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And when the spell that stole my mind

On lips so pure as thine I see,
I fear the heart which she resigned

Will err again, and fly to thee!

SONG.

WHEN Time, who steals our years away,

Shall steal our pleasures too, The memory of the past will stay,

And half our joys renew.

Then, Chloe, when thy beauty's flower

Shall feel the wintry air, Remembrance will recall the hour

When thou alone wert fair !

Then talk no more of future gloom ;

Our joys shall always last;
For hope shall brighten days to come,

And memory gild the past.

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,

I drink to love and thee : Thou never canst decay in soul,

Thou'lt still be young for me. And as thy lips the tear-drop chase,

Which on my cheek they find, So hope shall steal away the trace

Which sorrow leaves behind !

Then fill the bowl-away with gloom !

Our joys shall always last;
For hope shall brighten days to come,

And memory gild the past !
But mark, at thought of future years,

When love shall lose its soul,
My Chloe drops her timid tears,

They mingle with my bowl !
How like this bowl of wine, my fair,

Our loving life shall fleet;
Though tears may sometimes mingle there,

The draught will still be sweet?
Then fill the bowl-away with gloom !

Our joys shall always last;
For hope will brighten days to come,

Aud memory gild the past !

A TALE,

THE RING.1

Upon its marble finger then

He tried the ring to fit;

And, thinking it was safest there,
Annulus ille viri.- Ovid. Amor. lib. ii. eleg. 15.

Thereon he fastened it.
THE happy day at length arrived And now the tennis sports went
When Rupert was to wed

Till they were wearied all,
The fairest maid in Saxony,

And messengers announced to them And take her to his bed.

Their dinner in the hall. As soon as morn was in the sky,

Young Rupert for his wedding-ring The feast and sports began;

Unto the statue went; The men admired the happy maid,

But, oh ! how was he shocked to find The maids the happy man.

The marble finger bent!

The hand was closed upon the ring In many a sweet device of mirth

With firm and mighty clasp, The day was passed along ;

In vain he tried, and tried, and tried, And some the featly dance amused,

He could not loose the grasp ! And some the dulcet song.

How sore surprised was Rupert's The younger maids with Isabel

mind,Disported through the bowers, And decked her robe, and crowned her • I'll come,' quoth he, at night again,

As well his mind might be ; head

When none are here to see.' With notley bridal flowers.

He went unto the feast, and much The matrons all in rich attire,

He thought upon his ring; Within the castle walls,

And much he wondered what could Sat listening to the choral strains That echoed through the halls.

So very strange a thing ! Young Rupert and his friends repaired The feast was o'er, and to the court Unto a spacious court,

He went without delay, To strike the bounding tennis ball Resolved to break the marble hand, In feat and manly sport.

And force the ring away! The bridegroom on his finger liad But mark a stranger wonder still — The wedding-ring so bright,

The ring was there no more; Which was to grace the lily hand Yet was the marble hand ungrasped, . Of Isabel that night.

And open as before ! And fearing he might break the gem, He searched the base, and all the court, Or lose it in the play,

And nothing could he find, He looked around the court, to see But to the castle did return Where he the ring might lay.

With sore bewildered mind Now in the court a statue stood, Within he found them all in mirth,

Which there full long had been ; The night in dancing flew; It was a heathen goddess, or

The youth another ring procured, Perhaps a heathen quieen.

And none the adventure knew.

mean

1 I should be sorry to think that my friend liad I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he any serious intentions of frightening the nursery met with this story in a German author, From. by this story: 1 rather hope-though the manner man upon Fascination, book iii. part vi. chap. of it leads me to doubt-that his design was to 18. On consulting, the work, I perceive thut ridicule that distempered taste which prefers Fromman quotes it from Beluacensis, among those monsters of the fancy to the speciosa many other stories equally diabolical and inte. miracula' of true poetic imagination.

resting

And now the priest has joined their And all the night the demon lay hands,

Cold-chilling by his side, The hours of love advance !

And strained him with such dcadiy Rupert almost forgets to think

grasp Upon the morn's mischance.

He thought he should have died ! Within the bed fair Isabel

But when the dawn of day was ncar', In blushing sweetness lay,

The horrid phantom fled, Like flowers half-opened by the dawn, And left the affrighted youth to weep And waiting for the day.

By Isabel in bed. And Rupert, by her lovely side,

All, all that day a gloomy cloud In youthful beauty glows,

Was seen on Rupert's brows; Like Phoebus, when he bends to cast

Fair Isabel was likewise sad, His beams upon a rose !

But strove to cheer her spouse. And here my song should leave them both,

And, as the day advanced, he thought Nor let the rest be told,

Of coming night with fear :

Ah! that he must with terror view But for the horrid, horrid tale

The bed that should be dear!
It yet has to unfold !
Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him, At length the second night arrivedl
A death-cold carcase found;

Again their couch they pressed ; He saw it not, but thought he felt Poor Rupert hoped that all was o'er, Its arms embrace him round.

And looked for love and rest. He started up, and then returned, But oh ! when midnight came, again But found the phantom still ;

The fiend was at his side, In vain he shrunk, it clipped him round, And, as it strained him in its grasp, With damp and deadly chill !

