ing sacrifices at the hands of Lord Albert. This was the removal of Josephine by a poison which should take a quick effect, and cause her to breathe her last ere she should have time to reveal the name of her murderer. The time fixed on by Guimilda for the perpetration of this horrid deed, was their wedding night. Albert was to make some plausible excuse to his guests, to account for his absenting himself at that time, and then repair to Josephine's cottage; and, as he always, on those occasions, condescended to convey with his own hands, some refreshments, it would be an easy matter for him to infuse into the goblet of wine that he should present to his fair victim, a deadly but tasteless drug that Guimilda prepared for the fatal purpose. The proud Guimilda made a solemn vow, never to admit Lord Albert to her bed, till her horrific demand was complied with. Alas! her destined husband was too pliantly moulded to her purpose: he made not half the resistance she expected to encounter; but, after a very few scruples, signified his perfect acquiescence with the will of this fiend in female form. entwined her chains around his heart. Guimilda was impatient to know if her lord had accomplished the dire deed; and, on his answering in the affirmative, she experienced the most extravagant and unnatural transports. But Albert was clouded with horror; and he kept constantly repeating the words, "At midnight's dark hour thou shalt embrace me again.". On the next evening the guests again assembled in the halls of Werdendorff, again the musicians tuned their instruments to notes of joy; and again the gay knights and their fair partners joined in the mazy dance. Lord Albert alone seemed abstracted; and his woeexpressive countenance gave rise to a variety of conjectures, all very remote from the truth. Guimilda perceived the agony of his mind (which her hardened heart considered as a weakness,) with extreme displeasure; nor was she slow in whispering to him the most keen reproaches for the pusilanimity of his conduct, in appearing in this manner before their guests. But in vain Lord Albert endeavoured to arouse himself, and put on a gay unembarrassed air. His mind, in a few hours, had undergone a total revolution. He now regarded Guimilda as an agent of infernal malice, sent to plunge his soul into an irremediable abyss of guilt. The artless behaviour of his murdered love was the contrast; her gentle unupbraiding manners, the affectionate How Lord Albert effected his purpose has been previously described. He had nearly gained the castle on his return, when his own words recurred to his memory at the dark hour of midnight he would again return, and clasp her in his arms. "Ill-fated Jo-looks with which she would hang ensephine!" exclaimed he, mentally, "ere that hour arrives, thy fluttering breath will flee amid agonizing pain; and thou, late so beauteous, wilt be a lifeless corse." The first light of the morning cheerfully illumined the dell; but Albert's heart was not gladdened by the scene. The beams of the sun began to gild the turrets of Werdendorff, yet the bridal ball was not concluded. In vain the blaze of beauty met Lord Albert's eyes; he sighed amid surrounding splendour; for conscience had strongly raptured over him, and listen to the tender oaths he had so basely violated, was in these thoughts; yet they every moment rushed unbidden on his brain. As midnight's dark hour was proclaimed by the turret bell, Albert's limbs shook with fear. "I hear," said he, aloud, "the fatal summons that calls me hence. Guimilda, farewell for ever! this is thy work." Guimilda was going to make some reply, when a tremendous storm suddenly shook the battlements of the castle: the thunder's loud peals burst on the ancient walls, while the lightning's pointed glare flashed with appalling repetition through the painted casements. Dim burnt the numberless tapers, when Josephine's death-like form glided from the portal, and, with solemn pace, proceeded along the hall to the spot where Lord Albert stood. Pale was her face, and her features seemed to retain the convulsive marks of the horrid death to which Guimilda had revengefully consigned her.. Clad in the habiliments of the grave, her appearance was awe-inspiring. In a hollow, deep-toned voice, she addressed her perjured lover : "Thou false one! Base assassin of her whom thou lured'st from the flowery paths of virtue; her whom thou had'st sworn to cherish and protect while life was left thee. Thou hast cut short the thread of my existence: but think not to escape the punishment due to thy crimes. 'Tis midnight's dark hour; the hour by thyself appointed: delay not, therefore, thy promised embrace." With these words Josephine wound her arms around, his trembling form. "I am come from the confines of the dead," said she, "to make thee fulfil thy parting promise." She dragged him by a force he could not resist to her breast: she pressed her clammy lips to his; and held him fast in her noisome icy embrace. At length the horrific spectre released him from her grasp. He started back in breathless agony, and sank senseless on the floor. Thrice he raised his frenzied eye to gaze on his supernatural visitant ; thrice he raised his hands, as if to implore the mercy of offended heaven ; and then expired with a heavy groan. Again loud thunder shook the castle to its very foundation. The affrighted guests, rushed from the hall, rather choosing to brave the fury of the