To slumber with their own soft-sliding sounds; Oh, second Eden, like the first, defiled She is here overtaken by the Prefect, whose jealousy has been roused by her recent coldness, and from whom she still conceals the real cause of her apparent change. Nothing results from the meeting, and the martyr passes on to the congregation at the burialplace of the christians. They have just interred a brother, over whom they chant an anthem, which is more distinguished by its piety than by poetical spirit. They are warned by the Neophyte, and flee timely away. Margaret returns to the temple, and the explanatory scene with her father ensues : Margarita. By Jesus Christ-by Him Callias. Lightnings blast-not thee, Callias. Margarita. I see a silent shape of stone, Ha! look again, then, Callias. From night's dun vapours and fast-scattering mists, The voices of all animate things lift up Tumultuous orisons; the spacious world Holds his calm way, and vindicates for his own Of peerless glory unapproachable. What means thy proud undazzled look, to adore Margarita. On yon burning orb To hang thy everlasting nuptial lamp To thee was given to quicken slumbering nature, And I will add,-Thou universal emblem, of him, that with the light of righteousness mercy Thou dost remember all my faithful vows, Apollo! and we'll have our full revenge! The scene is next transferred to the Prefect's hall of justice, whither the captured christians are brought for judgment, and, amongst the rest, Margaret, who has been seized in company with Fabius, the patriarch of her sect, and who now stands before the Prefect, her lover, and the priest, her father, to receive her sentence at their hands. The whole scene is well imagined, and forcibly written. It is succeeded by an interview between the father and child in the prison. The spirit of the parent is broken down, and he forgets, in his sorrow, the supposed guilt of the apostate priestess. Daughter! when thou serv'dst Thy father's gods, thou wert not thus! the sun Was brightest where thon wert-beneath thy feet Margarita. I hear The maids; beneath the twilight they are thronging To Daphne, and they carol as they pass. Callias. Thou canst not go. Margarita. Lament not that, my father. Callias. Thou must breathe here the damp and stifling air. Margarita. Nay, listen not. Callias. They call us hence. Ah! me, My gentle child, in vain wouldst thou distract My rapt attention from each well-known note, Once hallow'd to mine ear by thine own voice, Which erst made Antioch vacant, drawing after thee The thronging youth, which cluster'd all around thee Like bees around their queen, the happiest they That were the nearest. Oh, my child! my child! The virgins of Apollo are heard, as they pass by, and their evening song is very beautifully written As the night advances, Margaret is led forth to a splendid palace, where the strongest trial of her faith is made, in the choice of good or evil, held out to her by the Prefect, to whom she is devotedly attached, and who presents the contrast to her senses in the strongest colours: Now, to the left! Margarita. Beneath thee, A dim and narrow court I see, where shadows as of hurrying men Pass and repass; and now and then their lights Wander on shapeless heaps, like funeral pilesAnd there are things of strange distorted shape On which the torches cast a colder hue, As though on iron instruments of torture. A little farther, there are moving lamps In the black amphitheatre, that glance, And as they glance each narrow aperture Is feebly gilded with their slanted light. It is the quick and busy preparation For the dark sacrifice of to-morrow. You throne, whereon the Asiarch holds his state, One scene of peerless pomp and pride; her will Margarita. 'Tis made-the funeral pyre, The Prefect determines, notwithstanding, at all events, to save the maiden's life, and although she is brought with the other victims to the place of execution, it is only with the view of shaking her constancy, by making her an eye-witness of the various tortures under which they expire. Before they are led out to death, the spirit of the beautiful martyr rises high within her, and breaks forth in a strain of inspiration. Olybius. Beautiful! what mean'st thou ? Why dost thou look to yon bright heaven? What seest That makes thy full eyes kindle as they gaze, Callias. That voice on which I've lived these long, long years. Like the rich veil of some proud fane is rending, Even to the highest height in burning rows ascending; Some with their wings dispread, As on some mission of God's love departing, Beyond! ah, who is there With the white snowy air? 