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herself, and rendered frantic, turned hastily round, and plunged the dagger in her assailant's breast.

The wounded man dropped upon the ground." Cruel Erilda!" escaped his lips, and he instantly expired.

"Hence God-abandoned murderers;" muttered the voice that had before arrested the arm of Erilda. "Fly to meet thy doom."

"Hark!" cried the maid; "heard you nothing?—What voice was that ?” Terror sat on her brow-her lips were pale with fear her eyes looked wild and fiery.

"I heard nothing but the winds sighing along the strand."

"Do you hear nothing," exclaimed she. Merciful God! What have I done?- Murderess!'-Oh, let me look on him I have slain.”

She approached the corse, spite of the entreaties of Wertwrold; and discovered, wrapped in a long cloak, the bleeding body of Sir Rhyswick! A crimson stream flowed from the fresh-made wound

his eyes were filmed and closed in death-his cheek was wan-his mouth wide and distended.

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Oh, God! my father!" exclaimed Erilda," Murdered by my hands!" And fell fainting upon his bleeding breast. Wertwrold endeavoured to recal her to recollection; but, for a long time, vain were his atte.pts. At length, recovering, "Leave me," she cried; "leave me to die with my murdered father.-Away! Anguish gnaws my breast.-Abandoned by Heaven, leave me to die, and receive the punishment of my guilt."

"You rave, Erilda !-See, the vassals of the Baron draw near!-Hark now their voices are heard-their torches gleam in the walks; we shall be discovered, Erilda, let me arouse you from this torpor let us fly, Erilda, and save ourselves from an ignominious death."

"Away!" cried the distracted naid; "I am a wretch unfit to live-more unfit to die: yet I will expiate the foul

offence by submitting to those tortures that await me-which exceed not the agonies of my own bosom. Oh! my much loved father!" she exclaimed, "your daughter-your own daughter, is your murderer."

She fell upon his bosom; and still the Blood-plumed Knight urged her to fly.

"Erilda!" he returned, "what false notions occupy your breast! Rather by penitence expiate the crime; the foul offence is not to be atoned by death. Heaven in its wrath has doomed your soul to everlasting torments; live then, and, by penitence, seek to appease its vengeance."

"What mercy can the wretched murderer of her parent hope for ?— Leave me, Wertwrold; distraction rages through my brain.-I am lost-for ever lost-God-abandoned-doomed to everlasting torments."

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Oh, Erilda! think on your spotless fame to be blasted by the scandalizing tongue of futurity-think on the curses each peasant slave will mutter on her who was once her country's boast; the name of Erilda shall be shuddered at by those who judge not of the motive but the act-children shall be rocked to their slumbers with the frightful relation of her guilt, and she shall live for ever in the detestation and abhorrence even of the criminal.-The pilgrim shall hear and tremble at her tale-the monk shall cross himself, and tell his beads, when he passes Rhuddlan's blood-stained towers-all nature shall be shocked with her enormities; and not a pitying sigh shall be heaved to her memory. Come, Erilda, let us fly; penitence shall soon restore peace to your bosom, and your crime shall be forgotten."

"Oh, no! I will remain and sigh out my last breath on the cold bosom of my father."

"See, Erilda, the torches advance, Prince Morven is at their head; this way he bends his steps-he has his eye upon us-Distraction!-we are lost."

"Ah! Morven! comes he hither to witness my shame ?" exclaimed the maid; "I cannot stand the inquiring glance of his penetrating eye.

"Then hasten to the coracle, Erilda, which now awaits us on the shore. Haste, Erilda, hear you not their voices? -They approach-they are at our heels."

At this moment, a number of voices exclaimed, "This way!"

"Oh! hide me— e-hide me from them; they come-they come;" cried Erilda. And clasping the hand of Wertwrold, she flew to the strand where the coracle was anchored.

The footsteps approached; and numberless torches lined the strand. Sir Rhyswick was discovered by the vassals of Rhuddlan, wrapped up in his cloak, and bathed in his blood. His heart was cold in his bosom-no signs of life animated his cheek, that was pale and deathlike. His silvery beard was distained and clotted with gore ;-the last breath had issued from his mouth.

