Intently thought-intensely felt :

To throb o'er those of life bereft; The deepest ice which ever froze

Withont the power to fill again Can only o'er the surface close

The desert gap which made his pain; The living stream lies quick below, Without the hope to meet them where And flows and cannot cease to flow. United souls shall gladness share, Still was his seal'd-up bosom haunted With all the consciousness that he By thoughts which N re hath implanted: Had only passd a just decree; Too deeply rooted thence to vanish, That they had wrought their doom Howe'er our stifled tears we banish;

of ill; When, struggling as they rise to start, Yet Azo's age was wretched still. We check those waters of the heart, The tainted branches of the tree, They are not dried-those tears unshed If lopp'd with care, a strength may give, But flow back to the fountain-head, By which the rest shall bloom and live And resting in their spring more pure, All greenly fresh and wildly free: For ever in its depth endure,

But if the lightning, in its wrath, Unseen, unwept, but uncongeald,

The waving boughs with fury scathe, And cherish'd most where least reveal'd. The massy trunk the ruin feels. With inward starts of feeling left,

And never more a leaf reveals.

THE PRISONER OF CHILL0N.

bind;

SONNET ON CHILLON.

That father perish'd at the stake ETERNAL spirit of the chainless mind!

For tenets he would not forsake; Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, And for the same his lineal race For there thy habitation is the heart

In darkness found a dwelling-place ; The heart which love of thee alone can We were seven-who now are one,

Six in youth, and one in age, And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd

Finish'd as they had begun, To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless Proud of Persecution's rage;

gloom,

One in fire, and two in field, Their country conquers with their martyr

Their belief with blood have seal'd;
dom,

Dying as their father died,
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every Three were in a dungeon cast,

For the God their foes denied ;

wind. Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place,

Of whom this wreck is left the last.
And thy sad floor an altar- for 'twas trod,
Until his very steps have left a trace

There are seven pillars of gothic mold,
Worn, as if ihy cold pavement were a sod, In Chillon's dungeons deep and old ;
By Bonnivard!—May none those marks There are seven columns, massy and gray,

efface!

Dim with a dull imprison'd ray,
For they appeal from tyranny to God.

A snobeain which hath lost its way,
And through the crevice and the clift
Of the thick wall is fallen and left;
Creeping o'er the floor so damp,

Like a marsh's meteor-lamp:
My hair is gray, but not with years, And in each pillar there is a ring.
Nor grew it white

And in each ring there is a chain;
In a single night,

That iron is a cankering thing, As men's have grown from sudden fears : For in these limbs its teeth remain, My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, With marks that will not wear away, But rusted with a vile repose,

Till I have done with this new day, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, Which now is painful to these eyes, And mine has been the fate of those Which have not seen the sun so risc To whom the goodly earth and air For years - I cannot count them o'er, Are bann'd, and barr’d-forbidden fare; I lost their long and heavy score, But this was for my father's faith, When my last brother droop'd and died, I suffer'd chaing and courted death; i And I lay living by his side.

They chain'd us each to a column-stone, Its massy waters meet and flow;
And we were three-yet, each alone; Thus much the fathom-line was sent
We could not move a single pace,

From Chillon's snow-white battlement, We could not see each other's face,

Which round about the wave enthralls: But with that pale and livid light A double dungeon wall and wave That made us strangers in our sight;

Have made-and like a living grave. And thus together- yet apart,

Below the surface of the lake Fetter'd in hand, but pined in heart; ! The dark vault lies wherein we lay, Twas still some solace in the dearth We heard it ripple night and day; Of the pure elements of earth,

Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd; To hearken to each other's speech, And I have felt the winter's spray And each turn comforter to each,

Wash through the bars when winds were high With some new hope, or legend old, And wanton in the happy sky; Or song heroically bold;

And then the very rock hath rock’d, But even these at length grew cold.

And I have felt it shake unshock’d, Our voices took a dreary tone

Because I could have smiled to see An echo of the dungeop-stone,

The death that would have set me free. A grating sound-not full and free As they of yore were wont to be: It might be fancy-but to me

I said my nearer brother pined,
They never sounded like our own.

