And the bridesmaid her hand could hardly hold, Its fingers were so icy cold.

Rose Count Otto from the feast,

As entered the hall the hoary Priest.

A stalwart warrior, well I ween

That hoary Priest in his youth had been,
But the might of his manhood he had given
To penance and prayer, the Church and Heaven.
For he had travelled o'er land and wave;
He had kneeled on many a martyr's grave;
He had prayed in the meek St. Jerome's cell,
And had tasted St. Anthony's blessed well;
And reliques round his neck had he,
Each worth a haughty kingdom's fee;
Scrapings of bones, and points of spears,
And vials of authentic tears,

From a prophet's coffin a hallowed nail,
And a precious shred of our Lady's veil.
And therefore at his awful tread

The powers of darkness shrank with dread;
And Satan felt that no disguise

Could hide him from those chastened eyes.

He looked on the bridegroom, he looked on the bride,

The young Count smiled, but the old Priest sighed.

"Fields with the father I have won ;
I am come in my cowl to bless the son.
Count Otto, ere thou bend the knee,
What shall the hire of my service be?"

Greedy hawk must gorge his prey; Pious priest must grasp his pay.

Name the guerdon, and so to the task;
Thine it is, ere thy lips can ask !"

He frowned as he answered-"Gold and gem,
Count Otto, little I reck of them;

But your bride has skill of the lute, they say: Let her sing me the song I shall name to-day."

Loud laughed the Count: "And if she refuse The ditty, Sir Priest, thy whim shall choose, Row back to the house of old St. Goar;

I never bid priest to a bridal more.

Beside the maiden he took his stand;
He gave the lute to her trembling hand;
She gazed around with a troubled eye;
The guests all shuddered, and knew not why;
It seemed to them as if a gloom

Had shrouded all the banquet-room,

Though over its boards and over its beams
Sunlight was glowing in merry streams.

The stern Priest throws an angry glance
On that pale creature's countenance;
Unconsciously her white hand flings
Its soft touch o'er the answering strings;
The good man starts with a sudden thrill,
And half relents from his purposed will;
But he signs the cross on his aching brow,
And arms his soul for its warfare now.

"Mortal maid, or goblin fairy,
Sing me, I pray thee, an Ave Mary!"

Suddenly the maiden bent
O'er the gorgeous instrument;

But of song the listeners heard
Only one wild mournful word-

66

Lurley,-Lurley!"

And when the sound in the liquid air
Of that brief hymn had faded,
Nothing was left of the nymph who there
For a year had masqueraded,

But the harp in the midst of the wide hall set
Where her last strange word was spoken ;—
The golden frame with tears was wet,
And all the strings were broken.

(Written in 1831, but revised and added to in 1837.)

THE CONFESSION OF DON CARLOS.

(Imitated from the Spanish.)

O TELL me not of broken vow-
I speak a firmer passion now;
O tell me not of shattered chain-
The link shall never burst again!
My soul is fixed as firmly here
As the red sun in his career,
As victory on Mina's crest
Or tenderness in Rosa's breast;

Then do not tell me, while we part,
Of fickle flame and roving heart;
While youth shall bow at beauty's shrine,
That flame shall glow-that heart be thine.

Then wherefore dost thou bid me tell
The fate thy malice knows so well?
I may not disobey thee !-yes!
Thou bidst me-and I will confess :
See how adoringly I kneel:
Hear how my folly I reveal :
My folly !--chide me if thou wilt,
Thou shalt not, canst not, call it guilt
And when my faithlessness is told,
Ere thou hast time to play the scold,

:

I'll haste the fond rebuke to check,
And lean upon the snowy neck,
Play with its glossy auburn hair,
And hide the blush of falsehood there.

Inez, the innocent and young,

First shared my heart, and waked my song;
We were both harmless, and untaught
To love as fashionables ought;
With all the modesty of youth
We talked of constancy and truth,
Grew fond of music and the moon,
And wandered on the nights of June
To sit beneath the chesnut tree,
While the lonely stars shone mellowly,
Shedding a pale and dancing beam
On the wave of Guadalquivir's stream.
And aye we talked of faith and feelings,
With no distrustings, no concealings;
And aye we joyed in stolen glances,

And sighed, and blushed, and read romances.
Our love was ardent and sincere,
And lasted, Rosa-half a-year!

And then the maid grew fickle-hearted,-
Married Don Josè-so we parted.
At twenty-one I've often heard
My bashfulness was quite absurd;
For, with a squeamishness uncommon,
I feared to love a married woman.

Fair Leonora's laughing eye
Again awaked my song and sigh:
A gay intriguing dame was she,
And fifty Dons of high degree,
That came and went as they were bid,