Morven had the corse borne to the castle, where it lay in state for three days; when it was deposited in the earth, and five hundred masses were sung for his eternal repose.

In the mean time, the despairing Erilda having set her foot on board the vessel, was borne over the thin wave with the rapidity of lightning. Torches still lined the stand; and their glaring light was reflected to the opposite shore, breaking through the horrible darkness that clouded the earth.

"Vain is your flight, murderess!" whispered a voice in the breeze. "Mountains cannot conceal your guilt, or cover you from the wrath of the great avenger. To the furthermost corner of the world, the retributive sword of justice shall pursue you."

"Hark!" cried Erilda, clinging to the bosom of her seducer, while horror distorted her countenance. "Hark; heard you not a voice? Oh, heard you not a voice? Oh, Wertwrold!-hide me-hide me."

She buried her face in her cloak, while the warrior Knight maintained a contemptuous silence; at length, gazing upon her with satisfaction, he exclaimed:

"And is Erilda mine-do I now press her in arms-do I now hold her to my heart, beyond the power of man to tear her from me? Why, this, indeed, is triumph-she is mine, voluntarily mine-she has fled her paternal roof for me, an unknown-she has rejected Morven, the heir apparent to the crown of Wales, who came to her with a heart full of love, and proffered the wealth of his country at her feet, to share her smiles, for me an unknown! she has renounced her claim to virtue, embraced infamy for a spotless name, has preferred the blast of scandal to the mild breath of praise, and all this for

me, an UNKNOWN!"

A horrible smile, as he concluded, played upon his cheek.-Erilda started from his bosom.

"Wertwrold?" she exclaimed;"Do you upbraid me ?"

"Enamoured beauty, no! To ME, this guilt is pleasure: had you deluged the world in a sea of blood, or brought another chaos on the earth-Wertwrold would have smiled."

"For Heaven's sake," cried the almost expiring criminal; "tell me, who are you?"

The Warrior Knight of the Blood-red Plume: but," he continued, "Erilda is beyond the reach of mercy

is inevitably mine-and I will reveal myself in all my glowing colours. I am an agent of the great infernal-my residence is in the bosom of the Clwyd

my occupation is to aggravate the crimes on earth, and be the great instigater of war and rapine: in my bosom spring those seeds of faction, which I scatter in the breasts of princes, urging them to raise the sword against each other's life, and plunge each other's nation in a torrent of destructive war: but this had ceased-Morven's father

had restored Wales to prosperity and peace-and I, in the bosom of my na

tive stream, was doomed to sleep and brood new broils, in painful inactivity. While thus my mind was occupied with thought, an incubus approached my oozy bed, and breathed Erilda's fame into my ear: I was arouzed with the sweet image my fancy drew; and, on beholding the enchanting object, found her sweeter than my imagination had painted her and, from that moment, I resolved to make her mine. I heard of her many virtues of her piety-and what a feeling heart she boasted; this news instructed me what shape to assuine; and the Warrior Knight of the Blood-red Plume answered every purpose. Erilda was easily ensnared she pitied me, because she thought me unfortunate-pity instantly begat lovelove the glowing fire of all-consuming passion. I had no power to deceive, but speciously-"

"Monster" exclaimed the frantic

wretch, " you were all deception."

"There Erilda wrongs me," cried the fiend;" she deceived herself-she though me what her heart hoped I was -I did not need much art to gain her --she readily entered into all my views -embraced my projects as fast as they were uttered."

Erilda threw herself upon her knees. "Nay, prayer is vain," continued the fiend; you are lost to Heaven-you scrupled to commit an immediate murder, yet planned a lingering death for the parent who had nurtured

you-you

would not stab, but preferred planting daggers in your father's bosom.-Murderess! you bid him who gave you life, live for a time in agony, to reflect on his daughter's infamy."

