from a friend, that "nothing" is without an end; but on second thoughts, I find myself the more strongly confirmed in my opinion, that my letter is "better than nothing," since, as you will see, I have already come to a conclusion. L. L. THE PREDICTION. 'Tis night-in Guadalquiver's stream 'Tis night-beneath the moon's pale ray, You would not deem, to gaze on bowers Of myrtle and the orange flowers; Scarce waiting till the day drew nigh, That he could not bear to know That those who drew the careless breath 'Ere another sun was low. The youth was brave as ever knight Who couch'd in rest his spear; To run his first career. Yet, when the voice of glory spoke In music's lofty swell, A nobler spirit then awoke And kindled like a spell, Till her young heart had caught the flame, And Roland, as he stood beneath On joys which might have been his own; It bade him, bound by honour's laws, To perish in his country's cause. He gained the bower-" Now, Clara, now When those green trees, which soon will wave, The laurel-crown shall gird thy brow. "'Twas yesterday, that fearful form, I saw him raise that phantom brand, In attitude of high command, And point to where those green trees wave He pointed to a warrior's grave. I saw then, as I see thee now, The dark smile wreathe his pallid brow. Yet, still in battle's angry flood I will not fall alone; And vengeance waits my father's blood, Though purchas'd by my own." The lady rose-no tears would flow; The warm blood gush'd across her brow, Convuls'd in agony, yet still She bow'd her torture to her will, And calmly spoke at length: While the red flush, which gather'd there, Fast faded into pale despair, And the wan lips, and swollen eye, "Go, then," she said, in noble pride, "I would not be a craven's bride; I'd give my bosom to the steel To save the pang which I shall feel; Those lips scarce ting'd with hovering breath, That soaring spirit chill'd in death! Yet I would rather see thee dead Than hide in infamy thy head; And blush in shame, when glory's voice Had call'd the nation to rejoice.; Yes, when those trees for ever wave In silence o'er my hero's grave; Where better can those limbs repose? "Clara, farewell! the only tie |