But wherever her peaceful form appeared,
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered;
The wolf played blithely round the field,
The lordly bison lowed and kneeled,
The dun deer wooed with manner bland,
And cowered aneath her lily hand.
And when at eve the woodlands rung,
When hymns of other worlds she sung,
In ecstasy of sweet devotion,

Oh, then the glen was all in motion;

The wild beasts of the forests came,
Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame,
And goved around, charmed and amazed;
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,
And murmured, and looked with anxious pain
For something the mystery to explain.
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;
The corby left her houf in the rock;
The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew;
The hind came tripping o'er the dew;
The wolf and the kid their raike began,

And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran;
The hawk and the hern attour them hung,
And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young;
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled:

It was like an eve in a sinless world!

When a month and a day had come and gane,
Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene,
There laid her down on the leaves so green,
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen!

FAREWELL TO NANCY.

ROBERT BURNS.

Ae fond kiss and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy:
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.-
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met-or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

THE WALK.

SCHILLER.

Hail to thee, mountain belov'd, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit!

Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on! Thee too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmur. ing lindens,

Ay, and the chorus so glad, cradled on yonder

high boughs;

Thee, too, peaceable azure, in infinite measure extending

Round the dusky-hued mount, over the forest so

green,

Round about me, who now from my chamber's confinement escaping,

And from vain frivolous talk, gladly seek refuge

with thee.

Through me to quicken me runs the balsamic stream

of thy breezes,

While the energetical light freshens the gaze as it

thirsts,

Bright o'er the blooming meadow the changeable colors are gleaming,

But the strife, full of charms, in its own grace melts away.

Freely the plain receives me, with carpet far away

reaching,

Over its friendly green wanders the pathway along. Round me is humming the busy bee, and with pinion uncertain

Hovers the butterfly gay over the trefoil's red flow'r.

Fiercely the darts of the sun fall on me,—the zephyr is silent,

Only the song of the lark echoes athwart the clear air.

Now from the neighboring copse comes a roar, and the tops of the alders

Bend low down,-in the wind dances the silvery grass;

Night ambrosial circles me round; in the coolness so fragrant

Greets me a beauteous roof, formed by the beeches' sweet shade.

In the depths of the wood the landscape suddenly leaves me,

And a serpentine path guides up my footsteps on high.

Only by stealth can the light through the leafy trellis of branches

Sparingly pierce, and the blue smilingly peeps through the boughs.

But in a moment the veil is rent, and the opening forest

Suddenly gives back the day's glittering brightness to me!

Boundlessly seems the distance before my gaze to

be stretching,

And in a purple-tinged hill terminates sweetly the world.

Deep at the foot of the mountain, that under me falls away steeply,

Wanders the greenish-hued stream, looking like glass as it flows.

Endlessly under me see I the Ether, and endlessly o'er me,

Giddily look I above, shudd'ringly look I below. But between the infinite height and the infinite hollow

Safely the wanderer moves over a well-guarded path.

Smilingly past me are flying the banks all-teeming with riches,

And the valley so bright boasts of its industry glad. See how yonder hedgerows that sever the farmer's possessions

Have by Demeter been work'd into the tapestried plain!

Kindly decree of the law, cf the Deity mortal-sustaining,

Since from the brazen world Love vanish'd for ever away.

But in freer windings the measur'd pastures are travers'd

(Now swallow'd up in the wood, now climbing up to the hills)

By a glimmering streak, the highway that knits lands together;

Over the smooth-flowing stream, quietly glide on the rafts.

Oft times resound the bells of the flocks in the fields that seem living,

And the shepherd's lone song wakens the echo again.

Joyous villagers crown the stream, in the copse others vanish,

While from the back of the mount, others plunge wildly below.

Man still lives with the land in neighbourly friendship united,

And round his sheltering roof camly repose still his fields;

Trustingly climbs the vine high over the low-reaching window,

While round the cottage the tree circles its farstretching boughs.

Happy race of the plain! Not yet awaken'd to freedom,

Thou and thy pastures with joy share in the limited law;

Bounded thy wishes all are by the harvest's peaceable circuit,

And thy lifetime is spent e'en as the task of the day!

But what suddenly hides the beauteous view? A strange spirit

Over the still-stranger plain spreads itself quickly afar

Even his charger of war brings there Poseidon as well,

Mother Cybele yokes to the pole of her chariot the lions,

And through the wide-open door comes as a. citizen in.

Sacred stones! 'Tis from ye that proceed Humanity's founders,

Morals and arts ye sent forth, e'en to the ocean's far isles.

'Twas at these friendly gates that the law was spoken by sages;

In their Penates' defence, heroes rush'd out to the fray.