Erilda shrunk with horror and affright from the hideous monster, who now resumed his original shape, amidst the yell of demons, who rose from the sandy deep, upon the curling wave, to greet their chief. The eyes of the sanguinary fiend emitting a sulphureous flame, were fixed upon the pale countenance of the guilty maid, whom he grasped round

the waist in malignant triumph. Green scales covered his body; from his mouth and nostrils he breathed the white frothen waters-and various animals, fostered by the liquid element, trailed their pestiferous slime across his carcase. In his right hand he held a trident, which he raised on high to plunge in the bosom of his victim, who, screaming, burst from his embrace, and falling upon her knees, implored of Heaven protection. Loud thunders shook the sky-terrific lightning flashed in her eyes and the furious winds bursting through the mountains, swelled the agitated river beyond its bounds. The fiend, with malignant yell, pursued Erilda-the trident entered her bosomand crimson torrents of her virgin blood gushed from the yawning wound-in agony she fell-the demon, twining his hand in her fair locks, hurled her to the deep, and, sated with triumph, vanished with his coracle.

Long time did the white-browed waves bear up Erilda: in her last moments, she beheld the pale spectre of Sir Rhyswick, who advanced upon the rolling waters, that seemed to shrink from his feet, placing his fore-finger to the deep wound in his breast. More dreadful were her screams-and billow succeeding billow, bore her near the shore. Struggling for life, she clung to a loose rock to save herself, which yielding to her grasp, came rolling down, and crashed her to pieces.

The hermit paused.

Since then has Rhuddlan's castle been the seat of anarchy.--Monarchs, indeed, have made it their residence ; but, each night, Erilda's screams are heard, and the Warrior of the Blood-red Plume is seen pursuing her through the ruined.

courts.

Such is the tale of Rhuddlan's ruined towers. Pilgrim, go thy way, stop not within its blasted walls, foul fiends ride upon the misty air, and the demons of the angry Clwyd claim it as their right.

THE WIZARD'S REVENGE!

An Irish Tradition.

"On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, When the clear cold eve's declining,

He sees the round towers of other days
In the wave beneath him shining!—”.

ACCORDING to ancient tradition there was, some centuries ago, a large and populous town near Carrickfergus in the north of Ireland.-Towards the decline of a day in autumn, as the nobles and other inhabitants of this town were indulging themselves with music and dancing, on the eve of a festival, an old man, habited in a long dark cloak, and seemingly bent with fatigue, made his appearance among them, and requested refreshments and shelter for the night. The manner in which the traveller sought the kindness of strangers was ill calculated to produce the effects he desired, for the tones of the mendicant were strangely mingled with a voice of command, and the piercing grey eyes that sparkled beneath his white and overhanging eyebrows, were fitfully illumined with a wild and fearful brilliancy. The people gazed at him for a moment, and then, averse to his aspect, closed their hearth and door to his importunity. For some time the old man vainly wandered from gate to gate in search of hospitality, till at length, in the marketplace, a person besought him to put up with the accommodation of his humble abode. The pilgrim stopped, and, turning round, beheld the towers and steeples and houses of the town glittering like gold in the rich radiance of a setting sun. A withering expression of revenge darkened his eye, as, smiling bitterly upon the scene, he stretched forth his hands, and said, "The curse of an outcast and wanderer light upon you, proud city; and bright as thy turrets are now, they shine for the last time in the sunburst of day, for the morning will come and find thee fled as a dream from the brain of the sleeper." The young man

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IRISH MELODIES.

started at the stern malediction of the mendicant, and the deep shadowing of his brow; but time for reflection was not given him, for the evening was drawing on, and the stranger accepting his offer, prepared to follow him to his house. After passing through two or three long streets, the guide, whose name was O'Halloran, struck into a narrow lane, and stopping before the gate of a mean habitation, he lifted the latch, and invited the old man to enter.

