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.

A pious priest might the abbot seem,
He had swayed the crosier well;

But what was the theme of the abbot's dream,
The abbot were loth to tell.

Companionless, for a mile or more,
He traced the windings of the shore.
Oh, beauteous is that river still,
As it winds by many a sloping hill,
And many a dim o'erarching grove,
And many a flat and sunny cove,

And terraced lawns, whose bright arcades
The honeysuckle sweetly shades,

And rocks, whose very crags seemed bowers,

So gay they are with

grass and flowers!

But the abbot was thinking of scenery,

About as much in sooth,

As a lover thinks of constancy,

Or an advocate of truth.

He did not mark how the skies in wrath

Grew dark above his head;

He did not mark how the mossy path

Grew damp beneath his tread;

And nearer he came, and still more near,

To a pool, in whose recess

The water had slept for many a year,

Unchanged and motionless;

From the river stream it spread away

The space of a half a rood;

The surface had the hue of clay

And the scent of human blood;