When the bride takes up her golden lute,

And sings her solemn song:

"A voice ye hear not, in mine ear is crying;

What does the sad voice say

?

'Dost thou not heed thy weary father's sighing?

Return, return to-day!

Twelve moons have faded now:

My daughter, where art thou?'

"Peace! in the silent evening we will meet thee,

Gray ruler of the tide!

Must not the lover with the loved one greet thee? The bridegroom with his bride?

Deck the dim couch aright,

The bridal couch to-night."

The nurses to the children say

That, as the maiden sang that day,

The Rhine to the heights of the beetling tower

Sent up a cry of fiercer power,

And again the maiden's cheek was grown

As white as ever was marble stone,

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
peace and prayer, the Church and Heaven.

То

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 thy knee,
What shall the hire of my service be?"

"Greedy hawk must gorge his prey,
Pious priest must win his pay;
Name the guerdon, and so to the task:
Thine it is, ere thy lips can ask."

He frowned as he answered-"Gold or 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-

"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!

THE RED FISHERMAN.

Oh flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!

Romeo and Juliet.

THE abbot arose, and closed his book,

And donned his sandal shoon, And wandered forth, alone, to look

Upon the summer moon:

A starlight sky was o'er his head,

A quiet breeze around;

And the flowers a thrilling fragrance shed,
And the waves a soothing sound :

It was not an hour, nor a scene, for aught
But love and calm delight;

Yet the holy man had a cloud of thought
On his wrinkled brow that night.
He gazed on the river that gurgled by,
But he thought not of the reeds:

He clasped his gilded rosary,

But he did not tell the beads;

If he looked to the heaven, 'twas not to invoke
The Spirit that dwelleth there;

If he opened his lips, the words they spoke
Had never the tone of prayer.