THE ELFIN SPRING. BY ELIZABETH DOTEN. "Mylitta, likewise, with her mirror came; The long-forgotten name, and the remembrance SOFT and clear as it falls on Italian plains fell the silent moonlight on the rude old towers of Castle Löwenherz. Deep moats, lofty battlements, massive gates, lonely towers where the winds shrieked through the deserted chambers like troubled spirits, and mouldering turrets mantled with ivy where the bats found shelter by day, and the owls hooted at midnight, thus it stood, a fitting emblem of the departed glory of the ancient race of Löwenherz. Those burly old Norsemen, who once smote with their spears upon their shields, and made the spacious halls ring with their shouts of victory, now slumbered peacefully in the vaults of the castle; and the only representatives left of the noble line were the brave old Baron Rodolph, and his son Gottlieb. Around were the dark pine forests swaying to and fro in the moonlight, and beyond were the snow-capped mountains, rising peak above peak, till their summits were lost in the clouds. In the midst of these mountain solitudes, in a wild spot, seldom visited by the foot of man, was the Elfin Spring. Its crimson waters, gushing up from the midst of tangled roots and broken rocks, forced themselves over the uneven way, till they fell in a miniature cascade into a deep basin, which, although without seeming outlet, never overflowed the brink. Around it were the Alpine flowers blooming in unseen beauty, huge stones covered with soft green moss, and stately pines filling the air with solemn music. And yet, wild and beautiful and enchanting as was this quiet spot, super |