party of horsemen, who bore, as their leader said, a message to the queen, obtained admittance within the gates. Their chief, so far as could be told of a man in complete armor, appeared to be a youthful warrior, of graceful bearing; his band were habited partly in the Langobard costume, partly in the Gothic, but as such a mixture was common in the armies of Alboin, it excited no remark. They rode directly to the palace. "I would see the queen," said the chief, and he was at once conducted to the presence of Rosamond. Without raising his helmet, he advanced, and bending over the queen, whispered almost inaudibly, her name. At the sound of that voice, gentle as it was, Rosamond sprang to her feet-her whole frame quivered with agitation, and she became deadly pale; at length she uttered in a tremulous voice, "tell me, who art thou?" The chieftain slowly raised his helmet, and Rosamond gazed on the dear, but haggard features of Helmichis. With a shriek, half of terror, half of joy, she sprang wildly forward-the chieftain caught her in his arms, and her head sank upon his bosom. He pressed his lips upon her pale brow, and said exultingly, “ Then thou art mine still, though they call thee Alboin's queen!"

66

They told me thou wert dead, Helmichis, slain when my father perished; and my crushed heart was buried in thy grave. I have been faithful, ah! too faithful unto thee; but you know not that dreadful alternative. Helmichis, you will pity me! you will not reproach me!"

"Reproach thee, Rosamond! pity thee! nay, I will love thee still. The tyrant deceived thee, dearest; long weary months have I spent in a gloomy prison. I lived on for thy sake; but when they told me thou wert Alboin's bride, life became valueless. Then, again, I heard thou wert unhappy; that thy cheek was pale and sorrowful; and I made my escape to see thee again, to rescue thee from a living death. Fly with me, dear Rosamond; there is happiness yet in store for us."

For a moment, the pale face of Rosamond beamed with an expression of unalloyed happiness. She looked up into the chieftain's face with the bright smile of former days, and said, "Fly with thee, Helmichis! with thee! that would be bliss indeed! can it be so?"

"It can, my own betrothed; a hundred of thy faithful Gepidae are with me. Alboin rules not the world; in a few hours, we may be beyond the tyrant's reach, forever. Thou shalt not be the wife of Alboin!" At these words, the queen sprang from his arms, with a convulsive start, and with a look of utter hopelessness, said, "Helmichis, thy words have recalled me to myself. I can never be thinc, never! my hand has lain in Al

boin's I have covenanted to be his before high heaven-I have pressed his bridal couch-his must I be till death !"

"But thy vow was forced, Rosamond; thou never gavest him thy love; nay, more, thou wert not thine own; thou wert my betrothed before Alboin, by a cruel threat, made thee his bride. Thou art mine, mine only !" exclaimed the youth wildly, advancing towards her. "Helmichis," said the queen, mournfully, but still waving him off, "It can not be-it was a blissful dream, but it is past, forever. My soul shall still be thine,-that I never took from thee,-that I never gave to Alboin; but his wife I am, his wife must I be till death. And now, my more than husband, we must part. Helmichis, farewell forever." She extended her hand, but the chieftain clasped her to his bosom. She gently extricated herself from his embrace, and said, " Fly, Helmichis, fly, or this melancholy pleasure may cost thee thy life, and then I should be wretched indeed." Without a word, the warrior left her. As he mounted his horse, he was heard to mutter, "His till death! his till death!" then shaking off the gloom, he cried, "On to Pavia-on.”

The siege of Pavia still continued, but famine, at length, did its dire work, and terms of surrender were offered: all were rejected by the implacable Alboin, whose only reply was, " death to the conquered." Despair gave them courage; and it was observed that in their next sally the besieged were headed by a new leader. He fought with reckless daring, advancing sometimes to their very entrenchments, and whenever Alboin appeared, he directed his spear against him; amid the tumult, they never came hand to hand, but day after day the strange warrior sallied forth, and fought with the same desperate courage. At length, in one of his fierce assaults, his horse fell beneath him, and he was overpowered and brought into the presence of Alboin. The king recognized him at once. traitor, hast thou escaped, and art thou among the foes of Alboin?"

66

"I owe thee no allegiance, tyrant," replied the warrior, "and where should the betrothed of Rosamond be, but among thy foes?"

"Slave," cried Alboin, fiercely, "durst thou speak of the queen as thy betrothed? Bear him hence-when Pavia is taken, thou shalt die, though Rosamond herself entreat thy life."

In a few days Pavia fell, but a singular circumstance prevented the fulfillment of Alboin's bloody threat. As he urged his charger over the broken wall, he was met by a Christian priest. "Alboin," said the holy man, "I have a message from God unto thee-thou shalt spare Pavia." The ruthless king checking his steed, looked sternly at him and exclaimed, "back, priest, or

thou shalt perish too." The priest moved not, but replied solemnly, "king of Italy, there is one mightier than thou." As he spoke, he laid his hand on Alboin's horse, and the charger dropped dead beneath his rider. When the king arose he looked thoughtfully on his strange opponent, and said, "Priest, thou hast conquered-Pavia is safe."