On the high walls appear'd the mothers, embracing their infants,

Looking after the march, till in the distance 'twas lost,

Then in prayer they threw themselves down at the Deities' altars,

Praying for triumph and fame, praying for your safe return.

Honour and triumph were yours, but nought return'd save your glory,

And by a heart-touching stone, told are your valorous deeds.

Traveller! when thou com'st to Sparta, proclaim to the people

That thou hast seen us lie here, as by the law we were bid."

Slumber calmly, ye lov'd ones! for sprinkled o'er by your life-blood,

Flourish the olive-trees there, joyously sprouts the good seed.

In its possessions exulting, industry gladly is kindled, And from the sedge of the stream smilingly signs the blue God.

Crushingly falls the axe on the tree, the Dryad sighs sadly;

Down from the crest of the mount plunges the thundering load.

Wing'd by the lever, the stone from the rocky crevice is loosen'd;

Into the mountain's abyss boldly the miner descends.

Mulciber's anvil resounds with the measur'd stroke

of the hammer;

Under the fist's nervous blow, spurt out the sparks of the steel.

Brilliantly twines the golden flax round the swiftwhirling spindles,

Through the strings of the yarn whizzes the shut.

tle away.

Far in the roads the pilot calls, and the vessels are waiting,

That to the foreigner's land carry the produce of home;

Others gladly approach with the treasures of far-dis

tant regions,

High on the mast's lofty head flutters the garland of mirth.

See how yon markets, those centres of life and of gladness, are swarming!

Strange confusion of tongues sounds in the won. dering ear.

On to the pile the wealth of the earth is heap'd by the merchant,

All that the sun's scorching rays bring forth on Africa's soil,

All that Arabia prepares, that the uttermost Thule produces,

High with heart-gladdening stores fills Amalthea

her horn.

Fortune wedded to Talent gives birth there to children immortal,

Suckled in Liberty's arms, flourish the arts there of joy.

With the image of life the eyes by the sculptor are ravish'd,

And by the chisel inspir'd, speaks e'en the sensitive stone.

Skies artificial repose on slender Ionian columns, And a Pantheon includes all that Olympus con

tains.

Light as the rainbow's spring through the air, as the dart from the bowstring,

Leaps the yoke of the bridge over the boisterous

stream.

But in his silent chamber the thoughtful sage is projecting

Magical circles, and steal's e'en on the spirit that forms,

Proves the force of matter, the hatreds and loves of the magnet,

Follows the tune through the air, follows through

æther the ray,

Seeks the familiar law in chance's miracles dreaded, Looks for the ne'er-changing pole in the phenom

ena's flight.

Bodies and voices are lent by writing to thought ever silent,

Over the centuries' stream bears it the eloquent page.

Then to the wondering gaze dissolves the cloud of the fancy,

And the vain phantoms of night yield to the

dawning of day.

Man now breaks through his fetters, the happy One! Oh, let him never

Break from the bridle of shame, when from fear's

fetters he breaks!

Freedom! is Reason's cry,-ay, Freedom! The wild raging passions

Eagerly cast off the bonds nature divine had impos'd.

Ah! in the tempest the anchors break loose, that warningly held him

On to the shore, and the stream tears him along in its flood,

Into infinity whirls him,—the coasts soon vanished before him,

High on the mountainous waves rocks all-dismasted the bark;

Under the clouds are hid the steadfast stars of the chariot,

Nought now remains,—in the breast even the God goes astray.

Truth disappears from language, from life all faith

and all honour

Vanish, and even the oath is but a lie on the lips.

Into the heart's most trusty bond, and into love's secrets,

Presses the sycophant base, tearing the friend from the friend.

Treason on Innocence leers, with looks that seek to devour,

And the fell slanderer's tooth kills with its poisonous bite.

n the dishonoured bosom, thought is now venal, and love, too,

Scatters abroad to the winds, feelings once Godlike and free.

All thy holy symbols, O Truth, Deceit has adopted, And has e'en dar'd to pollute Nature's own voices so fair,

That the craving heart in the tumult of gladness

discovers;

True sensations are now mute and can scarcely be heard.

Justice boasts at the tribune, and Harmony vaunts in the cottage,

While the ghost of the law stands at the throne of the king.

Years together, ay, centuries long, may the mummy continue,

And the deception endured, aping the fullness of life.

Until Nature awakes, and with hands all-brazen and heavy

'Gainst the hollow-form'd pile Time and Necessity

strikes.

Like a tigress, who, bursting the massive grating of iron,

Of her Numidian wood suddenly, fearfully thinks,

So with the fury of crime and anguish, humanity rises

Hoping nature, long-lost, in the town's ashes to find.

Oh then open, ye walls, and set the captive at freedom!

To the long desolate plains let him in safety return! But where am I? The path is now hid, declivities rugged

Bar, with their wide-yawning gulfs, progress before and behind.

