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Back to the turret's verge, and steadfastly,
Screening her eyes from the descending sun,
Looked o'er the parapet. The wooded hills,
Sprinkled with sunshine, and the vales between,
Lapped in dim, lovely shade, seemed overspread
With a faint ghastliness. Except the crow,
Flapping above the forest, or the wings
Of the fierce eagles, or the bird that flew
Dipping along the river, nothing stirred
Over the landscape, and her straining gaze
Dropped hopeless downward.

Nay! upon the path

Tracking the mountain, some one stirred beneath, Slowly approaching. Both together leant

Over the parapet, and called aloud.

Alas! the thin, light air refused to keep
The burden of their voices. He below

Never looked up. But, could their frantic cries
Have fathomed the deep distance, it had then
Availed them not. For it was only Kranz,
The deaf and dumb from Lahnstein, seeking flowers
To sell them at the inn.

They watched the twilight
As 'twere a deluge, while its flowing tides
Flooded the valleys and crept up the front
Of the tall turret. Barge on barge had gone
Down the calm river; from the mill above
Forth came the miller, and walked loitering home
Under the mountain's shadow; peasants drove
Their cattle from the pasture; children played
In the near fields; and once, a fisherman
Rowed through the castle's bright reflection, cast
Over the Lahn. And no one paused for them!
The steersman had been busy at his helm;
The miller thought of home.

They had strayed far That sunny day; none in the distant town They left behind knew whither, or would think To seek them here.

The stars shone thick above;

The gloom below was studded here and there
By clustered village lights; the firefly lit
His lamp among the osiers. Ida still
Crouched by the parapet, her folded arms
Pillowing her head. She had awhile exchanged
Her sorrow for another's; and, in thought,
Mourned for her own lost self, and wearied time
With questions of her fate. Once Margaret spoke
Words of faint comfort; but she, looking up,
Answered with dreary smiling, "Hope thou not,
Unless we make, like rosy Ganymede,

Steeds of the eagles." Now bright floods of light
Poured from the windows of the Lahnstein inn
Over the waters. There the merry guests
Sat quaffing Rhine wine.

Midnight from the skies
Swept like a solemn vision. Ere the dawn,
A low white mist had settled on the vales;
And all that day no traveller came to look
At the lone ruin. They were wild with thirst,
Faint for the lack of food, when still as dew
Another eve dropt round them. Since the noon
Margaret had stirred not, but with blank cold eyes
Turned to the misty river, and hands locked
Over her knee, sat patient; though aloud
Ida wailed out; or, leaning from the tower,
Stretched forth her arms towards the distant home
Whence they had strayed; or, frozen by despair,
Prostrate lay silent, till dismay again
Struck at her cowering soul. But now she rose,
And close upon its brink, looked steadily
Down the black chasm. From the vaults stole up
An odour of damp earth; against the walls
Beat the blind bats, and startled by her tread,
An owl rushed upward with its boding scream,
And wheeling round the tower fled fast and far
Towards the Black Forest. Whether she had leant
Over the gulf too hardily, and scared

By the near flight of that unholy bird

Swerved and stepped falsely; whether desperate fear Then fixed the wavering purpose in her soul,

God saw; but Ida, starting at a shriek

That drowned the owl's hoot, only looked to know She was alone.

What desolate hours were hers

Who knelt down in the starlight, stretching forth Her shuddering arms to Heaven, and from that time Patiently suffered!

Was she saved at last?What say the bargemen floating down the Lahn, The boatmen at the ferry, to and fro, Hourly plying; or the rustic groups That loiter as they pass? To their belief, Since from its heights the robber baron swept His hawk's eye o'er the valleys, never foot Has trod the ruined summit. Only once, Albert, the fisher, resting on his oar, After the day's toil, marvelled to discern A wild she eagle, wheeling from the clouds, Sit screaming to her mate with outspread wings, Where the red sunset crowns the Tower of Lahneck.