I said his mighty heart declined,
He loathed and put away his food;

It was not that 'twas coarse and rude, I was the eldest of the three,

For we were used to hunter's fare, And to uphold and cheer the rest

And for the like had little care: I ought to do—and did my best

The milk drawn from the mountain-goat And each did well in his degree.

Was changed for water from the moat, The youngest, whom my father loved,

Our bread was such as captive's tears Because our mother's brow was given Have moisten'd many a thousand years, To him- with eyes as blue as heaven,

Since man firet pent his fellow-men For him my soul was sorely moved ; Like brutes within an iron den : And truly might it be distrest

But what were these to us or him? To see such bird in such a nest;

These wasted not his heart or limb; For he was beautiful as day

My brother's soul was of that mold (When day was beautiful to me

Which in a palace had grown cold, As to young eagles, being free)

Had his free breathing been denied A polar day, which will not see

The range of the steep mountain's side; A sunset till its summer's gone,

But why delay the truth?—he died. Its sleepless summer of long light,

I saw, and could not hold his head, The snow-clad offspring of the sun : Nor reach his dying hand-nor dead, And thus he was as pure and bright, Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, And in his natural spirit gay,

To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. With tears for nought but others' ills,

He died and they unlock'd his chain, And then they flow'd like mountain-rills, And scoop'd for him a shallow grave Unless he could assuage the woe

Even from the cold earth of our cave. Which he abhorr'd to view below.

I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay

His corse in dust whereon the day The other was as pure of mind, , Might shine-it was a foolish thought, But form’d to combat with his kind; But then within my brain it wrought, Strong in his frame, and of a mood

That even in death his freeborn breast Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, In such a dungeon could not rest. And perish'd in the foremost rank

I might have spared my idle prayer-With joy :- but not in chains to pine: They coldly laugh'd - and laid him there: His spirit wither'd with their clank,

The flat and turfless earth above I saw it silently decline

The being we so much did love;
And so perchance in sooth did mine; His empty chain above it leant,
But yet I forced it on to cheer

Such murder's fitting monument!
Those relics of a home so dear.
He was a hunter of the hills,

But he, the favourite and the flower, Had follow'd there the deer and wolf ;

Most cherish'd since his natal hour, To him this dungeon was a gulf,

His mother's image in fair face, And fetter'd feet the worst of ills.

The infant love of all his race,

His martyr'd father's dearest thought, Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: My latest care, for whom I sought A thousand' feet in depth below

To hoard my life, that his might be

Less wretched now, and one day free; And then of darkness too:
He, too, who yet had held untired I had no thought, no feeling-none -
A spirit natural or inspired-

Among the stones I stood a stone,
He, too, was struck, and day by day And was, scarce conscious what I wist,
Was wither'd on the stalk away.

As shrubless crags within the mist; Oh God! it is a fearful thing

For all was blank, and bleak, and gray, To see the human soul take wing

It was not night-it was not day, In any shape, in any mood :

It was not even the dungeon-light, I've seen it rushing forth in blood, So hateful to my heavy sight, I've seen it on the breaking ocean

But vacancy absorbing space, Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, And fixedness—without a place; I've seen the sick and ghastly bed

There were no stars--no earth-no timeOf Sin delirious with its dread:

No check-no change-no good-no crimeBut these were horrors- this was woe But silence, and a stirless breath Unmix'd with such- but sure and slow : Which neither was of life nor death; He faded, and so calm and meek,

A sea of stagnant idleness, So softly worn, so sweetly weak,

Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless! So tearless, yet so tender-kind, And grieved for those he left behind; With all the while a cheek whose bloom A light broke in upon my brain,Was as a mockery of the tomb,

It was the carol of a bird ; Whose tints as gently sunk away

It ceased, and then it came again, As a departing rainbow's ray

The sweetest song ear ever heard, An eye of most transparent light,

And mine was thankful till my eyes That almost made the dungeon bright, Ran over with the glad surprise, And not a word of murmur-not

And they that moment could not see A groo'er his untimely lot,

I was the mate of misery ; A little talk of better days,

But then by dull degrees came back A little hope my own to raise,

My senses to their wonted track, For I was sunk in silence-lost

I saw the dungeon-walls and floor
In this last loss, of all the most ;

Close slowly round me as before,
And then the sighs he would suppress I saw the glimmer of the sun
Of fainting nature's feebleness,

