Lute, voice, and bird, are blending there;-it were

a bliss to die,

As dies a leaf, thy groves among, my flowery Sicily!

"I may not thus depart-farewell! yet no, my country! no!

Is not love stronger than the grave? I feel it must be so!

My fleeting spirit shall o'ersweep the mountains and the main,

And in thy tender starlight rove, and thro' thy woods again.

Its passion deepens-it prevails!I break my chain-I come

To dwell a viewless thing, yet blest-in thy sweet

air, my home!"

And her pale arms dropp'd the ringing lyre,
There came a mist o'er her eye's wild fire,

And her dark rich tresses, in many a fold,

Loos'd from their braids, down her bosom roll'd.

For her head sank back on the rugged wall,—

A silence fell o'er the warriors' hall;

She had pour'd out her soul with her song's last tone; The lyre was broken, the minstrel gone!

IVAN THE CZAR.

"Ivan le Terrible, etant dejà devenu vieux, assiégait Novogorod. Les Boyards, le voyant affoibli, lui démandèrent s'il ne voulait pas donner le commandement de l'assaut à son fils. Sa fureur fut si grande à cette proposition, que rien ne put l'appaiser; son fils se prosterna à ses pieds; il le repoussa avec un coup d'une telle violence, que deux jours après le malheureux en mourut. Le père, alors au desespoir, devint indifferent à la guerre comme au pouvoir, et ne survécut que peu de mois à son fils."-Dix Annees d'Exil, par MADAME DE STAEL.

IVAN THE CZAR.

Gieb diesen Todten mir heraus. Ich muss

Ihn wieder haben!

*

* Trostlose allmacht,

Die nicht einmal in Gräber ihren arm

Verlängern, eine kleine Ubereilung

Mit Menschenleben nicht verbessern kann!

SCHILLER.

He sat in silence on the ground,
The old and haughty Czar;

Lonely, tho' princes girt him round,

And leaders of the war:

He had cast his jewell'd sabre,

That many a field had won,

To the earth beside his youthful dead,

His fair and first-born son.

With a robe of ermine for its bed,

Was laid that form of clay,

Where the light a stormy sunset shed,
Thro' the rich tent made way:

And a sad and solemn beauty

On the pallid face came down,

Which the Lord of nations mutely watch'd, In the dust, with his renown.

Low tones at last of wo and fear
From his full bosom broke ;-

A mournful thing it was to hear

How then the proud man spoke!

The voice that thro' the combat

Had shouted far and high,

Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones,