" again."" But what shall purify the By this time the story had got wind, and a report was circulated through the town, that Brenno had made a compact with the Devil; that the virtue of his mother had exposed the fraud; and that Apollyon, accompanied by a cloud of sulphur and brimstone, was seen to fly away, with a torch in one hand and his tail in the other. forlorn. On returning to the home of my infancy, I found my mother dead, my father sinking into the tomb. Friends-relations, that I left smiling in health and happiness, were all—all gone; and I stood among my native hills, as a stranger in a foreign land. In the hour of my solitude my thoughts reverted to you, with whom I had spent many of the happiest hours of my existence. I thought of your fondness, your regard to feminine delicacy, and I resolved to return to you for ever. Do you accept my offer, love?" "Sweetest, sweetest girl," passionately replied Brenno, "I am thine, for ever thine. My love, my virgin bride, we will henceforth live solely for each other, devoting each thought and each moment to delight."-" Thus, then, I seal our union," resumed Zoe, tearing in a thousand pieces the magic web of immortality. "I shall not need eternal beauty while your affection lasts. To you I shall ever be beautiful; and when age obscures the fair front of youth, the mind of the lover will con we first met, we will for ever live; and the wood that once echoed the syren song of love, shall still reply to our bridal felicity. We will wander hand in hand through a world which affection shall strew with roses; and when Brenno sinks into the tomb, Zoe will not remain long behind. Why should I covet immortality, when he is gone for whom I Worn down with anxiety, and fearful of the superstition of his country-inue the delusion. Here, then, where men, the unfortunate lover returned in a state of agony to his hermitage. Here he passed his hours of solitude, in fruitless lamentations for the fairy he had lost, and regret for his shameless duplicity. His only pleasure seemed to consist in wandering by the banks of the Swan's Pool, and in recalling the remembrance of the past. He thought of the beautiful Zoe, fond and gentle as he first knew her, and dwelt with agony on her soft smiles, her infantine simplicity. He was roaming one evening by the side of his favourite streamlet, when a light step passed beside him. He turned round to discover the intruder, and beheld the fair form of Zoe, the object of his thoughts by day, his dreams by night. "You are surprised," she exclaimed," at my return, but listen to my reasons. I have wandered to other climes; I have seen my dearest friends drop day by day into the grave, and life grow desolate and desired it? Is there a pleasure in sitting by the side of the grave of a beloved object, and feeling that all we once held dear is flown-never to return? No! my love-thy bride shall never survive the fate that shall bow thee to the earth, but wither like a flowret on its stem when thou hast ceased to be. In the quiet grave we will repose together, and, locked in each other's arms, await the period of a more glorious resurrection." She ceased, and the heart of Brenno was happy. They lived long and tranquilly together; and the beautiful Zoe North Elmham (formerly written Elmenham) was, before the conquest, the seat of a bishop, who, together with the bishop of Dunwich, in Suffolk, governed the present diocese of Norwich. It will easily be conceived that the episcopal residence was sufficiently surrounded with monasteries and nunneries to give probability to the foundation of my story; and as for the journey which the canon is obliged to take, it is no very extraordinary distance, and it certainly may be supposed that there was an excellent road between the bishop's see and the principal convent in the diocese. This tale, if it be not given with the spirit, is at any rate versified with the irregulavity, of an ancient ballad. Oh! did you observe the Black Canon pass? He goeth to sing the burial chant, It saith it will not its wailings cease Till he breathes o'er its grave the prayer of And sprinkles the hallow'd tear. The Canon's horse is stout and strong, Who is it thus late at the abbey gate? The Canon his faultering knee thrice bow'd, He crosses his breast, he mutters a prayer, He heeds not the abbot's gazing stare, Bareheaded he worships the sculptur'd That frown on the sacred walls! His face it grows pale, he trembles, he faints, At the abbot's feet he falls! And straight the father's robe he kiss'd, Who cried "Grace dwells with thee! "The sprite will fade, like the morning mist, "At your Benedicite. "Now haste within-the board is spread"Keen blows the air and cold; "The spectre sleeps in its earthy bed "Till St. Edmond's eve hath toll'd. "Yet rest your weary limbs to-night, "You've journey'd many a mile; To-morrow lay the wailing sprite, "That shrieks in the moon-light aisle." "Oh! faint are my limbs, and my bosom cold! "Yet to-night must the sprite be laid ;"Yet to-night when the hour of horror's toll'd, "Must I meet the wandering shade! "Nor food, nor rest, can now delay, A bell loud shakes! Oh! haste away, The torches slowly move before, And now they climb the foot-wòrn stair, Now paused awhile the doubtful band, "Say, father, say, what cloister's gloom The corse unbless'd was laid?"— *Through yon drear aisle alone it walks, The pilgrim this night, with wondering eyes, "Oh! say, upon that black-marble tomb What memorial sad appears?” "Undistinguish'd it lies in the chancel's gloom, No memorial sad it bears!" The Canon his pater-noster reads Now straight to the chancel doors he leads, And untouch'd they open wide! "Oh! enter, Black Canon!" a whisper fell, "Oh! enter! thy hour is come !”