Creeping as it before had done,
More slowly drawn, grew less and less: But through the crevice where it came
I listen'd, but I could not hear -

That bird was perch'd, as fond and tamc,
I callid, for I was wild with fear; And tamer than upon the tree;
I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread A lovely bird, with azure wings,
Would not be thus admonished;

And song that said a thousand things,
I call'd, and thought I heard a sound- And seem'd to say them all for me!
I barst my chain with one strong bound ; I never saw its like before,
And rush'd to him:--I found him not, I ne'er shall see its likeness more:
I only stirr'd in this black spot,

It seem'd like me to want a mate,
I only lived - I only drew

But was not half so desolate, The accursed breath of dungeon-dew; And it was come to love me when The last-the sole--the dearest link None lived to love me so again, Between me and the eternal brink, And cheering from my dungeon's brink, Which bound me to my failing race, Had brought'me back to feel and think. Was broken in this fatal place.

I know not if it late were free, One on the earth, and one beneath

Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
My brothers, both had ceased to breathe: But knowing well captivity,
I took that hand which lay so still, Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine!
Alas! my own was full as chill;

Or if it were, in winged guise,
I had not strength to stir, or strive, A visitant from Paradise;
But felt that I was still alive-

For-Heaven forgive that thought! the A frantic feeling, when we know

while That wh:at we love shall ne'er be so. Which made me both to weep and smile; I know not why

I sometimes deem'd that it might be
I could not die;

My brother's soul come down to me;
I had no earthly hope- but faith, But then at last away it flew,
And that forbade a selfish death.

And then 'twas mortal-well I knew,
For he would never thus have flown,

And left me twice so doubly lone, -
What next befel me then and there Lone-as the corse within its shroud,
I know not well-I never knew--

Lone-as a solitary cloud,
First came the loss of light, and air, A single cloud on a sunny day,

While all the rest of heaven is clear,
A frown upon the atmosphere,
That hath no business to appear
When skies are blue, and earth is gay.

A kind of change came in any fate,
My keepers grew compassionate,
I know not what had made them 80,
They were inured to sights of woe;
But so it was :—my broken chain
With links unfasten'd did remain,
And it was liberty to stride
Along my cell from side to side,
And up and down, and then athwart,
And tread it over every part;
And round the pillars one by one,
Returning where my walk begun,
Avoiding only, as I trod,
My brothers' graves without a sod;
For if I thought with heedless tread
My step profaned their lowly bed,
My breath came gaspingly and thick,
And my crush'd heart fell blind and sick.

The only one in view;
A small green isle, it seem'd no more,
Scarce broader than my dungeon-floor,
But in it there were three tall trees,
And o'er it blew the mountain-breeze,
And by it there were waters flowing,
And on it there were young flowers growing,
Of gentle breath and hue.
The fish swam by the castle-wall,
And they seem'd joyous each and all;
The eagle rode the rising blast,
Methought he never flew so fast
As then to me he seem'd to fly, -
And then new tears came in my eye,
And I felt troubled - and would fain
I had not left my recent chain;
And when I did descend again,
The darkness of my dim abode
Fell on me as a heavy load;
It was as is a new-dug grave,
Closing o'er one we sought to save,
And yet my glance, too much opprest,
Had almost need of such a rest.

I made a footing in the wall,

It might be months, or years, or days, It was not therefrom to escape,

I kept no count-I took no note, For I had buried one and all,

had no hope my eyes to raise, Who loved me in a human shape;

And clear them of their dreary mote; And the whole earth would henceforth be

At last men came to set me free, A wider prison unto me:

I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where, No child—no sire-no kin had I,

It was at length the same to me,

Fetter'd or fetterless to be,
No partner in my misery;
I thought of this, and I was glad,

I learn'd to love despair.
For thought of them had made me mad;

And thus when they appear'd at last, But I was curious to ascend

And all my bonds aside were cast, To my barr’d windows, and to bend

These heavy walls to me had grown Once more, *upon the mountains high,

A hermitage--and all my own!
The quiet of a loving eye.