OH! VISIT ME IN DREAMS.

BY MISS E. W. BARNES.

OFT in my day-dreams, Brother, do I see
Thy face so loved; it gently smiles on me,
In the glad sunbeam of the glowing day,
And in the pensive moonbeam's milder ray.
Thy voice, it greets me in each mirthful tone
That nature's wild harp breathes,-and, in the moan

Of Autumn's requiem o'er her dying flowers,

I hear thy sigh, o'er bygone, happy hours;

I see thee, and I feel that thou art near,
When music's sweetness falls upon mine ear;
And in the rippling of the summer rill,

Thy glad laugh weaves its gladness round me still.

Would that my visions of the night were blest,
And thy dear spirit hovered o'er my rest!
Would that in dreams, when darkness has unfurled
Her starlit banner o'er a slumbering world.

Thou, with the shadowy train of loved ones dear,
Would hold communion with my spirit here!
May I not call ye from your far-off home,
And will ye not, beloved ones, hither come?
Oh! hover round me, on my couch of rest,
Blend with my dreams the thought that ye are blest;
Tell me of those pure joys that hidden lie,
'Neath the dark curtain of futurity.

Speak of our best reunion in that land

Where Love shall bind us once more hand in hand.

Oh! hover o'er me! Spread your angel wings,—
Bear me, in dreams at least, from earth's frail things;
Whisper of Heaven-enraptured sing its bliss,
And on my brow impress the angel's kiss.
Oh! if the grave must shut ye from my sight,
Return-return, in visions of the night!

[graphic]

VOL. VIII.

Tsing Vul

The moon is at the full,'

And round as Dema's shield:

But once it was a creese,

Within its sheath of clouds.

Its curve was half withdrawn from out the sheath,
Down-glittering on the water, when we met:-
The water followed it,-

And I have followed thee;

Thy boat sailed down the river like a swan ;

The prying night-wind blew thy veil aside,
And the moon went in a cloud, out of sheer despair:-
She was not fair enough when thou wert out,
Soft Moon of Beauty! Empress of the Night!
Heart of hearts,

Tsing Vu!

The moon is at the full,
And lucent as a pearl;-

But nothing to the light,
Within my lady's eyes.

Her lids are whiter than the fringed folds
About the virgin couch of Pu-re-né;2

Her lashes finely dyed,

Lying along her cheek:

Her cheek is a celestial honey-suckle:

Oh! that I were the bee to suck its honey!

(For my lips are red as roses, and love the ladies' lips!)

If I could only press my mouth to thine,

And wreathe my arms like tendrils round thy waist!-
Heart of hearts,

Adorable!

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Three.
Tsing Vu!-

The moon is at the full,
Embosomed in the stars;

As thou art in my soul,

'Mid all thy tender thoughts!

I am the Mandarin of Peekeena,

(Who knows not me? so famed for handsome looks?)

Deep read in all the laws

Of Tsomi and Confucius.3

And fourscore officers in robes of state,

Surround my throne, with axes and bamboos:

(Hast thou any hateful foes? whisper their names to me!)
My palace fronts the Temple of the Sun,
The richest palace in all Peekeena.-

Heart of hearts,

Little-slippered queen:
Who never walked alone:
Loveliest!

Four.

Tsing Vu!

The moon is at the full,

Round as a harvest moon :

It was a sickle once,

Like those the reapers use.

What time it was a sickle in the belt

Of Darkness, Heaven's Reaper, then we met:-
The boatmen plied their oars-
My heart outsailed their speed:

I saw thee for a moment, when thy fan
Was blown away-(I would not leave thee so!)
And night by night I sail, but meet thee-never more-
Not there, but thrice a day, thy sedan chair,

And wish I was the slave that carries thee!
Heart of hearts,

Little-slippered love:

Who was not born to walk:
Perfectest!

Five.
Tsing Vu!-

The moon is at the full,
To-morrow it will wane,

As I must, even to death,

If thou art still unkind!

The Feast of Lanterns will be held to-night;"
The guards have left the bath, a merry troop,
With peaked caps, and gowns

Spear-pointed at the knee:

They march, and counter-march, and look for me,
Swinging their poles, an avenue of light.

My palakeen awaits thee, come to the show to-night,
And I will feast thee with a thousand dainties,
Served up in amber dishes, fit for Gods!

Heart of hearts,

Love of loves:

The wonder of the world,
And Paragon of Heaven!
Va-mé-va.

NOTES.

1 "The moon is at the full."

der of the line of Tsoome, which laid the foundations of Kan-túne, the tenth dynasty from the demi-gods of Paradise. The laws of Tsomi being framed in an honest, simple age, are honest and simple, just to all: those of Confucius are more abstract, (Po-pé says, indeed, that many are bodily abstracted from the Cham statues of Lower Tartary.) Confucius being, like many a later phi

great favourite with the celestial lawyers, who, with their more (?) civilized brethren, are fond of litigation, and a long bill of costs.

The full moon has always been a season of rejoicing among the people of China; then the lover may sing ditties under his lady's window, and the lady may hear, and answer him, either by a wave of her hand or scarf, or the more favourable go-between of voice, and no scan-losopher, a little muddy and transcendental at times, is a dal follow it. The servant is then on an equality with his master, the maid with her mistress. The streets are full of processions at night, generally of the lower order of citizens; bands, with gongs, drums, and a shrill flute much used in the Chinese army, parade the public squares, and let off brilliant and many-coloured fireworks, before the pagodas and statues of the reigning monarch. The Saturnalia of the ancient Romans were but faint shadows of the moonshine nights of China.

"Her lids are whiter than the fringed folds Around the virgin couch of Pu-re-né." Pu-re-né is the Goddess of Chastity; her couch is spread in the everlasting winters of Far-ne-yéa, "the whitest land in Paradise," as it is called by the Chinese poets. Pu-re-né sleeps for ever on a couch of snows, guarded by a vestal train, whose only arms are long spears of ice,the icicles that drip from the mouth of the cavern of Death. Pu-re-né rests for ever in a kind of half sleep, dreaming of Youth, only once beheld by her, from the towers of her palace, a beautiful man-boy playing in the garden of Childhood. Growing enamoured of him, the Gods, to preserve her chastity, removed him to the bleak lands of Old Age, and threw her into an everlasting sleep: and wisely, too, adds the satirical Po-pé, for even the Gods themselves could not have prevented her from accomplishing her desires, had they left in her natural wakefulness.

"Deep read in all the laws

Of Tsomi and Confucius."

"The Feast of Lanterns will be held to-night."

The Feast of Lanterns is one of the most fantastic in all the calendar. At dusk, or early sunset, a single lantern is lit in the tallest pagoda in the city, and run up to its eastern cupola, where it is swung by a priest, while a multitude in the sacred enclosure surrounding the temple chaunt a hymn, dedicated to that purpose in the ritual; an odd, meaningless jargon, full of uncouth interjections,

"Pointless in all save exclamation points!"

This done, a smaller lantern is lit thereat, by the priest, and lowered to the multitude below, who use it to kindle the sea-fowl candles in their own lanterns; when this ceremony-a prelude to what follows-is performed, the procession begins to march to the bath, where all must be purified by the virginity of the waters. When the ablution is over, and the moon has arisen, the procession begins its last march, tramping through the principal street of the city. (By-the-by, our militia heroes must have heard of this, or learned it by intuition,-as they do everything else!-for they always disgrace themselves in the same public manner.) Pom-pom balls, sugar-plums, comfits, and all kind of confectionary, are thrown from the windows on the populace, as in the Italian carnivals; and a scene of merriment ensues mocking description. Songs are sung, jests bandied about, and fun runs riot on

Tsomi was one of the earliest kings of China; the foun- the moonshine nights of China.