The room he led his guest into, corresponded with the exterior of the house, and was occupied by an old woman whose years appeared not to have diminished the natural gaiety of her heart, and a young woman, who was seated spinning in a corner, and blythely singing as the merry wheel went round: the latter was a rosy-cheeked daughter of Erin; her hair was chesnut brown, and her eyes dark, blue, and brilliant, sparkled from beneath her bright and curling tresses, as she raised them on the entrance of her husband, who announced the traveller he had invited. In a moment the distaff was thrown by, and the board was spread with the best that the humble dwelling produced; while the old man, having been disencumbered by O'Halloran of his cloak and cap, sat down with an urbanity of countenance that curiously contrasted with the almost supernatural expression of malice which had, a few minutes before, risen like a fire-flash on his features. After supper, O'Halloran brought a harp, one of which was then to be found in every house in Ireland, and placing it before his guest, waited in expectation of his playing. The stranger drew it on his knee, and, as

his fingers wandered among the strings, he sung, in a low but energetic tone, the following verses :

The sun-light is streaming,
Ob, Lorn! on thy tow'rs,
And soft music is sounding
Within thy green bow'rs;
Thy chaplets are woven,
Thy gems are display'd,
And for tilt and for tourney
Thy youths are array'd;
But ere the next sun-beam

Shall spring to the wave,
All-all will be hush'd

In the calm of the grave;-
And the feast and the galliard
And song will be o'er;
And the bright eyes of beauty
Sball kindle no more.
Oh! roses will wither
Where lightly they fall,
Yet more swiftly will vanish
Knight, Lady, and all.
Still breathe on in murmurs
The soul of thy joy,
For no thought of the morrow
Must rapture destroy.

Then speed to the banquet

In castle and hall,

For the night-star that's coming

Shall witness thy fall.

and the pure water was welling up in the insterstices, while black and silvery eels coiled upon the stones. A shriek of dismay burst from the lips of all present, and at that instant the door was thrown open, and the old man appeared before them: his aspect was as that of a demon, and his eyes shone with exultation. "Fly!" cried he, "fly from the destruction ye have not merited! Rise, and follow me, and while time is left ye, seek safety on the mountains." Saying this, he hurried them, without further speaking, to the door. O'Halloran supported his trembling wife and mother in their forced progress through the streets, which were now above ankle deep in water. Every minute it rose higher and higher. "Hurry, hurry!" exclaimed the old man, the hour of favour will be past." He was leading to the outskirts of the town, when O'Halloran's mother, shrinking

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or

The minstrel repeated in a deepened from the reptiles that came in contact

cadence,

For the night--star that's coming

Shall witness thy fall.

And O'Halloran felt an emotion of dread steal over him as he gazed upon the mysterious being, and remembered the bitter curse he had, in the market-place, bestowed upon the town. The wanderer disregarded his agitation, and shortly after complaining of fatigue, retired to the chamber set apart for his repose. When the stranger had withdrawn, O'Halloran and his wife and mother drew round the fire, and the singularity of their guest gave rise to many observations, which at length induced O'Halloran to impart to his wondering auditors the circumstance of the traveller's rejection by the neighbours, and the fearful rage he had expressed on the occasion. The old woman's vivacity forsook her, and the gentle Kathleen crossed herself repeatedly, as she sat in awful expectation of the issue.

The moments were wearing on, when suddenly the old woman cried out, that the apartment was sinking. O'Halloran started on his feet,-it was a fact: the hearth had already given some inches,

with her feet, declared she could proceed no further: his wife hung heavily upon his arm, and the stranger's intricate windings through the town were now difficult to follow, but delay was not to be thought of; the water was rising in every part, and the newt and the eft, and slippery eel, were meandering on the pavement. "For the sake of mercy bear up awhile," said O'Halloran, "and we may yet reach a shelter." He doubled the support of his arm, and the party, renewing their exertions, in a short time gained the steep ascent of a mountain, which raised its stupendous height above the steeples of the town, The old man halted not; but with an agility that was surprising, commenced to tread the mazes of the hill, ever and anon turning his head, and urging his companions to speed. The night was calm and clear, and the heavens were of a deep blue, studded with a myriad of stars, that seemed as innumerable lamps of silver burning and brightening in the sky. In the distance, on the skirts of the horizon, was traced, amidst the density of the surrounding clouds, many a gleam of pale and visionary hue;

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