Is the stain, yes, 'tis blood!—and that cold cheekThat moveless lip!-thou dost not slumber ?-speak, Speak, Azzo, my belov'd!—no sound-no breath— What hath come thus between our spirits ?-Death! Death?—I but dream-I dream!"—and there she

stood,

A faint, frail trembler, gazing first on blood,
With her fair arm around yon cypress thrown,
Her form sustain'd by that dark stem alone,
And fading fast, like spell-struck maid of old,
Into white waves dissolving, clear and cold;

When from the grass her dimm'd eye caught a gleam

'Twas where a sword lay shiver'd by the stream,— Her brother's sword!-she knew it; and she knew 'Twas with a venom'd point that weapon slew!

Wo for young love! But love is strong. There

came

Strength upon woman's fragile heart and frame,

There came swift courage! On the dewy ground She knelt, with all her dark hair floating round, Like a long silken stole; she knelt, and press'd Her lips of glowing life to Azzo's breast,

Drawing the poison forth. A strange, sad sight! Pale death, and fearless love, and solemn night !— So the moon saw them last.

The Morn came singing

Thro' the green forests of the Appenines,

With all her joyous birds their free flight winging, And steps and voices out amongst the vines.

What found that day-spring here? Two fair forms

laid

Like sculptured sleepers; from the myrtle shade

Casting a gleam of beauty o'er the wave,

Still, mournful, sweet. Were such things for the

grave?

Could it be so indeed? That radiant girl,

Deck'd as for bridal hours !-long braids of pearl

Amidst her shadowy locks were faintly shining,

As tears might shine, with melancholy light; And there was gold her slender waist entwining; And her pale graceful arms-how sadly bright! And fiery gems upon her breast were lying, And round her marble brow red roses dying.But she died first !-the violet's hue had spread O'er her sweet eyelids with repose oppress'd, She had bow'd heavily her gentle head,

And, on the youth's hush'd bosom, sunk to rest. So slept they well!-the poison's work was done; Love with true heart had striven-but Death had won.

EDITH,

A TALE OF THE WOODS.*

Du Heilige! rufe dein Kind zurück!

Ich habe genossen das irdische Glück,

Ich habe gelebt und geliebet.

WALLENSTEIN.

THE Woods-oh! solemn are the boundless woods

Of the great Western World, when day declines, And louder sounds the roll of distant floods,

More deep the rustling of the ancient pines ; When dimness gathers on the stilly air,

And mystery seems o'er every leaf to brood, Awful it is for human heart to bear

The might and burden of the solitude!

* Founded on incidents related in an American work, "Sketches of Connecticut."

Yet, in that hour, midst those green wastes, there

One

sate

young and fair, and oh! how desolate !
But undismay'd; while sank the crimson light,
And the high cedars darken'd with the night.
Alone she sate; tho' many lay around,

They, pale and silent on the bloody ground,
Were sever'd from her need and from her wo,

Far as Death severs Life. O'er that wild spot Combat had rag'd, and brought the valiant low,

And left them, with the history of their lot, Unto the forest oaks. A fearful scene

For her whose home of other days had been Midst the fair halls of England! but the love Which fill'd her soul was strong to cast out fear, And by its might upborne all else above,

She shrank not-mark'd not that the dead were

near.