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Where erst he mused, in solitude, upon

That power-that passion, love-then all unknown.
When night would find him in his dreaming mood,
Unscared by storms, unchanged in attitude.
Happy now was he, as a child at play,

For was not all around him bright and gay?
Alas that ruthless fate, with stroke so fell,
Should crush for ever souls that loved so well!

And now, and now, alas! alas! my tale
Drags heavily; my heart doth sink and fail:
To tell it well would need a spirit's wail.
Like matrons all, his mother sought to know
The history of her new-found daughter. Oh!
The bitter grief that such inquiries bring
Too often, and the gloom that they may fling
Upon a joyous prospect, fair and bright!

Why should they have the power to cloud such light?
It was a tale eventful, vague and dim

As forms at eve, or faint, funereal hymn,

When darkness broods upon the earth all round,

And the thick air but seems t' obstruct the sound.
A tale of mystery. The maiden's youth
Was unremembered, save for a faint truth,
Which lingered in her mind's recesses—and
Which flashed more fully on her in this land
Where things familiar compassed her-or seemed
So much to do so, that she almost deemed

The dream dispelled which haunted her till then,—
The veil uplift, or torn.

"Where, and when

Where wert thou born,—where? say," the matron cried.

"In sooth, I know not," thus the blooming bride;

"But I have still imaginings of home,

From very childhood wont to me to come,

Even as spirits of air, or ocean deep,

And when they come I cannot choose but weep.
One is of a mother-mine, mayhap. Oh! one
More like to thee than aught I've looked upon;

A form that o'er my infant cradle hung

So fondly, and such mournful music sung

In aftertimes, a melting strain,—of love

Which flourish'd fair, till envious tongues had strove,
And not in vain, to separate two souls

Entwined together as one."

A big tear rolls,

A scalding drop, adown the pallid cheek

Of her who strongly strives, but may not speak —
That ancient matron. The young bride went on
Thus with her story.

"She would gaze upon

My childish countenance; and then anon
Would kiss a mark I bore upon my breast,—
A full-blown rose by Nature's hand impressed,-
'Tis visible now;-and then she 'd sit and weep
Over the couch whereon my brother's sleep
Was deep and still."

The matron's heart was clave,

Even as the earth is for a new made grave;

And down she sunk beneath the strife of mind,

Even as an old tree 'fore the angry wind.

The bride, meanwhile, her bosom's snow laid bare,
And shewed the mark which bloomed in beauty there,
Contrasting with the whiteness of the skin

Which lay all round, luxuriant, - as is seen

The sun to tint the high and hoary peaks

O' the Alps, before his slumb'rous bed he seeks.

“Thou art,—thou art my daughter!" shrieked the mother;

Thou art my child,—and Conrad is thy brother!

Oh God! oh God! why should I live to see

Such fearful thing shake all my faith in thee?
He is thy brother—yes, thy brother;

I

Mother!—your mother! Why did I not die?
Why not with my departed husband sleep,

Ere this dark day dawned on me?"

Death 'gan creep

Through the young bride's pure blood, as reptiles pass,
Leaving their slime upon the shrinking grass;

VOL. II.

E

Her glance grew fix'd-her fair face pale-one groan, And her sweet soul had from its dwelling flown.

And that sad man, the bridegroom brother-oh!
That virtue's shield should not defend from woe.
To see the good thus smitten, one might deem
That all he hears of Heaven is but the dream
Of some enthusiast!-What did that sad man
When o'er his heart this icy current ran?
When he beheld his late-loved bride, and—what?
His new found sister!—Oh the horrid thought!-
Bereft of life; a shade fell on his soul,

And straightways from his sight the world did roll.
A moment on her prostrate form he gazed,
Like one who dreaming walks and wakes amazed.
A moment, wildered, o'er her corpse he hung;
And a full tide of scalding tears, up wrung
From his heart's depths, upon it forth he poured-
Upon the cold, cold corpse of his adored.-
A moment on the blue and smiling sky
He then upturned his wild and wandering eye,
As though communing with those things of air,
Which legends tell us ever linger there;
Then slowly forth, he from his dwelling sped,
And ere night lapsed was numbered with the dead!

Thus perished they who, in that lonely tomb,
Abode, and listened long the wild wind's boom:
And yet slept soundly.

But why with their kind
Rest they not? Say, the grave is surely blind--
And the dark mould which covers corpses in
Presents a front impenetrable to sin.
Alas! alas! the virtuous of our race,

Had thrust them rudely from their resting-place
In yonder churchyard-consecrated earth-
As though one clay to all did not give birth.
Oh hypocrites!-And to this slimy shore
Consigned their cold remains for ever, evermore.

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In the beginning of the fourteenth century, Stolzenfels, on the left bank of the Rhine, close by Coblentz, was one of the most formidable robber-fortresses on that river. It was then called Die Stolze Veste-The Proud Fortress.

Long before that period, however, a young knight, named Ottmar, dwelt there, in honour and esteem. His only companion was a beloved sister, named Williswind, whose virtue as well as her beauty was the theme of every tongue from Cologne to Strasburg. They had a stately retinue, as beseemed their quality and nothing was absent from their castle which could increase the pleasures known at that period, and in the state of society which then existed. Human happiness, however, is not of long duration in any case. Perhaps it is well it should not: for as the poet truly sings,

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A war broke out between the Prince Palatine of the Rhine and the Count of Julich: and both sovereigns bestirred themselves to obtain the advantage in it. Ottmar, who owed allegiance to the former as a feudatory, was summoned to his banner; and he set out for the camp of his liege lord, on the

other side of the river, leaving the fair Williswind alone in Stolzenfels, protected only by some faithful servants of their father. It was a trying thing for one so young and so beautiful to be thus left to herself in those troublous times, when might was right, when power was paramount to justice, and when "the strong hand" was superior to all law. But she had been brought up all her lifetime in comparative solitude; and, haply ignorant of the ways of the world, and unknowing of the wickedness of men, she felt no fear of the future, and experienced no anxiety for her dangerous situation. A pet raven was her favourite companion. She had reared him from the egg; and he was now the participator of all her innocent pleasures. In her walks he was ever with her; when she sought the recesses of the tangled wood, or strolled among the fair flowers of the castle garden-herself a fairer flower than the fairest there—he was always hovering round her head, or hopping gaily after her; while ever and anon he would perch on her shoulder and pluck her ruffles, and croak when he wanted food, or wished to attract her attention to himself.

Two months passed quietly in this peaceful manner-in this unclouded and uninterrupted sunshine of the mind. At the end of that time, Ottmar, along with the other great vassals of the Palatine, re-crossed the Rhine; and that prince placing himself at their head, the whole army advanced towards the county of Julich. Williswind was rather grieved at her brother's departure for the seat of war; but she had such a strong presentiment of the protection of a gracious Providence, that her sorrow was comparatively slight. She confided in God, and she felt that he would not forsake her. "For," thought she, "if my brother fell, I would have no one to defend me from wrong; and the Maker of the world is too just to deprive one of support who never sinned against him, with a consciousness of so doing." Thus would she argue with herself; proving that "the wish is parent to the thought." Alas! poor girl, she knew little of the world; and less of the inscrutable ways of Providence. These arguments, however, had a good effect-they speedily restored her to her wonted serenity; and once more made the happiness of the heart that of all around her. Youth and deep sorrow are almost incompatible; they cannot coalesce together

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