THEODRIC. 'Twas sunset, and the Ranz des Vaches was sung, soar'd, Woods nearer frown'd, and cataracts dash'd and From heights browsed by the bounding bouquetin; Herds tinkling roam'd the long-drawn vales between, And hamlets glitter'd white, and gardens flourish'd green: 'Twas transport to inhale the bright sweet air! The scented wild weeds, and enamell❜d moss. Its flush of love, with consentaneous glow. A Gothic church was near; the spot around Was beautiful, ev'n though sepulchral ground; For there nor yew nor cypress spread their gloom, But roses blossom'd by each rustic tomb. Amidst them one of spotless marble shone— A maiden's grave-and 'twas inscribed thereon, That young and loved she died whose dust was there: [fair! Yes," said my comrade, "young she died, and Grace form'd her, and the soul of gladness play'd Once in the blue eyes of that mountain-maid: Her fingers witch'd the chords they pass'd along, And her lips seem'd to kiss the soul in song: Yet woo'd, and worshipp'd as she was, till few Aspired to hope, 'twas sadly, strangely true, That heart, the martyr of its fondness, burn'd And died of love that could not be return'd. Her father dwelt where yonder Castle shines O'er clustering trees and terrace-mantling vines: As gay as ever, the laburnum's pride Waves o'er each walk where she was wont to glide, And still the garden whence she graced her brow, She, 'midst these rocks inspired with feelings strong And scorning wealth, look'd cold ev'n on the claim Her younger brother, sixteen summers old, The youth wrote home the rout of many a day: Will tell you feats his small brigade perform'd, |