One long year he bears his sorrow,

But no more can bear;
Rest he seeks, but, finding never,

Leaves the army there;
Sees a ship by Joppa's haven,
Which with swelling sail
Wafts him where his lady's breathing
Mingles with the gale.

At her father's castle-portal,
Hark! his knock is heard;
See! the gloomy gate uncloses

With the thunder-word:
"She thou seek'st is veiled for ever,

Is the bride of Heaven;

Yester-eve the vows were plighted, –

She to God is given."

Then his old ancestral castle
He for ever flees;

Battle-steed and trusty weapon

Never more he sees.

From the Toggenburg descending,

Forth unknown he glides;
For the frame once sheathed in iron
Now the sackcloth hides.

There beside that hallowed region
He hath built his bower,
Where from out the dusky lindens
Looked the convent tower;

Waiting from the morning's glimmer
Till the day was done,

Tranquil hope in every feature,
Sat he there alone.

Gazing upward to the convent,
Hour on hour he passed,
Watching still his lady's lattice,
Till it oped at last,-

Till that form looked forth so lovely,

Till the sweet face smiled
Down into the lonesome valley,
Peaceful, angel-mild.

Then he laid him down to slumber,
Cheered by peaceful dreams,
Calmly waiting till the morning
Showed again its beams.

Thus for days he watched and waited,

Thus for years he lay, Happy if he saw the lattice

Open day by day ;

If that form looked forth so lovely,
If the sweet face smiled

Down into the lonesome valley,

Peaceful, angel-mild.

There a corse they found him sitting

Once when day returned,

Still his pale and placid features

To the lattice turned.

From the German of Schiller.

66

XLVIII

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP.

'They made her a grave too cold and damp

For a soul so warm and true;

And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp

She paddles her white canoe.

"And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,
And her paddle I soon shall hear ;
Long and loving our life shall be,
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footstep of Death is near! "

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds.
His path was rugged and sore,
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.

And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,

He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew!

And near him the she-wolf stirred the brake
And the copper-snake breathed in his ear;
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake,
"Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake,

And the white canoe of my dear?"

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright
Quick over its surface played-

"Welcome," he said, " my dear one's light!"
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night,
The name of the death-cold maid!

Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from shore;

Far, far he followed the meteor spark,

The wind was high and the clouds were dark,
And the boat returned no more.

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp,
This lover and maid so true

Are seen at the hour of midnight damp
To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp,

And paddle their white canoe!

MOORE.

XLIX

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A chieftain to the Highlands bound,
Cries," Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry!"-

"Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?"

"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.-

"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen
My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride-
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?"

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief, I'm ready :-

It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady :-

K