THE BROKEN PROMISES.

BY MRS. HUGH S.

CHAPTER I.

character not to be shaken by the little bursts of passion that too frequently govern the actions of the young and beautiful. How long she had stood as we have attempted to describe her, we will not pretend to say; but she at length seemed to make an effort to rouse herself, and raising her fine eyes to heaven, she said, as if ejaculating unconsciously, "It will soon be

WITHIN sight of the beautiful and picturesque Susquehanna, about half way between Harrisburg and Northumberland, stands a neatly elegant mansion. The taste of the owner is displayed by his having placed his dwelling on a slight eminence, from which the wide-spread and transparent river may over! One painful effort more, and then I be seen, at a point where the high projecting cliffs have evidently been rent asunder by repeated torrents, though at a short distance they present to the traveller the idea that he is gazing upon a calm and beautiful lake, protected by precipitous and towering rocks.

In a handsomely furnished chamber in this house, a lovely fair girl stood at a window that commanded the view to which we have referred. She was perfectly motionless, resting her right arm against the side of the window-frame, and pressing her polished forehead against the back of a small white hand, whilst the other that held a cambric handkerchief, rested on the sill. She might, to a casual observer, have been thought to be engrossed by a contemplation of the rich scenery before her for, though late in the season, the trees were not yet stripped of their manycoloured mantles, but were glittering in the sun with all the varied hues of declining autumn, but on a more minute inspection, it would have been found that her beautiful deep blue eyes, clear and transparent as the waters on which she appeared to look, were in reality gazing on vacancy, whilst the rich and glossy ringlets, like spun gold, having dropped over her face as it bent forward, had caught some of the tears, in which her handkerchief was already steeped, and held the shining treasure, as jewels befitting so exquisite a setting. It might be seen too, that both the hand that supported the Madonna-shaped head, and that which grasped the handkerchief, were clasped in a manner indicative of strong emotion, and that her bosom frequently swelled, as if the heart that was encased in it was ready to burst its bonds. That this excess of agitation had been called forth by no common cause was evident, for it was impossible to look at the lovely face without discovering traits of mind far exceeding the beauty even of its exquisite lineaments, and that the small and finely formed mouth bespoke an energy of

shall only have to pray for resignation. But oh! Henry, what is the fate that is in store for you?"

"And what but the happiest fate can be in store for him?" asked a voice that made the young apostrophizer start, and looking round, she saw her friend Caroline Fraser, who had entered the chamber just as her last words were uttered. "My dear Angelica," continued the gay young girl in a joking tone, "what on earth made you express so pathetic a query about the fate of Henry Longridge? What but the most enviable fate can be in store for one for whom fortune has treasured up her richest gifts?" Angelica was silent, but turning from the window she sank upon a chair as if scarcely able to support herself. "Had I not seen Harry a few minutes ago," proceeded the visiter, "I should have been alarmed at your agitation; but I have just had a hearty laugh with him about the party of last evening, and hastened to continue the merriment with you. Now do pray tell me what evil you can possibly anticipate for one who is young, rich, talented, and destined to be the husband of the handsomest girl in the state?" Angelica only shook her head. "Well, if the last proposition is too much for your modesty to assent to, tell me if he isn't young?"

"Certainly,” answered Angelica, in a tone that suited so self-evident a question. "And handsome?"

"Conspicuously so."

"And as talented as handsome?"
"Quite so."

"And about to become the husband of Angelica Melville?"

"Oh no, no!" cried the young girl, starting in agony from her seat, and pacing the room in agitation; "never! never!" The interrogator sat for a few moments silent, and appeared to be struggling with some strong emotion, of which even a nice discriminator would have found it difficult to determine the nature,

whether that of pleasure or pain, but which was unnoticed by Angelica, who still paced the room in great agitation. At length, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her, Caroline said, with a sort of forced smile, "Oh, lovers' quarrels are soon made up, and this must be a trifling one indeed, for Harry appeared to be perfectly unconscious of it. I'm astonished, Angelica, that you will allow yourself to be thus overcome, because some little caprice or whim has taken possession of your mind."

