Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet, Mastered again; and its hand of ice Held her heart crushed, as in a vice! Paul, be not sad! 'Tis a holiday; To-morrow put on thy doublet gay! But leave me now for a while alone." Away, with a hop and a jump, went Paul, And, as he whistled along the hall, 'Nothing! I heard them singing home the bride; And, as I listened to the song, I thought my turn would come ere long, Thou knowest it is at Whitsuntide. Thy cards forsooth can never lie, To me such joy they prophesy, Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide When they behold him at my side. And poor Baptiste, what sayest thou? It must seem long to him;-methinks I see him now!" Jane, shuddering, her hand doth Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love him less!" "The more I pray, the more I love! It is no sin, for God is on my side!" It was enough; and Jane no more replied. Now to all hope her heart is barred and cold; But to deceive the beldame old She takes a sweet, contented air; Speaks of foul weather or of fair, At every word the maiden smiles! Thus the beguiler she beguiles; So that, departing at the evening's close, She says, "She may be saved! she nothing knows!" Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress ! Now that thou wouldst, thou art no prophetess! apart That in a drawer's recess doth lie, And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye, Convulsive clasps it to her heart. The one, fantastic, light as air, And joyous singing, Forgets to say her morning prayer! The other, with cold drops upon her brow, Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the floor, And whispers, as her brother opes the door, "O God! forgive me now!" And then the orphan, young and blind, Conducted by her brother's hand, Towards the church, through paths unscanned, With tranquil air, her way doth wind. Odours of laurel, making her faint and pale, Round her at times exhale, Near that castle, fair to see, Crowded with sculptures old, in every part, Marvels of nature and of art, "Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!" Thus Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend!" "Yes; seest thou not our journey's end? Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry? The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, we know ! Dost thou remember when our father said, The night we watched beside his bed, 'O daughter, I am weak and low; Take care of Paul; I feel that I am dying!' And thou, and he, and I, all fell to crying? Then on the roof the osprey screamed aloud; And here they brought our father in his shroud. There is his grave; there stands the cross we set; Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Mar garet? Come in! The bride will be here soon: Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art going to swoon!" She could no more,-the blind girl, weak and weary! A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary, "What wouldst thou do, my daughter?" -and she started; And quick recoiled, aghast, fainthearted; But Paul, impatient, urges ever more Her steps towards the open door; And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid At length the bell, With booming sound, Sends forth, resounding round, Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell. It is broad day, with sunshine and with rain; And yet the guests delay not long, For soon arrives the bridal train, And with it brings the village throng. In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant day, Mute as an idiot, sad as yester-morning, Thinks only of the beldame's words of warning. And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper Feels her heart swell to hear all round FROM THE SPANISH. Perjured, false, treacherous Love! Of all that mankind may not rue! To him who keeps most faith with thee! The falcon has the eyes of the dove! Perjured, false, treacherous love! Give us clearly to comprehend All thy pleasures, all thy sweets! Perjured, false, treacherous Love! BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO HEORT. FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. THUS then, much care-worn, The son of Healfden Sorrowed evermore, Nor might the prudent hero The war was too hard, Good among the Goths, Of this life, Noble and stalwart. The ship was on the waves, The sea against the sands. Men on their willing way, The bounden wood. Then went over the sea-waves, Hurried by the wind, The ship with foamy neck, Most like a sea-fowl, Till about one hour The shore-cliffs shining, That to them the sea-journey Then from the wall beheld Who thus the brown keel Leading come Hither over the sea? I these boundaries As shore-warden hold; That in the Land of the Danes Nothing loathsome With a ship-crew Scathe us might. . . . Ne'er saw I mightier Earl upon earth Than is your own, The soul shall come The soul, to find That it erst dwelt in ;- Crieth then, so care-worn, And speaketh grimly, The ghost to the dust: "Dry dust! thou dreary one! How little didst thou labour for me! FRITHIOF'S HOMESTEAD. FROM THE SWEDISH. THREE miles extended around the fields of the homestead; on three sides |