are made of but one element, they do not die till after many centuries: but what is time compared to eternity? They return at last into eternal nothingness; and this thought so afflicts them, that the philosophers have much trouble in consoling them. Our fathers being true philosophers, and speaking to God face to face, complained to Him of the wretched fate of these people; and God, whose mercy is illimitable, remembered Him that it was not impossible to find a remedy for this evil. He made known to them that in the same manner as man, by the alliance which he has contracted with God, has been made a participator of the Divinity so the Sylphs, the Gnomes, the Nymphs, and the Salamanders, by the alliance which they may contract with man, can be made participators of man's immortality. Thus a Nymph or a Sylphide becomes immortal, and capable of the bliss to which we aspire, when she is happy enough to marry one of the "wise ;" and a Gnome or a Sylph ceases to be mortal from the moment that he marries one of the daughters of men.' This quotation will suffice to show whence the author derived the idea of Amethysta, the Maid of Mora, which was first issued under the title of "The Salamandrine,' in the year 1842, and went through three editions up to 1853, when a fourth edition, with illustrations by Mr, now Sir John, Gilbert was published. In deference to an opinion expressed in many and very different quarters that the name of the Salamandrine was not commonly understood, and when understood that it suggested an idea of the horrible rather than the tender and pathetic, the author has changed the original title to that which it now bears, The Maid of Mora,' with the explanation that the title after all seemed of little consequence, in view of the fact that the word 'Salamandrine' never once occurred in the poem itself, and might therefore be dropped, without the slightest injury to the sense or the structure of the poem. And the birds obscene that croak and jar, And snuff the carnage from afar. VII. And one fire, brighter than the rest, Is piled with chumps of oak, And weaves fantastic to the sky, Blue wreaths of curling smoke. Fivescore men are stretch'd around; So weary worn are they, They could not sleep a sounder sleep If on eider-down they lay, With sheets and blankets white as milk, And sheltering draperies of silk. VIII. Sir Gilbert, captain of the band, Lies slumbering with the rest, On the cold damp ground, With his mantle round, And his hands upon his breast. And he is young and fair and proud, And the name his fathers bore Was never stain'd by sire or son, Or any that came before. IX. He hath a vision in his sleep: His eyes seem closed in slumber deep, But through the smoke he sees the stars, And he can hear the flames that roar, As in mimic strife they meet and twist, Curl and uncurl, combine, resist, And glide and mingle as before. X. And in the fiercest of the heat He sees a youth and maiden sweet; Unscorch'd amid the fire they stand, And hold each other by the hand: The harmless flames around them play, In hues of purple, gold, and gray; They mount, they fall, they leap, they twine And then in showers, like scatter'd wine, Rose-red, the glancing sparks descend, As the bright pair toward him bend; While he looks on with lips asunder, Holding his breath in fear and wonder. XI Oh, richly fell the flaxen hair Over the maiden's shoulders fair! On every feature of her face Sat radiant modesty and grace; Her tender eyes were mild and bright, And through her robes of shadowy white The delicate outline of her form Shone like an iris through a storm. XII. The other was of sterner mould : XIII. Sir Gilbert gazed upon the flames, But could not speak for fear: Was he awake? was he asleep ?--- He saw the moon shine clear; He saw the steadfast woods around, And his sleeping comrades near And still before his wondering sight The watch-fire mounted high, And form'd above their radiant heads A smokeless canopy. XIV. At their feet the embers glitter'd fair, XV. "O brother! I could weep for ever And yet how full of misery! Their mercenary hands! The crowds that slumber at our feet Await but morning, to repeat The guilt of yesterday, and wield The murderous sword in battle-field; Or, drunk with slaughter, light their torch At cottage-roof or city-porch; And in one luckless notch of time Compress whole centuries of crime.' XVI. 'Sweet Amethysta, vain thy grief; And weep not thou for human woe: Have we not sorrows of our own, For which our bitterest tears should flow? A greater anguish who can know, A greater sum of agonies, Than to have a soul that dies ?-· Like the perishing body mortal, Ne'er to reach the glorious portal Leading to the awful Throne Where the Eternal sits alone ;With power and will to worship God, Yet to be smitten by His rod Into nothingness for ever! Worse even than hell itself, and woe relenting never! XVII. 'Weep not, O sister, for mankind!Although so wicked, frail, and blind; Although for colour or for creed Their daily hecatombs may bleed; Although the elder and the younger Are born to sorrow, pain, and hunger, And countless miseries crowd their span, We die! we die !! Outcasts forlorn! Better unborn! We die, we die !-alas, alas, we die !' XX. Sir Gilbert rose upon his arm, And still the accents, sad and sweet, Fill'd the clear air ! We die, we die !' His heart was throbbing he heard it beat. Was he awake? Ay, broad awake:He saw the fire still upward wreathing, He saw the glorious moon aloft, He heard his fellow-soldier breathing, He felt the cold blast on his cheek'Alas,' said he, 'my brain is weak!' And then he press'd it with his palm, And closed his weary eyes; But still he heard the mournful strain Amid the silence rise: XXI. What though a thousand years may be Or a tone of song, Or a taper's ray, Alas, more mortal ev'n than they! I would that Heaven had made me man! With spring the grass is a fresh new His comrade laughed,—Thy head is light, Go sleep-thou wilt be well to-morrow.' XXIII. 'Oh, shield me, Heaven !-but this is strange! There are the two fair forms before me;- Or if it be, no dream ideal Oh, what melody of pain!- XXIV. Thus communing with himself, He gazed upon that wondrous fire: Now it darkled, Roar'd, and sparkledNow it sank-now mounted higher; And still the youth and maiden fair Shone amid the flames, unburning; Still their voices, melancholy, Rose upon the midnight air, Ceasing now, and now returning, Soft, melodious, full, and clear;" Till he held his panting breath In delight and fear. XXV. 'O happy, happy man !' 'At thy birth the heavens were glad, And hosannas rang. Make us sharers in thy gain,- For which through darkening years we ever yearn and pine.' XXVI. Sir Gilbert felt his inmost heart Warming with pity for their woe,'Most fair, most melancholy things, Tell me the sorrow that ye know.' He spoke, in answer to his thought, But gave the words no breath: What is it ye require of man, To be deliver'd from the ban Of this eternal death?' XXVII. There came an answer soft and low, The flowerets of the plain, XXVIII. And then the chorus rose again, The forest-trees bow'd down their heads Most musically swept ; And the burden of it seem'd to be'Oh, love is chief felicity! To man on earth-to souls above- XXIX. At last the echoes died away; A streak of radiance in the east XXX. 'Alas!' quoth he, what this may be Surpasses me to tell; But this I say, to my dying day |