And half I felt as they were come
To tear me from a second home:

With spiders I had friendship made,
I saw them, and they were the same, And watch'd them in their sullen trade,
They were not changed like me in frame; Had seen the mice by moonlight play,
I saw their thousand years of snow And why should I feel less than they?
On high- their wide long lake below, We were all inmates of one place,
And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; And I, the monarch of each race,
I heard the torrents leap and gush Had power to kill-yet, strange to tell!
O’er channellid rock and broken bush ; In quiet we had learn'd to dwell-
I saw the white-wallid distant town, My very chains and I grew friends,
And whiter sails go skimming down; So much a long communion tends
And then there was a little isle,

To make us what we are :-even I Which in my very face did smile, Regain’d my freedom with a sigh.

M A Z E P P A.

56 Celui qui remplissait alors cette place, “Le roi fuyant et poursuivi eut son cheval était un gentilhomme Polonais, nommé tué sous lui; le Colonel Gieta, blessé, et Mazeppa, né dans le palatinat de Podolie; perdant tout son sang, lui donna le sien. il avoit été élevé page de Jean Casimir, et Ainsi on remit deux fois à cheval, dans la avait pris à sa coar quelque teinture des fuite, ce conquérant qui n'avait pu y monbelles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il ent dans ter pendant la bataille.". sa jeanesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme “ Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec Polonais ayant été découverte, le mari le quelques cavaliers. Le carosse où il était fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le rompit dans la marche; on le remit à cheval. laissa aller en cet état. Le cheval, qui était Pour comble de disgrace, il s'égara pendu pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta dant la nuit dans un bois; là, son conrage Mazeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. ne pouvant plus suppléer à ses forces épuiQuelques paysans le secoururent: il resta sées, les douleurs de sa blessure devenues long-temps parmi eux, et se signala dans plus insupportables par la fatigue, son plusieurs courses contre les Tartares. La su- cheval étant tombé de lassitude, il se coupériorité de ses luwières lui donna une grande cha quelques henres, au pied d'un arbre, considération parmi les Cosaques : sa répu- en danger d'être surpris à tout moment par tation s'augmentant de jour en jour obligea les vainqueurs qui le cherchaient de tous le Czar à le faire Prince de l'Ukraine." côtés."--VOLTAIRE, Histoire de Charles XII.

Twas after dread Pultova's day,

In out-worn nature's agony; When fortune left the royal Swede, His wounds were stiff his limbs were Around a slanghter'd army lay,

stark No more to combat and to bleed.

The heavy hour was chill and dark; The power and glory of the war,

The fever in his blood forbade Faithless as their vain votaries, men,

A transient slumber's fitful aid : Had pass'd to the triumphant Czar, And thus it was; but yet through all, And Moscow's walls were safe again, King-like the monarch bore his fall, Until a day more dark and drear,

And made, in this extreme of ill,
And a more memorable year,

His pangs the vassals of his will;
Shonld give to slaughter and to shame All silent and subdued were they,
A mightier host and haughtier name; As once the nations round him lay.
A greater wreck, a deeper fall,
A shock to one-a thunderbolt to all.

A band of chiefs !-- alas! how few,

Since but the fleeting of a day Sach was the hazard of the die; Had thinn'd it; but this wreck was true The wounded Charles was taught to fly And chivalrous; upon the clay By day and night through field and flood, Each sate him down, all sad and mute, Staind with his own and subjects' blood; Beside his monarch and his steed, For thousands fell that flight to aid : For danger levels man and brute, And not a yoice was heard to upbraid And all are fellows in their need. Ambition in his humbled hour,

Among the rest, Mazeppa made When truth had nought to dread from power. His pillow in an old oak’s shadellis horse was slain, and Gieta gave Himself as rough, and scarce less old, His own--and died the Russians' slave. The Ukraine's hetman, calm and bold; This too sinks after many a league But first, outspent with his long course, Of well sustain'd, but vain fatigue; The Cossack prince rubb'd down his horse, And in the depth of forests, darkling And made for him a leafy bed, The watch-fires in the distance sparkling And smooth’d his fetlocks and his mane, The beacons of surrounding foes - And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, A king must lay his limbs at length. And joy'd to see how well he fed ; Are these the laurels and repose

For until now he had the dread For which the nations strain their strength? His wearied courser might refuse They laid him by a savage tree,

To browze beneath the midnight dews: