another Undine. He prayed to God to comfort him, and he thought over and over again of the blessing it was to have a soul; for in another world he might still have the society of Undine: and thinking of his soul so much, he began to use it, and did find means to comfort himself a little, by employing himself as Undine used to do, in doing kind things for the country people. At last he began to think of Bertha-who had been the means of depriving him of his precious Undine, and he sent to the fisherman and his wife to take her home. The good old folks came. They did not know the particulars of Undine's loss, they had only heard she was drowned in the Danube. They wept at their own loss, and still more when they saw the worn countenance of the miserable widower. Bertha was glad to see some new faces, for she had been perfectly alone; and she now saw that there was equality among human beings in misery; the old fisherman and his wife were more soothing to Hildebrand, than all else who had visited him, because they sympathized with his irreparable loss. She had been left alone to think, and reflection had taught her something of the soul, and her parents rejoiced to see she was softened. She went home with them, and began to endeavor to recover the purity she had so long lost. But it was a difficult work. Hildebrand was glad to be left entirely alone; he lingered about the castle, which he would not leave, because every spot and object recalled some kindness of the ever regretted Undine. He then recalled his own experience, and saw how his first fault,—his infidelity to Bertha, had involved all the others; how it had given the terrors of what was outward an ascendency over his mind, through his nerves, agitated by conscience; and how this want of self-control had allowed him to treat Undine ill, and to yield himself passively to the bad influence of Bertha. At last he became so ill, that he could walk no more. But he ordered his servants to bring a couch to the door of the court yard, that he might die in sight of the rock, which Undine in her love had commanded to be laid over the fountain. One evening, as he was gazing on this, he fell asleep, and dreamed that he was a swan hovering over the Mediterranean Sea, and looking down, that he saw Undine sitting under the crystal arches. She wept bitterly, and then he saw Kuhleborn go towards her and laugh and scold at her. On this Undine collected her spirits and said, "Thou dost not understand my tears; they are sacred, as all is sacred which proceeds from the true soul. I have brought my soul with me, even under the silver sea, and only stay here till my husband is released to the pure life of Heaven. Then I am to leave thee, and thy race, and dwell for ever with him.” Hildebrand waked with a heavenly smile of peace, and exclaiming, "Pure and holy Undine, am I worthy to live with thee in Heaven?"-he died. He was buried, and not long after a little fountain welled up near the spot, and clear as crystal flowed gently on, till it had surrounded the knight's grave;-it then pursued its course, and emptied itself into a neighboring lake. May it not be that this is the mortal part of the affectionate Undine, who thus encircles with her arms the ashes of her beloved husband, while their spirits worship God together in Heaven? STANZAS. SWEET flower, so young, so fresh, so fair, And thou must die. That heart with youthful hope so gay For all must die. But though the roseate cheek may fade, The bloom with which the soul's array'd, Shall never die. E. L. C. SONNET. BY W. R HARK to the piercing gladness of that note, Ringing in shrill sweet echoes through the grove! The tide that gushes from that quivering throat, say, Know'st thou the pleasure which thy notes impart? Dwells there a mind within to frame that lay- -Ye happy listeners! 't is enough to know the whole Is yours and only yours ;-the spirit from above, Tuned to the harmonies of everlasting love! |