Now far behind me is left the gardens' and hedges' sure escort,

Every trace of man's hand also remains far behind. Only the matter I see pil'd up, whence life has its issue,

And the raw mass of basalt waits for a fashioning hand.

Down through its channel of rock the torrent roaringly rushes,

Angrily orcing a path under the roots of the trees. All is here wild and fearfully desolate. Nought but the eagle

Hangs in the lone realms of air, knitting the world to the clouds.

Not one zephyr on soaring pinion conveys to my hearing

Echoes, however remote, marking man's pleasures and pains.

Am I in truth, then, alone? Within thine arms, on thy bosom,

Nature, I lie once again!—Ah, and 'twas only a dream

That assail'd me with horrors so fearful; with life's dreaded phantom,

And with the down-rushing vale, vanish'd the gloomy one too.

Purer my life I receive again from thine altar unsul. lied,

Purer receive the bright glow felt by my youth's

hopeful days.

Ever the will is changing its aim and its rule, while for ever,

In a still varying form, actions revolve round themselves.

But in enduring youth, in beauty ever renewing. Kindly Nature, with grace thou dost revere the

old law!

Ever the same, for the man in thy faithful hands thou preservest

That which the child in its sport, that which the youth lent to thee;

At the same breast thou dost suckle the ceaselessly, varying ages:

Under the same azure vault, over the same ver

dant earth,

Races, near and remote, in harmony wander together,

See, even Homer's own sun looks on us, too, with a smile!

GINEVRA.

SAMUEL ROGERS-"ITALY."

If thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance
To Modena, where still religiously

Among her ancient trophies is preserved
Bologna's bucket-in its chain it hangs
Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandine-
Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate,
Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini.
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain thee; through their arched walks,
Dim at noonday, discovering many a glimpse
Of knights and dames, such as in old romance,
And lovers, such as in heroic song;
Perhaps the two, for groves were their delight,
That in the spring-time, as alone they sat,
Venturing together on a tale of love,
Read only part that day. A summer sun,
Sets ere one half is seen; but, ere thou go,
Enter the house-prithee, forget it not-
And look a while upon a picture there.
'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth,

The very
last of that illustrious race,
Done by Zampieri-but by whom I care not.
He who observes it, ere he passes on,
Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again,
That he may call it up, when far away.
She sits, inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half-open, and her finger up,

As though she said 'Beware!' Her vest of gold
'Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to
foot,

An emerald-stone in every golden clasp;
And on her brow, fairer than alabastor,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart-

It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!

Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent
With Scripture-stories from the life of Christ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestor.
That by the way—it may be true or false—
But don't forget the picture; and thou wilt not,
When thou hast heard the tale they told me there.
She was an only child; from infancy
The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire.
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,
That precious gift, what else remained to him?
The young Ginevra was his all in life,
Still as she grew, for ever in his sight;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,

Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
Just as she looks there in her bridal-dress,
She was all gentleness, all gaiety,

Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundreth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum;
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
Great was the joy; but at the bridal-feast,
When all sat down, the bride was wanting there.
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
'Tis but to make a trial of our love!'
And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory-tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed
But that she was not! Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
Orsini lived; and long mightst thou have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,

Something he could not find—he knew not what. When he was gone, the house remained a while Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past, and all forgot, When on an idle day, a day of search 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said
By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,
'Why not remove it from its lurking-place?'
'Twas done as soon as said; but on the way
It burst, it fell; and lo, a skeleton,

With here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold!
All else had perished-save a nuptial-ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both,
'Ginevra.' There then had she found a grave!
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down for ever!

SONG OF THE CRAZED MAIDEN.

GEORGE CRABBE-"TALES OF THE HALL."

Let me not have this gloomy view
About my room, about my bed;
But morning roses, wet with dew,
To cool my burning brow instead;
As flowers that once in Eden
grew,
Let them their fragrant spirits shed,
And every day their sweets renew,
Till I, a fading flower, am dead.

O let the herbs I loved to rear

Give to my sense their perfumed breath!

Let them be placed about my bier,

And grace the gloomy house of death, I'll have my grave beneath a hill,

Where only Lucy's self shall know,
Where runs the pure pellucid rill
Upon its gravelly bed below;
Their violets on the borders blow;
And insects their soft light display,
Till, as the morning sunbeams glow,
The cold phosphoric fires decay.

That is the grave to Lucy shewn;

The soil a pure and silver sand; The green cold moss above it grown, Unplucked of all but maiden hand. In virgin earth, till then unturned,

There let my maiden form be laid; Nor let my changed clay be spurned, Nor for new guest that bed be made. There will the lark, the lamb, in sport, In air, on earth, securely play: And Lucy to my grave resort, As innocent, but not so gay.