Stiller becomes the watery abyss,
Climbs from the deep a hollower hiss;
The howlings more faintly die away.
All wait in anxious terrific delay,
And lips of many with trembling tell:
"Thou lofty-spirited youth, farewell!
"Were it the crown that you had thrown,
And said: Whoever brings me the crown
Shall wear it, and be my king and lord,
I would not fetch the dear reward.
What's hid in the howling deep below
No living soul shall ever know.

"The whirlpool has seized on many a ship,
And dragged it headlong into the deep;
But only a keel, or a splinter'd mast,
From the all-swallowing grave have past."
Now shriller and nearer the dashing is heard,
Like winds when the coming storm is fear'd.
It billows, it hisses, it seethes, and it roars,
It rushes and gushes, and dashes and pours.
Wave pushes wave in endless fray;
To heaven the recking surges spray,
And with the noise of distant thunder,
Bellowing the dark womb bursts asunder.
And lo! the swelling billows upon,
Something uplifts itself, white as a swan,
And an arm, and a glittering shoulder is bare;
It rows with force and busy care;
And 'tis he! and high in his left hand held up,
He flourishes, joyfully beckoning, the cup.
With breathings long and deep he wins his
way,
[day,
And drinks the air, and greets the light of
With frolic and clapping one cries to an-
other:

"He lives! He is there! The abyss could not smother!

The brave one was allowed to save
His soul alive from the jaws of the grave."

He lands: the shouting choir surround;
At the king's feet he sinks on the ground,
And kneeling reaches back the cup.
The monarch graciously lifts him up,
Beckons his daughter so fair and so fine,
Who fills the goblet with sparkling wine,
And the page drank, and thus began.
"Long live the king! He well may be gay
Who breathes the rosy light of day;
Yonder lie horrors dark and dense;
Let no man tempt God's providence,
And never, never seek to know
What graciously is veiled below.
"As had I fallen in air, it drags

Me swiftly down-from between the crags
New wildly boisterous fountains gush.
The mingling force of the double rush
I could not withstand; the eddy was strong,
Like a top, it whirl'd me giddy along.
"Then God, to whom in my terrible need
I cried for pity and help, gave heed,
And show'd projecting from beneath
A rock which I seiz'd, and escaped from
death.

There hung the cup on a coral steep,
Else it had dropt to the bottomless deep.

Far underneath it lay below,

Gleaming with dim and purple glow,
Where to the ear tho' all may sleep,
The eye beheld amid the deep
How salamanders, dragons, snakes,
Were crawling in these hellish lakes.
"In swarthy mixture here they throng,
Or glide in griesly groups along,
The sword-fish, the keen crocodile,
And the sea-serpent's sinuous file,
And grinning with their triple teeth at me,
Wide-throated sharks, hyenas of the sea.
"There hung I long-in conscious fear-
No human arm of help was near;
While forms of fright around me glare,
The only feeling bosom there;
Below the reach of human ear,
Or human voice-in dumb despair.
Moving at once a hundred limbs,
"A griesly monster toward me swims,
And snaps-in terror I let go

From my faint grasp the coral bough, Down which I was clambering-then the surge

Seiz'd me, but sav'd me-I could now emerge."

The king wondered much thereat, and said:
"The goblet is your own, my lad,
And this ring, with precious jewels adorn'd,
I destine you also 'tis not to be scorn'd-
If you'll try again, and let us know
What lies at the very bottom below."
This with soft feeling the daughter hears,
And turn'd on the monarch her eyes in tears:
"Such cruel sport henceforward spare,
He has achiev'd what none else would dare.
If the lusts of your heart you cannot assuage,
Let some of your knights outdo the page."
Then the king snatch'd quickly the goblet
again,

And hurl'd it into the whirlpool amain.
"If you will fetch me the beaker once more,
All my knights you shall stand before;
And her,who pleads for you with loving face,
To-night, as a husband, you shall embrace."
Then did heavenly force in his soul arise,
And boldness lightened from his eyes;
And he saw the fair maid blushing soon,
And then he saw her turn pale and swoon,
And was moved the precious prize to win,
Come life, come death! he cast himself in.
Ebb'd had the surge, and again it flow'd,
And the thund'ring sound announced it
aloud;
[bent,

With affectionate looks o'er the chasm they
The waters they came, and the waters they

To the north of Luteve the mountain of Carenal reflected the last rays of the setting sun. The hour appointed by Goudair for the assembling of the mountaineers at length arrived. Ezilda advanced amidst the enthusiastic throng. Arrayed in white, and covered with a long transparent veil, she looked like the genuis of heroic inspiration, smiling on the sons of glory. The princess addressed herself to the warlike circle, and unfolded to them the plan which her courageous mind had conceived. Not far from Carenal, on the summit of a steep mountain, rose the fortress of Segorum, built by the Romans, and which from its situation seemed almost inaccessible. On the declivity of the hill a celebrated chapel had for many years attracted pilgrims from all parts of Gaul. It had been built by Thierri III., the last King of France, in fulfilment of a pious vow; it was consecrated to Our Lady of Cevennes, and the numerous miracles which were supposed to be performed in the holy edifice frequently attracted throngs of strangers to Segorum. The fortress belonged to the Princess of Cevennes, but had yielded to the infidels. The princess now conceived the bold design of reconquering it, a measure which seemed necessary to restore the faith and reinspire the courage of the mountaineers.