The triumph of Alboin was, as usual, celebrated by a feast, and Rosamond was summoned to attend it. In the spacious palace of Pavia, where Gothic kings had held their courts, were collected the chieftains of Alboin. The spoils of conquered kingdoms hung from the walls and loaded the table of the monarch, but among them all there was not one which he valued more than the cup which he had fashioned from the skull of Cunimund; for even after his marriage the savage warrior still kept the barbarous relic. The chieftains drank long and deeply -many a huge goblet of Falernian was drained, and many a warrior, invincible in the battle-field, sunk under its potent influence. The revel grew turbulent as night advanced, for Alboin had quaffed as deeply as his chiefs; at length he rose with a frenzied look, and commanding a slave to fill the skull of Cunimund, he seized it with both hands, and exclaiming, "warriors, drink death to the foes of Alboin," he drained it at one long and potent draught; a shout of applause went up from the savage chiefs, and Alboin cried, "let the cup pass round." Rosamond sat gazing on this inhuman sight, and on her more inhuman husband, in speechless agony, when Alboin exclaimed, "all have not drank-fill it again with wine, fill it to the brim: carry the goblet to the queen, and request, in my name, that she would rejoice with her father.'" Rosamond rose as the bowl was presented; she stood holding it in both hands, and an expression of maniac wildness came over her countenance as she said, "let the will of my lord be obeyed;" then touching the cup to her lips she said again," this only was wanting-spirit of my father, witness my silent vow." Gently she laid the sad relic on the table, and silently and slowly left the hall.

The feast was over. Alboin had retired to his chamber, and weary with his deep debauch, had sunk to rest. In the same chamber, beside a small table, sat Rosamond: a taper was burning beside her, and there rested on the table a bowl and a small dagger. Upon her countenance gleamed that same wild, unearthly expression, and when that eventful night was past, many thought that reason had lost its empire over her after that fatal feast. For a long time, she sat in silence; then rising up, she placed upon the table the skull of Cunimund, and laying her hand upon it, uttered in a low, unconscious tone, "My country he wasted-Alderic he slew-Turisund he brought to the grave

—this, my father, is all that he has spared of thee, and to-morrow, Helmichis is to perish." She stood motionless and silent for a few moments, then lifted the bowl to her lips and drank. She again placed it on the table, and taking the dagger, advanced to the bedside of Alboin; a noise was heard without the chamber, but she knew it not. For a few seconds she stood gazing on the sleeper, then slowly lifted the dagger; it was in the very act of descent, when some one pushed aside her arm, and the next moment the sword of Helmichis was buried in the heart of Alboin. The daughter of Cunimund gazed at him, but spoke not, as she pointed to the bowl. Helmichis took it and examined the potion. "Hast thou drank it, Rosamond?" he asked, with a look of perfect horror. "I have," was the calm reply. "Then let us die together. I thank thee, my own beloved, that thou hast left enough for me." As he spoke, he lifted the bowl, and drained it to the dregs. Those who entered that chamber in the morning, beheld Alboin weltering in his own blood. At his feet lay the maiden and her lover, her head still resting on his bosom. TAU.

LINES

ON THE DEATH OF LOCKWOOD SMITH, A MEMBER OF THE SENIOR CLASS, WHO DIED AT DERBY,

EPILEGOMENA.

TIME, in his ceaseless course, has again brought us to the close of a Collegiate year; and every heart in our miniature world is beating high with hope, in anticipation of the pleasures of a long vacation, and a re-union with friends, whose old familiar faces have often presented themselves before the mind's eye, even amid the most weary toils, and the drudgery of College life. There is a secret pleasure in beholding the smiling countenances and flashing eyes of our classmates and friends, at being freed from the bonds by which they have been so long confined, and already rioting in anticipation of those joyous scenes, the thought of which has so often beguiled them in their most wearisome and desponding hours. Methinks, even the misanthrope might relax his frowning brow and wreathe his scornful lip into a smile, at beholding the expression of feelings, such as do honor to our nature, and raise us above the rugged surface of passion's current, by which we are hurried onward through the ocean of life. But enough; we will not attempt to analyze those feelings, which must ever rise in the heart, and cause it to throb with the strongest emotion, at the thought of revisiting that spot most sacred to the soul-home!

We had intended to take a brief retrospect of the past, and recall to the mind occurrences long since forgotten; but we forbear; for at best, it is a task of melancholy interest, and tends to cast a shade over the brighter feelings of the heart. With a word of greeting ere we part, kind friends, we would also express our warmest wishes for thy health and happiness,-for all thou canst wish and hope for thine own selves; more we could not, if we would.

With the present number, the seventh volume of our Magazine is completed; and it is a source of no slight gratification, to all who claim our old and honored institution as their Alma Mater, that it still continues to maintain its high character, as first in age, and first in intrinsic excellence, as well as external appearance, of all the similar publications in our country. That it shall continue to sustain its high rank, or that the subsequent volume shall be an improvement upon its predecessors, we dare not promise; yet, if untiring industry, united with an anxious desire to promote its interests, can affect any thing in its favor, the patrons of the Magazine may rest assured it shall be done. Our present prospects, both in respect to contributions and subscriptions, are not as favorable as would be desired; but relying upon the well known talents and liberality of the undergraduates for the ensuing year, we will cast our fears to the winds, and confidently indulge the hope, that our most sanguine anticipations will be more than realized.

A word in thine ear, reader, of the dark doings of those, before whose dread tribunal come the phantom shape of many brains, numbers of which, alas! are doomed to wander yet a while longer upon the confines of Elysium, and perchance never gain admission to its pleasures. Never did Rhadamanthus or Minos preside with more solemn dignity, deliver a more impartial sentence, or heave a deeper sigh of pity, when compelled to refuse the unurned shade, admission to the nether world, than does our Speaker, when forced by stern necessity to pronounce sentence of rejection upon the half digested effusions of aspiring genius. But go with us for a brief space, and we will endeavor to enlighten thy darkness, and induct thee into the hidden arcana of the corps Editorial.