With howl exulting cried, And when he bent, the earthy lips Husband ! husband ! I've the ring,

A kiss of horror gave ;
'Twas like the smell from charnel vaults, And thou'rt to me for ever wed,

The ring thou gav'st to me;
Or from the mouldering grave ! As I am wed to thee !'
111-fated Rupert, wild and loud
Thou criedst to thy wife,

In agony of wild despair,

He started from the bed ; “Oh! save me from this horrid fiend,

And thus to his bewildered wife
My Isabel ! my life !'

The trembling Rupert said :
But Isabel had nothing seen,
She looked around in vain ;

Oh Isabel! dost thou not see
And much she mourned the mad con-

A shape of horrors here, ceit

That strains me to the deadly kiss, That racked her Rupert's brain.

And keeps me from my dear?' At length from this iuvisible

No, no, my love! my Rupert, I These words to Rupert came ;

No shape of horrors see; (Oh God! while he did hear the words, And much I mourn the phantasy

What terrors shook his frame !) That keeps my dear from me!' 'Husband ! husband ! I've the ring This night, just like the night before, Thou gav`st to-day to me;

In terrors passed away,
And thou’rt to me for ever wed, Nor did the demon vanish thenco
As I am wed to thee !'

Before the dawn of day.

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Says Rupert then, 'My Isabel,

A female form of wanton mien
Dear partner of my woe,

Seated upon a car.
To Father Austin's holy cave
This instant will I go.'

And Rupert, as he gazed upon

The loosely-vested dame,
Now Austin was a reverend man, Thought of the marble statue's look,
Who acted wonders maint,

For hers was just the same.
Whom all the country round believed
A devil or a saint !

Behind her walked a hideous form,

With eyeballs flashing death ; To Father Austin's holy cave

Whene'er he breathed, a sulphureil Then Rupert went full straight,

smoke And told him all, and asked him how Came burning in his breath ! To remedy his fate.

He seemed the first of all the crowd The father heard the youth, and then Terrific towering o'er; Retired awhile to pray;

'Yes, yes,' said Rupert, this is he, And, having prayed for half an hour, And I need ask no more.' Returned, and thus did say :

Then slow he went, and to this fiend “There is a place where four roads meet, The tablets trembling gave, Which I will tell to thee;

Who looked and read them with a yell Be there this eve, at fall of night, That would disturb the grave. And list what thou shalt see.

And when he saw the blood-scrawled Thou'lt see a group of figures pass

name, In strange disordered crowd,

His eyes with fury shine, Travelling by torchlight through the I thought, cries he, his time was out, roads,

But he must soon be mine!'
With noises strange and loud.
And one that's high above the rest,

Then darting at the youth a look,

Which rent his soul with fear,
Terrific towering o'er,
Will make thee know him at a glance,

He went unto the female fiend,

And whispered in her ear. So I need say no more.

The female fiend no sooner hearii,
To him from me these tablets give,

Than, with reluctant look,
They'll soon be understood ;
Thou need'st
not fear, but give them The very ring that Rupert lost

She from her finger took ;
straight,
I've scrawled them with my blood !

And, giving it unto the youth,

With The nightfall came, and Rupert all

eyes that breathed of hell,

'She said in that tenendous voice In pale amazement went To where the cross-roads met, and he

Which he remembered well : Was by the father sent.

'In Austin's name take back the ring, And lo! a group of figures came

The ring thou gav'st to me;
In strange disordered crowd, And thou'rt to me no longer wed,
Travelling by torchlight through the Nor longer I to thee.'

roads,
With noises strange and loud.

He took the ring, the rabble passed,

He bome returned again; And as the gloomy train advanced, His wife was then the happiest fair, Rupert beheld from far

The happiest he of men.

SONG.

THINK on that look of humid ray,

Which for a moment mixed with mine, And for that moment seemed to say,

I dare not, or I would be thine !

Think, think on every smile and glance,

On all thou hast to charm and move; And then forgive my bosom’s trance,

And tell me 'tis not sin to love !

Ob ! not to love thee were the sin;

For sure, if Heaven's decrees be done, Thou, thou art destined still to win,

As I was destined to be won.

SONG.

Fly from the world, O Bessy! to me,

Thou'lt never find any sincerer ;
I'll give up the world, O Bessy ! for thee,

I can never meet any that's dearer !
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh,

That our loves will be censured by many ;
All, all have their follies, and who will deny

That ours is the sweetest of any!

When your lip has met mine, in abandonment sweet,

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?
Have we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet ?

No, rather 'twas Heaven that did it!
So innocent, love! is the pleasure we sip,

So little of guilt is there in it,
That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip,

And I'd kiss them away in a minute !

Then come to your lover, oh ! fly to his shed,

From a world which I know thou despisest;
And slumber will hover as light on our bed,

As e'er on the couch of the wisest!
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven,

And thou, pretty innocent! fearest,
I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heaven,

'Tis only our lullaby, dearest!

And, oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my love !

Looking back on the scene of our errors,
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead them above,

And Death be disarmed of his terrors !

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