"Did you ever know me to be actuated by such motives?" asked Angelica, raising her beautiful eyes with a look of inquiry to the face of her friend.

"Never!" returned the other with animation; "but this only makes me wonder the more at your present conduct."

"What I said arose from no whim or caprice, dear Caroline," said Angelica, whilst the tears that had before filled her eyes began to roll down her pale cheeks; "Harry Longridge will never be my husband." Again the same indefinable expression appeared in Caroline's countenance—again she was silent for some minutes, and when she spoke it was with a tremulous voice. "Only a few days have elapsed, Angelica," she said, "since you told me you expected to be married in about two months."

Angelica seemed to hesitate for some time, and to be undergoing a distressing internal conflict; but at last, raising her clear blue eyes, which were beaming with a soul of angelic purity, she said, with an evident and painful effort, "Next to the agony of finding those we love unworthy of our affection, is the pain of exposing their faults to others; but you have a right, dear Caroline, to claim my confidence, and you shall have it; and that the rather, as I know that the interest you have ever felt in Harry, on his own account as well as mine, will induce you to screen his faults, as long as he will himself allow them to be hidden. It is unnecessary for me to tell you how long we have known and loved each other, for the circumstance of his having been left when a mere boy to father's guardianship threw us almost constantly together; but it was not till after his first return from college that I was aware how infinitely dear he was to my heart. Yet even then I felt some alarm for his future character, when he talked to me of the sort of companions with whom he associated at college,-one in particular, who seemed to be his favourite, and whom he always described as one of the most open-hearted beings that ever existed. I frequently expressed my fears to Harry that such associates would draw him into bad habits,

"That is very true," replied the weeping and injure the purity of the character that we girl in a mournful tone.

had all hitherto so much delighted in; but he only laughed at my fears, and told me to recollect that Dr. Rawley, who was admitted by all to be a pattern for everything that is noble, generous, and upright, had graduated

"How then am I to account for the change? Harry I know to be the same man he was when you seemed to have so much pleasure in the thought of becoming his wife." "He is the same, but not the same that I at the same college, and that it was necesthen thought him."

"I suppose you have discovered some little defect of temper, or some trifling foible, that you were not before aware of, and which is irreconcilable with the ideas of perfection you have ever made your own standard. But tell me, Angelica, do you think such a discovery sufficient to release you from so solemn an engagement."

sary for a young man to see something of the world to prevent his becoming a mere humdrum. Though silenced, I was not, however, convinced, and I saw him take leave, on his return to college, with an anxiety that I was unwilling to pain him by expressing, but yet could ill conceal."

"That is just like you," interrupted Caroline; "you carry your scrupulosity to such an "The discovery of a mere defect, certainly extreme, that I believe you would scarcely, if not," returned Angelica.

"And is not that the most that can be laid to Harry's charge?" Angelica sat pale and silent, whilst her countenance betrayed signs of the most painful emotion; and Caroline, who herself began to appear considerably agitated, proceeded: "Angelica, I have so constantly made you my example and guide, as one of the most faultless of beings, that to think you otherwise now would be to shake my confidence in virtue itself. I entreat you, therefore, as you would guard me from so direful an evil, tell me at once what has worked this revolution in your feelings?"

you had your own way, allow a young man the liberty of laughing, lest he should do so rather too loud or too long."

"On his next visit to us," continued Angelica, without appearing to notice the remark of her friend, "I had frequently the pain of seeing him return from Harrisburg, Liverpool, and other places, in a state that proved but too plainly the way he had spent his time when there; and inexpressibly alarmed at the growing evil, I remonstrated with him with all the energy that affection could prompt, and had the satisfaction of hearing him acknowledge his error, and promise to correct it. In

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