouring slope
He saw a lonely traveller on his way;

And now he knows the man so much abhorr'd, . . His holier thoughts are gone, he bares the murderous sword.

"The house of Valdespesa gives the blow! Go, and our vengeance to our kinsman tell!”.. Despair and terror seized the unarm'd foe,

And prostrate at the young man's knees he fell, And stopt his hand and cried, "Oh, do not take A wretched sinner's life! mercy, for Jesus' sake!”

At that most blessed name, as at a spell,
Conscience, the God within him, smote his heart.
His hand, for murder raised, unharming fell;
He felt cold sweat-drops on his forehead start;
A moment mute in holy horror stood,

Then cried, "Joy, joy, my God! I have not shed his blood!"

He raised Anselmo up, and bade him live,
And bless, for both preserved, that holy name:
And pray'd the astonish'd foeman to forgive

The bloody purpose led by which he came.
Then to the neighbouring church he sped away,
His over-burden'd soul before his God to lay.

He ran with breathless speed,..he reach'd the door,
With rapid throbs his feverish pulses swell,..
He came to crave for pardon, to adore

For grace vouchsafed; before the cross he fell,

And raised his swimming eyes, and thought that there He saw the imaged Christ smile favouring on his prayer.

A blest illusion! from that very night

The monk's austerest life devout he led ; And still he felt the enthusiast's deep delight, Seraphic visions floated round his head;

The joys of heaven foretasted fill'd his soul, And still the good man's name adorns the sainted roll.

THE END.

1799.