The blessing from her voice, the very tone

Of her "Good-night" might breathe from boyhood

gone!-

He started and look'd up :--thick cypress boughs
Full of strange sound, wav'd o'er him, darkly red
In the broad stormy firelight ;-savage brows,

With tall plumes crested and wild hues o'erspread,
Girt him like feverish phantoms; and pale stars
Look'd thro' the branches as thro' dungeon bars,
Shedding no hope.--He knew, he felt his doom-
Oh! what a tale to shadow with its gloom

That happy hall in England!-Idle fear!

Would the winds tell it ?--Who might dream or hear

The secret of the forests?-To the stake

They bound him; and that proud young soldier

strove

His father's spirit in his breast to wake,

of

Trusting to die in silence! He, the love

many hearts !—the fondly rear'd,—the fair,

Gladdening all eyes to see !--And fetter'd there

He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand
Flamed up to light it, in the chieftain's hand.
He thought upon his God.--Hush! hark!--a cry
Breaks on the stern and dread solemnity,--
A step hath pierc'd the ring!-Who dares intrude
On the dark hunters in their vengeful mood?---
A girl a young slight girl-a fawn-like child
Of green Savannas and the leafy wild,
Springing unmark'd till then, as some lone flower,
Happy because the sunshine is its dower;

Yet one that knew how early tears are shed,---
For hers had mourn'd a playmate brother dead.

She had sat gazing on the victim long,
Until the pity of her soul grew strong;
And, by its passion's deepening fervour sway'd,
Ev'n to the stake she rush'd, and gently laid
His bright head on her bosom, and around

His form her slender arms to shield it wound

Like close Liannes; then rais'd her glittering eye

And clear-toned voice that said, "He shalt not die !"

"He shall not die !"-the gloomy forest thrill'd

To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell

On the fierce throng; and heart and hand were still'd, Struck down, as by the whisper of a spell.

They gaz'd, their dark souls bow'd before the maid,

She of the dancing step in wood and glade!

And, as her cheek flush'd thro' its olive hue,

As her black tresses to the night-wind flew,

Something o'ermaster'd them from that young mien--
Something of heaven, in silence felt and seen;
And, seeming, to their child-like faith, a token

That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken.

They loos'd the bonds that held their captive's breath;
From his pale lips they took the cup of death;
They quench'd the brand beneath the cypress tree;"

"Away," they cried, "young stranger, thou art free!"

COSTANZA,

-Art thou then desolate?

Of friends, of hopes forsaken?-Come to me!
I am thine own.-Have trusted hearts prov'd false?
Flatterers deceiv'd thee? Wanderer, come to me!
Why didst thou ever leave me? Know'st thou all
I would have borne, and call'd it joy to bear,
For thy sake? Know'st thou that thy voice had power
To shake me with a thrill of happiness

By one kind tone?-to fill mine eyes with tears
Of yearning love? And thou-oh! thou didst throw
That crush'd affection back upon my heart ;-
Yet come to me!-it died not.

SHE knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell
Thro' the stain'd window of her lonely cell,
And with its rich, deep, melancholy glow

Flushing her cheek and pale Madonna-brow,

While o'er her long hair's flowing jet it threw
Bright waves of gold-the autumn forest's hue-
Seem'd all a vision's mist of glory, spread

By painting's touch around some holy head,
Virgin's or fairest martyr's. In her eye,
Which glanced as dark clear water to the sky,
What solemn fervour lived! And yet what wo,
Lay like some buried thing, still seen below
The glassy tide! Oh! he that could reveal
What life had taught that chasten'd heart to feel,
Might speak indeed of woman's blighted years,
And wasted love, and vainly bitter tears!

But she had told her griefs to heaven alone,

And of the gentle saint no more was known,

Than that she fled the world's cold breath, and made
A temple of the pine and chestnut shade,

Filling its depths with soul, whene'er her hymn
Rose thro' each murmur of the green, and dim,

And ancient solitude; where hidden streams

Went moaning thro' the grass, like sounds in dreams,