—-—t The sounds irresistless his steps impel ; To approach the marble tomb.: He paused-told his beads—and the threshhold pass'd Oh, horror! the chancel doors close ;A loud yell was borne on the howling blast, And a deep dying groan arose. The monks in amazement shuddering stand, They burst through the chancel's gloom! From St. Edmond's shrine, lo! a wither'd hand Points to the black-marble tomb. Lo! deeply engraved, an inscription bloodred, In characters fresh and clear; "The guilty Black Canon of Elmham's dead "And his wife lies buried here! "In Elmham's tower he wedded a nun, "To St. Edmonds his bride he bore; "On this eve her noviciate was here begun, "And a friar's grey weeds she wore. "Oh! deep was her conscience dyed with guilt, "Remorse she full oft reveal'd; "The black Canon her blood relentless spilt, "And in death her lips he seal'd! "Her spirit to penance this night was doom'd, "Till the Canon atoned the deed; "Here together they now shall rest enton.b'd "Till their bodies from dust are freed!" Hark! a loud peal of thunder shakes the roof, Round the altar bright lightnings play, Speechless with horror the monks stand aloof And the storm dies sudden away! The inscription was gone,--A cross on the ground And a rosary shone through the gloom; But never again was the Canon there found Nor the ghost on the black-marble tomh. WAKE NOT THE DEAD! OR THE BRIDE OF THE GRAVE. A Romance from the German. Wake not the dead:-they bring but gloomy night For in the grave who mouldering lay, To quicken:-it sends forth a pest'lent blight; That which from life is pluck'd, becomes the foe Of life, and whoso wakes it waketh woe. Seek not the dead to waken from that sleep In which from mortal eye they lie enshrouded deep. The interest of the following tale is of a description the most dark and fearful, and but few translations can convey to the English reader the romantic wildness and spirit of the German original. We have seen several translations, but we think none of them are equal to the one given in the collection of "Popular Tales and Romances of Northern Nations," lately published by the German bookseller, Bohte, of Tavistock Street, which we take the liberty of extracting. "WILT thou for ever sleep? Wilt thou never more awake, my beloved, but henceforth repose for ever from thy short pilgrimage on earth? O yet once again return and bring back with thee the vivifying dawn of hope to one whose existence hath, since thy departure, been obscured by the dunnest shades. What! dumb? for ever dumb? Thy friend lamenteth, and thou heedest him not? He sheds bitter, scalding tears, and thou reposest unregarding his affliction? He is in despair, and thou no longer openest thy arms to him as an asylum from his grief? Say then, doth the paly shroud become thee better than the bridal veil? Is the chamber of the grave a warmer bed than the couch of love? Is the spectre death more welcome to thy arms than thy enamoured consort? Oh! return, my beloved, return once again to this anxious disconsolate bosom." Such were the lamentations which Walter poured forth for his Brunhilda, the partner of his youthful, passionate love: thus did he bewail over her grave at the midnight hour, what time the spirit that presides in the troublous atmosphere, sends his legions of monsters through mid-air; so that their shadows, as they flit beneath the moon and across the earth, dart as wild, agitating thoughts that chase each other o'er the sinner's bosom-thus did he lament under the tall linden trees by her grave, while his head reclined on the cold stone. of eternity, but rather as the sober beams which cheer this nether world, and which, while they enlighten, kindle the sons of earth to joy and love. Brunhilda became the wife of Walter, and both being equally enamoured and devoted, they abandoned themselves to the enjoyment of a passion that rendered them reckless of aught besides, while it lulled them in a fascinating dream. Their sole apprehension was lest aught should awaken them from a delirium which they prayed might continue for ever. Yet how vain is the wish that would arrest the decrees of destiny! as well might it seek to divert the circling planets from their eternal course. Short was the duration of this phrenzied passion; not that it gradually decayed and subsided into apathy, but death snatched away his blooming victim, and left Walter to a widowed couch. Impetuous, however, as was his first burst of grief, he was not inconsolable, for ere long another bride became the partner of the youthful nobleman. Swanhilda also was beautiful; although nature had formed her charms on a very different model from those of Brunhilda. Her golden locks waved bright as the beams of morn: only when excited by some emotion of her soul did a rosy hue tinge the lily paleness of her cheek: her limbs were proportioned in the nicest symmetry, yet did they not possess that luxuriant fullness of animal life: her eye beamed Walter was a powerful lord in Bur- eloquently, but it was with the milder gundy, who, in his earliest youth, had radiance of a star, tranquillizing to tenbeen smitten with the charms of the derness rather than exciting to warmth. fair Brunhilda, a beauty far surpassing Thus formed, it was not possible that in loveliness all her rivals; for her she should steep him in his former detresses, dark as the raven face of night, lirium, although she rendered happy streaming over her shoulders, set off to his waking hours-tranquil and serious, the utmost advantage the beaming lustre yet cheerful, studying in all things her of her slender form, and the rich dye husband's pleasure, she restored order of a cheek whose tint was deep and and comfort in his family, where her brilliant as that of the western heaven : presence shed a general influence all her eyes did not resemble those burning around. Her mild benevolence tended orbs whose pale glow gems the vault of to restrain the fiery, impetuous disponight, and whose immeasurable dis-sition of Walter: while at the same tance fills the soul with deep thoughts time her prudence recalled him in some |