'Tis he— 'tis he, the Son of Man appearing↓ At the right-hand of One, The darkness of whose throne That sun-eyed Seraph Host behold with awe and fearing; O'er him the rainbow springs, And spreads its emerald wings, Down to the glassy sea his loftiest seat o'er-arching. Hark! thunders from his throne, like steel-clad armies marching. The Christ! the Christ commands us to his home, Jesus, Redeemer, Lord, we come, we come, we come! The christians are then given into the hands of the torturers, and their various fates are related by officers who enter for that purpose. Olybius awaits in anxiety the effect which these scenes are to produce on Margarita, and seemingly aware that he has placed her in a very perilous predicament. His arrangements certainly appear to have been but loosely concerted, for a very simple circumstance disappoints his hopes, and plunges him in a state of distraction and remorse, under the influence of which he renounces his power and his ambition for ever. An officer enters amidst fearful shrieks, with an aspect of ill omen: Thou liest! I have his oath-the Prefect's oath : I had forgot it in my fears, but now I well remember, that she should not die. There was an infant play'd about thy chamber, I do beseech thee slay me first, and quickly: A moisture like to tears. But she meanwhile And some fell down upon their knees, some clasp'd Calllas. Ha! God's blessing on his head! Callias. And Officer. It fell. Callias. I see it, I see it like the lightning flash. I see it, blood! Office. Where goest thou? To learn the faith in which my daughter died, The death of the lovely martyr is represented as effecting a sudden change in the feelings of the people, who join the surviving christians in honouring her remains; and the volume closes with a triumphal hymn, conceived in a high and sustained spirit of enthusiasm. Mr. Milman may assure himself of a considerable addition to his well-earned reputation from this performance. It is a stately, graceful, and vigorous production; the offspring of very con Faugh! who will trust in Gods and men like these? siderable natural talents, refined and Olybius. Slave! slave! dost mock me? Better 'twere for thee That this be false, than if thou'dst found a treasure To purchase kingdoms. She had beheld each sad and cruel death, And elasp'd the frowning headsman's knees, and said, cultivated by industry and by art. With much of the powers, he has none of the eccentricities of genius; and possesses, in as much perfection as could be desired, the qualities which ought to distinguish the occupant of that chair to which he has recently been appointed, and which he cannot fail to fill with honour. The poet may well profess to teach the theory of his art, who can put it so beautifully into practice; and his opinions of the works of others must deserve attention when all voices unite to commend his own. PETER KLAUS. THE LEGEND OF THE GOATHERD-RIP VAN WINKLE. THE following legend is offered to our readers, not only on the score of its intrinsic merit, but as being the undoubted source from which Geoffrey Crayon drew his Rip Van Winkle. This story of The Goatherd is to be found in Busching's Popular Tales, page 327, where it is followed by a second legend on the same subject; both have reference to the celebrated Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, who, in fact, is the subject of many a winter's tale amongst the Germans, but all springing from one and the same source. According to this primal story, the Emperor once took refuge, with a party of his followers, in the Kyffhausen mountains, where he still lives, though under the influence of magic. Here he sits, with his friends, on a bench before a stone table, supporting his head on his hands, and in a state of apparent slumber. His red beard has grown through the table down to his feet, while his head nods and his eyes twinkle, as if he slept uneasily or were about to wake. At times this slumber is interrupted, but his naps are, for the most part, tolerably long, something about a hundred years duration. In his waking moments, he is supposed to be fond of music, and amongst the numerous tales to which his magic state has given rise, there is one of a party of musicians, who thought proper to treat him with a regular concert in his subterranean abode. Each was rewarded with a green bough, a mode of payment so offensive to their expectations, that upon their return to earth, all flung away his gifts, save one, and he kept the bough only as a memorial of the adventure, without the least suspicion of its value; great, however, was his surprize, when, upon showing it to his wife, every leaf was changed into a golden dollar. But even the first tale of the Emperor's prolonged slumber can hardly be deemed original; and perhaps, to speak it fairly, is nothing more than a popular version of The Seven Sleepers, not a little disfigured by time and the peculiar superstitions of the country. It is, indeed, surprising how small a stock of original matter has sufficed for all the varieties of European legend; the sources are remarkably few to him who has sufficient knowledge of the subject to follow up the various streams to their fountain head; and it is a task which, if ably executed, might prove both curious and instructive. PETER KLAUS was a Goatherd of Sittendorf, and tended his flocks in the Kyffhausen mountains; here he was accustomed to let them rest