4 BYItCN’S

Yet 'gainst that passion vainly still We strove,

And even in him it asks the name of Love !

Yes, it was lovo—unchangeable—unchanged,

Felt bat for one from whom he never ranged;Though fairest captives daily met his eye,

He shunn’d, nor sought, but coldly pass'd them by rThough many a beauty droop’d in prison’d bower,None ever soothed his most unguarded hour.

Yes—it was love—if thoughts of tenderness,

Tried in temptation, strengthen’d by distress,Unmoved by absence, Arm in every clime,

And yet—oh, more than all!—untired by time;"Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,

Could render sullen, were she near to smile;

Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to ventOn her one murmur of his discontent:

Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part,Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart;Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove—If there be love in mortals—this was love!

He was a villain—ay—reproaches showerOn him—but not the passion, nor its power,

"Which only proved, all other virtues gone,

Not guilt itself could quench this loveliest one l. * * * * * *

XIIT.

He paused a moment—till his hastening menPass’d the first winding downward to the glen.

4i Strange tidings!—many a peril liavo I pass'd,

Nor know I why this next appears tho last!

Yet so my heart forebodes but must not fear,

Nor shall my followers find me falter here.

Tis rash to meet, but surer death to waitTill here they hunt us to undoubted fate;

And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile,

"We’ll furnish mourners for our funeral pile.

Ay—let them slumber—peaceful be thcirdreams!Morn ne’er awoke them with such brilliant beamsAs kindle high to-night (but blow thou breeze!)

To warm these slow avengers of the seas.

Now to Medora—Oh! my sinking heart,

LoDg may her own be lighter than .thou art!

Yet was I brave—mean boast whero all are brave!JSv’n insects sting for aught they seek to save.

This common courage which with brutes wo share,That owes its deadliest efforts to despair,

SmaU merit claims—but twas my nobler hopeTo teach my few with numbers still to cope ;

Long have I led them—not to vainly bleed;

No medium now—we perish pr succeed!

So let it be—it irks not me to die;

But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.

My lot hath long had little of my care,

But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare;

Js this my skill! my craft ? to set at last,

Hope, power, and life upon a single cast?

Oh, Fate!—accuse thy folly, not thy fate—

She may redeem thee still—nor yet too late.”

XIV.

Thus with himself communion held he, tilllie reach'd the summit of his tower-crowned hill:There at the portal paused—for wild and softHo heard those accents, never heard too oft;Through the high, lattieo far yet sweet they rung,And these the notes his bird of beauty sung:—

1 .

14 Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,

Lonely and lost to light for evermore,

Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,Thou trembles into silence as before.

WORKS,

2 .

“There, in its centre, a sepulchral lampBurns the slow flame, eternal—but unseen;Which not the darkness of despair can damp,Though vain its ray as it had never been.

3 .

“ Remember me—Oh! pass not thou my graveWithout one thought whose relics there recline;The only pang my bosom dare not braveMust be to find forgetfulness in thine.

4 .

“ My fondest—faintest—latest accents hear;

Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprovo;

Then give me all X ever ask’d—a tear,

The first—last—solo reward of so much love!”

He passed the portal—cross’d the corridor,

And reach’d the chamber as the strain gave o'er;“My own Medora! sure thy song is sad ”—

“ In Conrad’s absence wouldst thou have it glad fWithout thine ear to listen to my lay,

Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray:Still must each accent to my bosom suit,

My heart unhush’d—although my lips wore mute 1Oh! many a night on this lone couch reclined.

My dreaming fear with storms hath wing’d thowind,

And deem’d the breath that faintly fann’d thy sailThe murmuring prelude of the ruder gate;

Though soft, it seem’d the low prophetic dirge,That mourn’d thee floating on the savage surge:Still would I rise to rouse the beacon Are,

Lest spies lesB true should lot the flame expire:And many a restless hour ontwatch’d each star,And morning came, and still thou wert afar.

Oh! how the chill blast on my bosom blew,

And day broke dreary on my troubled view.

And still I gazed and gazed—and not a prowWas granted to my tears—my truth—my vow!

At length—'twas noon—I hail’d and bless’d th*mast

That met my sight—it near’d—Alas! it pass’d!Another came—oh, God , 'twas thine at last!

Would that those days were over! wilt thou ne’er,My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share ?

Sure thou hast more than wealth, and many ahome

As bright as this invites us not to roam:

Thou know’st it is not peril tbat I fear.

I only tremble when thou art not hero;

Then not for mine, but that far dearer life,

Which flies from love and languishes for strife—

' How strange that heart, to me so tender still,Should war w’ith nature and its better will!”

“ Yea, strange indeed—tbat heart hath long been

changed;

Worm -like ’twas trampled-adder-like avenged,Without one hope on earth beyond thy love,

And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above.

Yet the same feeling which thou dost condemn,

My very love to theo is hate to them,

So closely mingling here, that disentwined,

I ccaso to lovo thee when I love mankind :

Yet dread not this—the proof of all the pastAssures the future that my love will last;

But—oh, Medora! nerve that gentler heart,

This hour again—but not for long—we part.’’

“ This hour we part!—my heart forboded this *,Thus ever hide my fairy dreams o J ' bliss.