elements, than remain spectators of the horrid scene within its walls. Even the proud Guimilda fled with terror and dismay. She sought refuse in a convect that stood about a league's distance from the castle: here she remained till death put a period to her mental sufferings, which far excceded her corporeal ones; though they were many, and severe; for she exhausted her frame by the variety and frequencies of the vigorous penance she imposed on herself, as a chastisement for her heinous, regretted crime. As soon as Lord Albert's body was interred, the domestics hastily left the horrid castle. The edifice, being greatly damaged by the storm, soon fell to decay. Its dismantled ramparts were skirted with thorns; and the proud turrets of Werdendorff lay scattered on the plain. Full oft, when the traveller wanders among the time striken ruins, a peasant will lead him to his cot, and relate the sad story of Albert and Josephine, and warn the stranger not to rove among the avenues of the castle, lest he should be assailed by the grim spectres, who always punish the temerity of those who intrude with unhallowed steps in the mansion where they keep their mysterious origies. The hall of the castle still remains entire amid the Gothic ruins. On the anniversary of that fatal night when Josephine's spectre gave the midnight embrace to the false Albert, the same scene is again acted by supernatural beings. Guimilda, her husband, and his murdered love, traverse the haunted hall, which is then illumined with a more than mortal light: and the groans of the spectre lord can be heard afar, while he is clasped in the arms of Josephine's implacable ghost. Oft will the village maidens, at the sober gloom of evening, review the isolated scene, and relate to those of their juvenile companions, yet unacquainted with the tragic tale, all the particulars of that wonderous legend; while they shuddering pass the mouldering tomb that covers the libertine's remains, to weep over the lowly violetcovered grave of the fair, but frail Josephine. THE FIRE-KING, OR, Albert and Rosalie. "The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him."—EASTERN TALE. This ballad was written at the request of the late Mr. Lewis, to be inserted in his "Tales of Wonder." It is one in a series of four ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. The story is, however, partly historical; for it is recorded, that, during the struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a knight-templar, called St. Alban, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in many combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, under the walls of Jerusalem. BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, Of love, and of war, aud of wonder to hear; And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee, O see you that castle, so strong and so high? "Now palmer, grey palmer, O tell unto me, "O well goes the warfare by Gallilee's wave, For the Heathens have lost, and the Christians have won." A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung? O'er the palmer's grey locks the chain as she flung; "Oh! palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee, For the news thou hast brought from the Holy Countrie. "And palmer, good palmer, by Gallilee's wave, O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave? When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross rushed on, "O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows; O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows; Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high; "The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls, O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed; Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. "O Christian, brave Christian, my love would'st thou be "And, next, in the cavern, were burns evermore "And, last, thou shalt aid us with council and hand, He has thrown by his helmet and cross-handled sword, And in the dread cavern, deep, deep under ground, Amazed was the princess, the Soldan amazed, Again in the cavern, deep, deep under ground, He watched the lone night, while the winds whistled round; Loud murmured the priests, and amazed was the king, The priests they erase it with care and with pain, High bristled his hair, his heart fluttered and beat, Scarce passed he the archway, the threshold scarce trod, Full sore rocked the cavern whene'er be drew nigh, Unmeasured in height, undistinguished in form, In his hand a broad faulchion blue glimmer'd through smoke, And Mount Lebanon shook, as the monarch he spoke :"With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long and no more, Till thou bend to the cross, and the Virgin adore."—— The cloud-shrouded arm gives the weapon; and see! Count Albert has armed him the Paynim among, From Lebanon's forests to Gallilee's wave, The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave; The war-cymbals clattered, the trumpets replied: Against the charmed blade which Count Albert did wield, So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stooped low Before the crossed shield, to his steel saddle bow; And scarce had he bent to the red-crsss his head,— "Bonne grace, notre dame," he unwittingly said. Sore sighed the charmed sword, for its virtue was o'er ; He clenched his set teeth, and his gauntletted hand; Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare On those death-swimming eye balls, and blood-clotted hair; |