every evening in a mead surrounded by an old wall, while he made his muster of them; but for some days he had remarked that one of his finest goats always disappeared some time after coming to this spot, and did not join the flock till late watching her more attentively, he observed that she slipped through an opening in the wall, upon which he crept after the animal, and found her in a sort of cave, busily employed in gleaning the oat-grains that dropped down singly from the roof He looked up, shook his ears amidst the shower of corn that now fell down upon him, but with all his enquiry could discover nothing. At last he heard above the stamp and neighing of horses, from whose mangers it was probable the oats had fallen. Peter was yet standing in astonishment at the sound of horses in so unusual a place, when a boy appeared, who by signs, without speaking a word, desired him to follow. Accordingly he ascended a few steps and passed over a walled court into a hollow, closed in on all sides by lofty rocks, where a partial twilight shot through the over-spreading foliage of the shrubs. Here, upon a smooth, fresh lawn, he found twelve knights playing gravely at nine-pins, and not one spoke a syllable; with equal silence Peter was installed in the office of setting up the nine-pins. At first he performed this duty with knees that knocked against each other, as he now and then stole a partial look at the long beards and slashed doublets of the noble knights. By degrees, however, custom gave him courage; he gazed on every thing with firmer look, and at last even ventured to drink out of a bowl that stood near him, from which the wine exhaled a most delicious odour. The glowing juice made him feel as if re-animated, and whenever he found the least weariness, he again drew fresh vigour from the inexhaustible goblet. Sleep at last overcame him. Upon waking, Peter found himself in the very same enclosed mead where he was wont to tell his herds. He rubbed his eyes, but could see no sign either of dog or goats, and was, besides, not a little astonished at the high grass, and shrubs, and trees which he had never before observed there. Not well knowing what to think, he continued his way over all the places that he had been accustomed to frequent with his goats, but no where could he find any traces of them; below him he saw Sittendorf, and, at length, with hasty steps he descended. The people, whom he met before the village, were all strangers to him; they had not the dress of his acquaintance, nor yet did they exactly speak their language, and, when he asked after his goats, all stared and touched their chins. At last he did the same almost involuntarily, and found his beard lengthened by a foot at least, upon which he began to conclude that himself and those about him were equally under the influence of enchantment; still he recognised the mountain he had de scended, for the Kyffhausen; the houses too, with their yards and gardens, were all familiar to him, and to the passing questions of a traveller, several boys replied by the name of Sittendorf. With increasing doubt he now walked through the village to his house: It was much decayed, and before it lay a strange goatherd's boy in a ragged frock, by whose side was a dog worn lank by age, that growled and snarled when he spoke to him. He then en In a short time, women and children thronged around the stranger with the long hoary beard, and all, as if for a wager, joined in enquiring what he wanted. Before his own house to ask others after his wife, or children, or even of himself, seemed so strange, that, to get rid of these querists, he mentioned the first name that occurred to him; "Kurt Steffen ?" The byestanders looked at each other in silence, till at last an old woman said; "He has been in the churchyard these twelve years, and you'll not go there to-day. "Velten Meier ?" "Heaven rest his soul !" replied an ancient dame, leaning upon her crutch; "Heaven rest his soul! He has lain these fifteen years in the house that he will never leave." The Goatherd shuddered, as in the last speaker he recognised his neighbour, who seemed to have suddenly grown old; but he had lost all desire for farther question. At this moment, a brisk young woman pressed through the anxious gapers, carrying an infant in her arms, and leading by the hand a girl of about fourteen years old, all three the very image of his wife. With increasing surprise he asked her name : "Maria !". "And your father's?" -"Peter Klaus! Heaven rest his soul! It is now twenty years since we sought him day and night on the Kyffhausen mountains, when his flock returned without him; I was then but seven years old." The Goatherd could contain himself no longer; "I am Peter Klaus," he cried, "I am Peter Klaus, and none else," and he snatched the child from his daughter's arms. All for a moment stood as if petrified, till at length one voice, and another, and another, exclaimed, "Yes, this is Peter Klaus ! Welcome, neighbour !-Welcome after twenty years!" |