With the swiftness of love and hope I flew to the ravine. Need I say who met me in the rich morning twilight? Need I say who bade me welcome to their hearts? Need I say from whose hand, and with what deep joy, I received all I hold most dear in life and death? We sat down upon a mossy bank, with the glorious foliage of mid-summer around us, and there the wonders of the night were one and all made plain. Our experiences had all been just as I have described them; we had both of us lived and loved in the Land of Mystery; and we now met the very faces and features we had known in our island abode, -the very smiles of heart, and lip, and eye, that we had been accustomed to meet there. Yes, we could not but feel and know, that a Power, superiour to our own, had woven the mystic web of our destiny. All was clear as the heaven above us, all bright as the sunrise over the sea, when, leaving our seats of soft verdure, we looked up to our revered preserver in confidence and love. The moment of our union was come, the last act in our drama of St. Brandan's. Uniting Eumela's hand with mine in holy wedlock, and promising still to watch over the young friends he loved, Simplicio commended us to God; and then, like a luminous vapour, he rose above the circling wall of leaves and branches, and faded from our gaze through the azure opening of heaven.

Simplicio was gone. We viewed his departure with awe and wonder, grief and tears. Simplicio was gone, and we saw him no more. We were left alone in the world; and while we remembered our manner of coming together, and all the marvels of the supernatural that had become familiar to us both, we felt that we were left alone for each other, left to aid each other in obeying the will of that Providence, which had so mysteriously made us What were to us the remote regions of our birth? that Eumela was from the enchanted isle of St. Brandan's, and that my own native home was the banks of the Almadora? So much the more reason had we, after the events of the past night, to believe that Heaven had appointed our fates and our fortunes to be the same. Our hearts confided as well in their own impulses, as in the assurances

one.

of the departed, that their truth and tenderness could never die. Hand in hand, as well as arm in arm, we went to our home of the Almadora; and never from that hour to the present, though many years have now glided away, many more, indeed, than we are well able to realize, never have we formed one wish, one Mid-summer Night's Wish, to visit the island of St. Brandan. With faith, hope, and love, we have never felt a want; and, possessed of these, what need have we to wish for more?

-

L'AMORE.

[For this translation of GENEVIEVE, the most admired of Coleridge's minor poems, I am indebted to the skill and kindness of my friend, Mr. Pietro D'Alessandro, a literary gentleman from Palermo. He speaks of his "copy of the beautiful Genevieve in her simple and unpretending Italian costume," and adds: "Dearly as I love my own plain and modest Ginevra, I feel still that I can love her faithfully, only so long as her elder sister remains out of sight; so that if you have decided to put the temptation in my way, the responsibility will rest entirely on you; for I shall be the first to proclaim that Genevieve, though a few years older, is far more beautiful than Ginevra."

It is true, that all poetry worthy of the name, as my friend once said to me of Dante, has a spirit too ethereal for perfect translation; still, warmly as we admire the elder sister, the land of Juliet will love the sweetness, feeling, and simplicity of the younger with a heart not less impassioned.]

L'AMORE.

I pensieri, i desiri, ogni contento
Quanto la mortal forma agita e affina-
Son ministri d'Amor, sono alimento
Di sua fiamma divina.

Spesso ne' vaghi sogni miei soglio io
Riviver l'ora a me estanto amica,
Quand' io giacea del monte in sul pendio
Presso la torre antica.

Fioca la luna per le quete scene
Co' notturni splendor mesceasi grata ;
Ivi la mia speranza era, il mio bene,
La mia Ginevra amata!

Sull' uomo armato s' appoggiava lente,
Sullo scolpito Cavaliero in armi ;

Stava Ella, e al lume del chiaror languente Intesa era a' miei carmi.

Il proprio duol raro affanno di tanto
La mia Ginevra, l'amor mio, il mio bene!
E m' ama più, quando le storie io canto
Fonti al suo cor di pene.

Trassi un accordo flebile e dolente,
E un' antica cantai storia pietosa-
Una vecchia canzon, ma confacente
Quella ruina annosa.

LOVE.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listen'd to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,-
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve !
She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.

I play'd a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story,-
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.