His treasures, his presents, his spacious domain,
Soon made her untrue to her vows;
He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain;
He caught her affections, so light and so vain,
And carried her home as his spouse.

And now had the marriage been blest by the priest;
The revelry now was begun :

The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast,
Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,
When the bell at the castle tolled-one.

Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found
A stranger was placed by her side:

His air was terrific; he uttered no sound

He spake not, he moved not, he looked not around,
But earnestly gazed on the bride.

His visor was closed, and gigantic his height,
His armor was sable to view;

All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight;
The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back in affright;
The lights in the chamber burned blue!

His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay;

The guests sat in silence and fear;

At length spake the bride-while she trembled "I pray,
Sir knight, that your helmet aside you would lay,
And deign to partake of our cheer."

The lady is silent; the stranger complies-
His visor he slowly unclosed;

Oh, God! what a sight met Fair Imogine's eyes
What words can express her dismay and surprise
When a skeleton's head was exposed?

All present then uttered a terrified shout,

All turned with disgust from the scene;

The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out,
And sported his eyes and his temples about,
While the spectre addressed Imogine:

"Behold me, thou false one, behold me !" he cried;
"Remember Alonzo the Brave!

God grants that, to punish thy falsehood and pride,
My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side;
Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride,
And bear thee away to the grave !"

Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound,
While loudly she shrieked in dismay;

Then sunk with his prey thro' the wide-yawning ground,
Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,

Or the spectre that bore her away.

Not long lived the baron; and none, since that time,

To inhabit the castle presume;

For chronicles tell that, by order sublime,
There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,
And mourns her deplorable doom.

At midnight, four times in each year, does her sprite,
When mortals in slumber are bound,
Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,
Appear in the hall with the skeleton knight,

And shriek as he whirls her around!

While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,
Dancing round them the spectres are seen;

Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave
They howl: "To the health of Alonzo the Brave,
And his consort, the Fair Imogine!"

OVER THE RIVER.

[Employ the effusive form, and avoid rhythm.]

Over the river they beckon to me

Loved ones who've crossed to the further side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see,

But their voices are drowned in the rushing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,

And eyes, the reflection of heaven's own blue;
He crossed in the twilight, gray and cold,

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view.
We saw not the angels who met him there;
The gates of the city we could not see;

Over the river, over the river,

My brother stands waiting to welcome me!

Over the river, the boatman pale

Carried another-the household pet;
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale-
Darling Minnie! I see her yet.

She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark;
We watched it glide from the silver sands,

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark.
We know she is safe on the further side,

Where all the ransomed and angels be;
Over the river, the mystic river,

My childhood's idol is waiting for me.

For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale;
We hear the dip of the golden oars,

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail—

And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart;
They cross the stream, and are gone for aye;

We may not sunder the veil apart

That hides from our vision the gates of day;
We only know that their bark no more

May sail with us over life's stormy sea;
Vet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold
Is flushing river, and hill, and shore,
I shall one day stand by the water cold,

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar;
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail;
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale,
To the better shore of the spirit land;

I shall know the loved who have gone before,
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,
The Angel of Death shall carry me.

MISS PRIEST.

THE PAINTER OF SEVILLE.

[Sebastian Gomez was one of the most celebrated painters of Spain. The following incident occurred about the year 1630. The picture which he was found painting, as described below, together with others of high merit, may yet be seen in the churches of Seville.]

'Twas morning in Seville; and brightly beamed
The early sunlight in one chamber there;
Showing, where'er its glowing radiance gleamed,
Rich, varied beauty. 'Twas the study where

Murillo, the famed painter, came to share

With young aspirants his long-cherished art, To prove how vain must be the teacher's care Who strives his unbought knowledge to impart, The language of the soul, the feeling of the heart.

The pupils came, and glancing round,
Mendez upon his canvas found,
Not his own work of yesterday,
But, glowing in the morning ray,
A sketch so rich, so pure, so bright,

It almost seemed that there were given

To glow before his dazzled sight

Tints and expression warm from heaven.

'Twas but a sketch-the Virgin's head-
Yet was unearthly beauty shed
Upon the mildly beaming face;

The lip, the eye, the flowing hair,
Had separate, yet blended grace-
A poet's brighest dream was there!

Murillo entered, and amazed

On the mysterious painting gazed;
"Whose work is this?-speak, tell me!-he
Who to his aid such power can call,"
Exclaimed the teacher, eagerly,

"Will yet be master of us all,

Would I had done it !-Ferdinand!

Isturitz, Mendez !—say, whose hand

Among ye all?"—With half-breathed sigh,
Each pupil answered—“ 'Twas not I!”

"Thou answerest not," Murillo said; (The boy had stood in speechless fear.)

"Speak on!"-At last he raised his head, And murmured, "No one has been here." "'Tis false !" Sebastian bent his knee,

And clasped his hands imploringly, And said, "I swear it, none but me!"

"List!" said his master. "I would know

Who enters here-there have been found
Before, rough sketches strewn around,
By whose bold hand, 'tis yours to show;
See that to-night strict watch you keep,
Nor dare to close your eyes to sleep.
If on to-morrow morn you fail

To answer what I ask,

The lash shall force you-do you hear?
Hence! to your daily task."

'Twas midnight in Seville; and faintly shone From one small lamp a dim uncertain ray Within Murillo's study-all were gone

Who there, in pleasant tasks or converse gay,

Passed cheerfully the morning hours away.

'Twas shadowy gloom, and breathless silence, save

That, to sad thoughts and torturing fear a prey,

One bright-eyed boy was there-Murillo's little slave.

Almost a child-that boy had seen
Not thrice five summers yet,

But genius marked the lofty brow,

O'er which his locks of jet

Profusely curled; his cheek's dark hue
Proclaimed the warm blood flowing through

Each throbbing vein, a mingled tide,
To Africa and Spain allied.

"Alas! what fate is mine!" he said.
"The lash, if I refuse to tell
Who sketched those figures-if I do,
Perhaps e'en more—the dungeon cell !"
He breathed a prayer to Heaven for aid;
It came for soon, in slumber laid,
He slept until the dawning day
Shed on his humble couch its ray.