For the kindly look, the word of cheer, my heart may thirst in vain,

And the face that was as light to mine-it cannot come again!

crown;

"I have made thy blood, thy faithful blood, the offering for a [cold renown; With love, which earth bestows not twice, I have purchased How often will my weary heart 'midst the sounds of triumph die, When I think of thee, my brother! thou flower of chivalry!

"I am lonely-I am lonely! this rest is even as death! [breath; Let me hear again the ringing spears, and the battle-trumpet's Let me see the fiery charger foam, and the royal banner wave, But where art thou, my brother? where ?-in thy low and early grave!"

And louder swell'd the songs of joy through that victorious night, [light; And faster flow'd the red wine forth, by the stars' and torches' But low and deep, amidst the mirth, was heard the conqueror's

moan

[gone!"

"My brother! oh, my brother! best and bravest! thou art

THE RETURN.

"HAST thou come with the heart of thy childhood back? The free, the pure, the kind?"

-So murmur'd the trees in my homeward track,

As they play'd to the mountain wind.

"Hath thy soul been true to its early love?"

Whisper'd my native streams;

"Hath the spirit nursed amidst hill and grove, Still revered its first high dreams?"

"Hast thou borne in thy bosom the holy prayer
Of the child in his parent halls?"

-Thus breathed a voice on the thrilling air,
From the old ancestral walls.

"Hast thou kept thy faith with the faithful dead,
Whose place of rest is nigh?

With the father's blessing o'er thee shed,

With the mother's trusting eye ?"

-Then my tears gush'd forth in sudden rain,

As I answer'd-" O, ye shades!

I bring not my childhood's heart again
To the freedom of your glades.

86

"I have turn'd from my first pure love aside, O bright and happy streams!

THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.

Light after light, in my soul have died
The day-spring's glorious dreams.

"And the holy prayer from my thoughts hath pass'd-
The prayer at my mother's knee;

Darken'd and troubled I come at last,

Home of my boyish glee!

"But I bear from my childhood a gift of tears,

To soften and atone;

And oh! ye scenes of those bless'd years,

They shall make me again your own."

213

THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.

"Clasp me a little longer, on the brink

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress;
And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh! think-
And let it mitigate thy woe's excess-

That thou hast been to me all tenderness,

And friend, to more than human friendship just.
Oh! by that retrospect of happiness,

And by the hopes of an immortal trust,

God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in dust.

Gertrude of Wyoming.

THY Voice is in mine ear, beloved!

Thy look is in my heart,

Thy bosom is my resting-place,

And yet I must depart.

Earth on my soul is strong-too strong

Too precious is its chain,

All woven of thy love, dear friend,

Yet vain-though mighty-vain!

Thou see'st mine eye grow dim, beloved'
Thou see'st my life-blood flow.

Bow to the chastener silently,

And calmly let me go!

A little while between our hearts
The shadowy gulf must lie,
Yet have we for their communing
Still, still Eternity!

Alas! thy tears are on my cheek,
My spirit they detain;

I know that from thine agony
Is wrung that burning rain.

*The wife of a Vaudois leader, in one of the attacks made on the Protestant hamlets, received a mortal wound, and died in her husband's arms, exhorting him to courage and endurance.

Best, kindest, weep not ;-make the pang
The bitter conflict, less-
Oh! sad it is, and yet a joy,
To feel thy love's excess!

But calm thee! Let the thought of death
A solemn peace restore!

The voice that must be silent soon,
Would speak to thee once more,
That thou may'st bear its blessing on
Through years of after life-

A token of consoling love,

Even from this hour of strife.

I bless thee for the noble heart,
The tender, and the true,

Where mine hath found the happiest rest
That e'er fond woman's knew:

I bless thee, faithful friend and guide,
For my own, my treasured share,
In the mournful secrets of thy soul,
In thy sorrow, in thy prayer.

I bless thee for kind looks and words
Shower'd on my path like dew,
For all the love in those deep eyes,
A gladness ever new!

For the voice which ne'er to mine replied

But in kindly tones of cheer;

For every spring of happiness
My soul hath tasted here!

I bless thee for the last rich boon
Won from affection tried,

The right to gaze on death with thee,
To perish by thy side!

And yet more for the glorious hope

Even to these moments given

Did not thy spirit ever lift

The trust of mine to Heaven?

Now be thou strong! Oh, knew we not, Our path must lead to this?

A shadow and a trembling still

Were mingled with our bliss!

We plighted our young hearts when storms

Were dark upon the sky,

In full, deep knowledge of their task
To suffer and to die!

Be strong! I leave the living voice
Of this, my martyr'd blood,

With the thousand echoes of the hills,
With the torrent's foaming flood,- -

THE GUERILLA LEADER'S VOW.

A spirit 'midst the caves to dwell,
A token on the air,

To rouse the valiant from repose,
The fainting from despair.

Hear it and bear thou on, my love!
Ay, joyously endure!

Our mountains must be altars yet,
Inviolate and pure;

There must our god be worshipp'd still
With the worship of the free:
Farewell!-there's but one pang in death,
One only,-leaving thee!

*

Let us make medicine of this great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief!"-Macbeth.

My battle-vow!-no minster walls
Gave back the burning word,

Nor cross nor shrine the low deep tone
Of smother'd vengeance heard:

But the ashes of a ruin'd home
Thrill'd, as it sternly rose,

With mingling voice of blood that shook
The midnight's dark repose.

I breathed it not o'er kingly tombs,
But where my children lay,
And the startled vulture, at my step,
Soar'd from their precious clay.

I stood amidst my dead alone-
I kiss'd their lips-I pour'd,

In the strong silence of that hour,
My spirit on my sword.

The roof-tree fallen, the smouldering floor,
The blacken'd threshold-stone,

The bright hair torn, and soil'd with blood,

Whose fountain was my own;

These, and the everlasting hills,
Bore witness that wild night;
Before them rose th' avenger's soul,
In crush'd affection's might.

The stars, the searching stars of heaven,
With keen looks would upbraid,

If from my heart the fiery vow,
Sear'd on it then, could fade

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They have no cause -Go, ask the streams
That by my paths have swept,

The red waves that unstain'd were borne-
How hath my faith been kept?

And other eyes are on my soul,
That never, never close,

The sad, sweet glances of the lost-
They leave me no repose.

Haunting my night-watch 'midst the rocks,
And by the torrent's foam,
Through the dark-rolling mists they shine
Full, full of love and home!

Alas! the mountain eagle's heart,
When wrong'd, may yet find rest;
Scorning the place made desolate,
He seeks another nest,

But I-your soft looks wake the thirst
That wins no quenching rain;
Ye drive me back, my beautiful!
To the stormy fight again.

THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE.*

"Thither where he lies buried!

That single spot is the whole world to me."

COLERIDGE's Wallenster.

THY voice was in my soul! it call'd me on;
O my lost friend! thy voice was in my soul:
From the cold, faded world whence thou art gone,
To hear no more life's troubled billows roll,
I come, I come!

Now speak to me again! we loved so well-
We loved! oh! still, I know that still we love!
I have left all things with thy dust to dwell,
Through these dim aisles in dreams of thee to rove:
This is my home!

Speak to me in the thrilling minster's gloom!
Speak! thou hast died, and sent me no farewell!
I will not shrink;-oh' mighty is the tomb,
But one thing mightier, which it cannot quell,
This woman's heart!

This lone, full, fragile heart! the strong alone
In love and grief-of both the burning shrine!
Thou, my soul's friend! with grief hast surely done,
But with the love which made thy spirit mine,
Say, could'st thou part?

* See Wallenstein, Act 6th.