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Bewitching sighs, such sighs as say

Beneath the moonlight, to a lover, Things which the coward tongue by day

Would not, for all the world, discover :
She lay like a shape of sculptured stone,
So pale, so tranquil : she had thrown,

For the warm evening's sultriness,
The broidered coverlet aside;
And nothing was there to deck or hide

The glory of her loveliness,
But a scarf of gauze so light and thin
You might see beneath the dazzling skin,
And watch the purple streamlets go
Through the valleys of white and stainless snow,
Or here and there a wayward tress
Which wandered out with vast assurance
From the pearls that kept the rest in durance,
And fluttered about, as if 'twould try
To lure a zephyr from the sky.

“Bertha !"- large drops of anguish came On Rudolph's brow, as he breathed that name,“Oh fair and false one, wake, and fear; I the betrayed, the scorned, am here." The eye moved not from its dull eclipse, The voice came not from the fast-shut lips; No matter! well that


The tone of bliss, and the eyes of blue.

Sir Rudolph hid his burning face
With both his hands for a minute's space,

And all his frame in awful fashion
Was shaken by some sudden passion.
What guilty fancies o'er him ran ?-

Oh, Pity will be slow to guess them;
And never, save to the holy man,

Did good Sir Rudolph e'er confess them, But soon his spirit you might deem Came forth from the shade of the fearful dream; His cheek, though pale, was calm again, And he spoke in peace, though he spoke in pain,

“Not mine! not mine! now, Mary mother, Aid me the sinful hope to smother! Not mine, not mine!—I have loved thee long Thou hast quitted me with grief and wrong. But pure

the heart of a knight should be,-
Sleep on, sleep on, thou art safe for me.
Yet shalt thou know by a certain sign,
Whose lips have been so near to thine,
Whose eyes have looked upon thy sleep,
And turned away, and longed to weep,
Whose heart,—mourn,-madden as it will,
Has spared thee, and adored thee, still !"

His purple mantle, rich and wide,
From his neck the trembling youth untied,
And flung it o'er those dangerous charins,
The swelling neck, and the rounded arms.
Once more he looked, once more he sighed ;

away, away, from the perilous tent,
Swift as the rush of an eagle's wing,

Or the flight of a shaft from Tartar string, Into the wood Sir Rudolph went :

Not with more joy the school-boys run
To the gay green fields, when their task is done ;
Not with more haste the members fly,
When Hume has caught the Speaker's eye.

At last the daylight came; and then
A score or two of serving men,
Supposing that some sad disaster
Had happened to their lord and master,
Went out into the wood, and found him,
Unhorsed; and with no mantle round him.
Ere he could tell his tale romantic,
The leech pronounced him clearly frantic,
So ordered him at once to bed,
And clapped a blister on his head.

Within the sound of the castle-clock
There stands a huge and rugged rock,
And I have heard the peasants say,
That the grieving groom at noon that day
Found gallant Roland, cold and stiff,
At the base of the black and beetling cliff.

Beside the rock there is an oak,
Tall, blasted by the thunder-stroke,
And I have heard the peasants say,
That there Sir Rudolph's mantle lay,
And coiled in many a deadly wreath
A venomous serpent slept beneath.




years ago, ere Time and Taste Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste,

And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his


between St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket, Was always shown across the Green,

And guided to the Parson's wicket.

Back flew the bolt of lisson lath;

Fair Margaret in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller


the path, Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle : And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray,

Upon the parlor steps collected, Wagged all their tails and seemed to say,

“Our master knows you; you're expected!" Up rose the Reverend Dr. Brown,

Up rose the Doctor's “winsome marrow;" The lady lay her knitting down,

Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow; Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed,

Pundit or papist, saint or sinner, He found a stable for his steed,

And welcome for himself, and dinner.

If, when he reached his journey's end,

And warmed himself in court or college, He had not gained an honest friend,

And twenty curious scraps of knowledge ;If he departed as he came,

With no new light on love or liquor,Good sooth, the traveller was to blame,

And not the Vicarage, or the Vicar.

His talk was like a stream which runs

With rapid change from rock to roses : It slipped from politics to puns :

It passed from Mahomet to Moses : Beginning with the laws which keep

The planets in their radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep

For dressing ells or shoeing horses.

He was a shrewd and sound divine,

Of loud Dissent and mortal terror; And when, by dint of page and line,

He 'stablished Truth, or started Error,

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