And louder swelled the songs of joy through that victorious night, And faster flowed the red wine forth, by the stars' and torches' light;

But low and deep, amidst the mirth, was heard the conqueror's

moan

"My brother! oh, my brother! best and bravest! thou art gone!"

THE RETURN.

"HAST thou come with the heart of thy childhood back?

The free, the pure, the kind?"

So murmured the trees in my homeward track,

As they played to the mountain-wind.

"Hath thy soul been true to its early love?"
Whispered my native streams:

"Hath the spirit nursed amidst hill and grove,
Still revered its first high dreams?"

"Hast thou borne in thy bosom the holy prayer
Of the child in his parent-halls?"

Thus breathed a voice on the thrilling air
From the old ancestral walls.

"Hast thou kept thy faith with the faithful dead,

Whose place of rest is nigh?

With the father's blessing o'er thee shed,
With the mother's trusting eye?"

Then my tears gushed forth in sudden rain,
As I answered-' O, ye shades!

I bring not my childhood's heart again
To the freedom of your glades.

"I have turned from my first pure love aside,

O bright and happy streams!

Light after light, in my soul have died

The day-spring's glorious dreams.

"And the holy prayer from my thoughts hath passed

The prayer at my mother's knee;

Darkened and troubled I come at last,

Home of my boyish glee!

“But I bear from my childhood a gift of tears,

To soften and atone;

And oh ye scenes of those blessed years,

They shall make me again your own."

THE VAUDOIS WIFE.1

Clasp me a little longer, on the brink

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress;

And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh! think

And let it mitigate thy woe's excess

That thou hast been to me all tenderness,

And friend, to more than human friendship just.
Oh! by that retrospect of happiness,

And by the hopes of an immortal trust,

God shall assuage thy pangs when I am laid in dust."

Gertrude of Wyoming.

THY Voice is in mine ear, beloved!

Thy look is in my heart,

Thy bosom is my resting-place,

And yet I must depart.

Earth on my soul is strong-too strong-
Too precious is its chain,

All woven of thy love, dear friend,

Yet vain, though mighty, vain!

Thou seest mine eye grow dim, beloved!
Thou seest my life-blood flow.
Bow to the chastener silently,
And calmly let me go!

A little while between our hearts
The shadowy gulf must lie,
Yet have we for their communing
Still, still Eternity!

Alas! thy tears are on my cheek,
My spirit they detain ;

I know that from thine agony
Is wrung that burning rain.

Best, kindest, weep not: make the pang,

The bitter conflict, less

Oh! sad it is, and yet a joy,

To feel thy love's excess!

But calm thee! Let the thought of death
A solemn peace restore !

The voice that must be silent soon

Would speak to thee once more,

That thou mayst bear its blessing on
Through years of after life-

A token of consoling love,

Even from this hour of strife.

I bless thee for the noble heart,

The tender, and the true,

Where mine hath found the happiest rest

That e'er fond woman's knew;

1 The wife of a Vaudois leader, in one of the attacks made on the Protestant hamlets, received a mortal wound, and died in her husband's arms, exhorting him to courage and endurance.

I bless thee, faithful friend and guide,
For my own, my treasured share.
In the mournful secrets of thy soul,
In thy sorrow, in thy prayer.

I bless thee for kind looks and words
Showered on my path like dew,
For all the love in those deep eyes!
A gladness ever new!

For the voice which ne'er to mine replied

But in kindly tones of cheer; For every spring of happiness

My soul hath tasted here!

I bless thee for the last rich boon
Won from affection tried,

The right to gaze on death with thee,
To perish by thy side!

And yet more for the glorious hope
Even to these moments given-

Did not thy spirit ever lift

The trust of mine to Heaven?

Now be thou strong! Oh, knew we not
Our path must lead to this?

A shadow and a trembling still
Were mingled with our bliss!

We plighted our young hearts when storms
Were dark upon the sky,

In full, deep knowledge of their task
To suffer and to die!

Be strong! I leave the living voice
Of this, my martyred blood,
With the thousand echoes of the hills,
With the torrent's foaming flood;
A spirit 'midst the caves to dwell,
A token on the air,

To rouse the valiant from repose,
The fainting from despair.

Hear it, and bear thou on, my love!
Ay, joyously endure !

Our mountains must be altars yet,
Inviolate and pure;

There must our God be worshiped still
With the worship of the free:
Farewell!-there's but one pang in death,
One only leaving thee !

My battle-vow !-no minster walls
Gave back the burning word,

Macbeth.

Nor cress nor shrine the low deep tone
Of smothered vengeance heard :
But the ashes of a ruined home
Thrilled, as it sternly rose,

With the mingling voice of blood that shook
The midnight's dark repose.

I breathed it not o'er kingly tombs,
But where my children lay.
And the startled vulture at my step
Soared from their precious clay.
I stood amidst my dead alone—
I kissed their lips-I poured,
In the strong silence of that hour,
My spirit on my sword.

The roof-tree fallen, the smouldering floor,
The blackened threshold-stone,

The bright hair torn, and soiled with blood, Whose fountain was my own;

These, and the everlasting hills,

Bore witness that wild night;

Before them rose the avenger's soul,
In crushed affection's might.

The stars, the searching stars of heaven,
With keen looks would upbraid,

If from my heart the fiery vow,
Seared on it then, could fade.

They have no cause !-Go, ask the streams
That by my paths have swept,

The red waves that unstained were borne

How hath my faith been kept?

And other eyes are on my soul,
That never, never close,

The sad, sweet glances of the lost

They leave me no repose.

Haunting my night-watch 'midst the rocks,

And by the torrent's foam,

Through the dark-rolling mists they shine,

Full, full of love and home!

Alas! the mountain eagle's heart,
When wronged, may yet find rest;
Scorning the place made desolate,
He seeks another nest.

But I-your soft looks wake the thirst
That wins no quenching rain;
Ye drive me back, my beautiful!
To the stormy fight again.

THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE.'

"Thither where he lies buried!

That single spot is the whole world to me.'

COLERIDGE'S Wallenstein.

THY voice was in my soul! it called me on;
O my lost friend! thy voice was in my soul :
From the cold, faded world whence thou art gone,
To hear no more life's troubled billows roll,
I come, I come!

Now speak to me again! we loved so well-
We loved! oh! still, I know that still we love!
I have left all things with thy dust to dwell,
Through these dim aisles in dreams of thee to rove :
This is my home!

Speak to me in the thrilling minster's gloom!
Speak! thou hast died, and sent me no farewell!

I will not shrink; oh! mighty is the tomb,
But one thing mightier, which it cannot quell,
This woman's heart!

This lone, full, fragile heart !—the strong alone
In love and grief-of both the burning shrine !
Thou, my soul's friend! with grief hast surely done,
But with the love which made thy spirit mine,
Say, couldst thou part?

I hear the rustling banners; and I hear

The wind's low singing through the fretted stone;

I hear not thee; and yet I feel thee near

What is this bound that keeps thee from thine own? Breathe it away!

I wait thee-I adjure thee! hast thou known

How I have loved thee? couldst thou dream it all?

Am I not here, with night and death alone,

And fearing not? and hath my spirit's call
O'er thine no sway?

Thou canst not come! or thus I should not weep!
Thy love is deathless—but no longer free!

'See Wallenstein, Act 6th.