Ezilda conducted her warlike train through the narrow passes of Carenal, and succeeded in obtaining access to the fortress by the effect of her charms on a sentinel.

A sanguinary combat now commenced. The first detachment of the assailants had entered the garrison. Among the besieged terror flew from post to post, and consternation was painted on every countenance. A new tumult was heard proceeding from the watch-tower of the fortress. The second detachment, consisting of six hundred mountaineers, had forced an entrance. The Princess of Cevennes appeared on the ramparts, in her hand she held the sword of the commandant of Sego

rum, who had been made prisoner. "The citadel has surrendered (said the heroine,) let the combat instantly cease!" Among the Saracen chiefs who had been wounded and carried from the scene of action, was Alaor, the friend of Agobar. Having escorted the sisters of St. Amalberge to the first French posts, he had proceeded to Segorum with despatches for the commandant. The princess gave orders that he should receive every requisite attendance, and that no efforts should be spared to save his life. She next threw open the prisons of the fortress, where several French battalions were confined. What was her surprise to find that she had liberated Leodat and his followers! On separating from the princess, near the miraculous grotto, the Prince of Avernes and his little detachment were surrounded by the enemy's legions, and the Mussulmans had conveyed their captives to Segorum.

The princess retired to the eastern tower to pass the night. Previous to the taking of Segorum, Ezilda secretly vowed that if Heaven should favor her enterprise, she would visit the holy chapel of the mountain to return thanks to the Almighty, and to make an offering to Our Lady of Cevennes of some trophy of the victory. Faithful to her vow, Ezilda rose at break of day, and taking the sword and shield which she had received from the Arab commandant of the fortress, she descended the staircase of the tower and proceeded to the chapel. The chapel of Segorum had been built only twenty-seven years. At the period of its erection, the Queen of France had presented an heir to Thierri III., and public rejoicings celebrated the birth of Clodomir. But the royal infant soon fell dangerously ill. Convinced that the air of the south of France would prove beneficial to the queen and his son, the king accompanied them to Marseilles, and from thence embarked for Narbonne. A dreadful tempest arose ; the royal vessel was separated from its escort, and was attacked by an Algerine

row pierces the breast of the young descendant of Clovis; the wound was deep, and the scar will be for ever visible." He opened his coat of mail. Every doubt now vanished. Ezilda recognised the scar which in the days of her childhood had frequently attracted her observation. The princess uttered not a word. For the first time in her life her courage failed her, and, bathed in tears, she gazed on the royal sword of Thierri III. "You hate me, (resumed Agobar,) you must hate me! But do not suppose you are bound to fulfil your vows to the Renegade. No, Ezilda, Clodomir breaks the bridal ring!"-"Never! (exclaimed the heroine.) Death alone shall break the bonds that unite us together. You cannot render back my vows; but you can do more-you can restore me to Clodomir!"-" No, (replied the warrior ;) in the career in which fate has thrown me, I have marched with giant strides to retreat is impossible.-But (continued he, with vehemence, perceiving the sword and shield of the Arab commandant,) who has placed these arms on the altar ?-Enough: all is explained: presumptuous woman! Ezilda is the heroine of Segorum!"

At this moment the Prince of Avernes, accompanied by a few followers, entered the chapel. Having learned that the princess had quitted the fort, he doubted not that she had gone to offer up thanksgivings in the

JULY, 1793.

sanctuary, and he hastened to meet her. "Surrender, infidel!" he exclaimed, on perceiving Agobar.-"Only with my life!" replied the Renegade, taking up the royal sword of Thierri III., and he rushed on his adversary, resolving that his life should be dearly sold. Ezilda turned paleshe no longer beheld the Renegade. The Mussulman chief was the heir of the French throne-he was Clodomir her husband. Leodat had wounded his enemy. The daughter of Theobert rushed between the combatants. "Prince (she said) respect this hero; his person is sacred! Agobar is my prisoner. Chief of the Mussulmans, follow me." She led her prisoner to the gate of the chapel, where his Arabian courser awaited him. "Son of Thierri, (she said,) instantly fly this spot!"-Overcome with emotion, Agobar seized the hand of his liberatress,"Magnanimous Ezilda! (he exclaimed,) when our nuptial rings were exchanged, what felicity awaited me!— the throne of France and thy heart. How my hopes have vanished! How my happiness has fled!" He was about to mount his courser, but suddenly turning, "Ezilda (he said) I have one boon to ask. Within the walls of Segorum, Alaor is your captive; restore to me my young brother in arms; grant this favor to Agobar.” "I grant it to Clodomir," said the princess, and she returned to the citadel.

THIS Northamptonshire peasant, whose poems have been recently classed, and we think deservedly with the productions of Burns and of Bloomfield, was born at Helpstone, a village most unpoetically situated at the easternmost point of Northampton-shire, adjoining the Lincolnshire fens. He learnt to spell of the village schoolmistress, and before he was six years old, was able to read a chapter in the Bible. At the age of twelve he assisted in the la

borious employment of threshing; the boy, in his father's own words, was weak but willing, and the good old man made a flail for him somewhat suitable to his strength. When his share of the day's toil was over, he eagerly ran to the village school under the belfrey, and in this desultory and casual manner gathered his imperfect knowledge of language, and skill in writing. At the early period of which we are speaking, Clare felt the poetic oestrum. He