THE GRAVE OF A POETESS.*

"Ne me plaignez pas-si vous saviez
Combien de peines ce tombeau m'a epargnées!”

I STOOD beside thy lowly grave ;—
Spring-odours breath'd around,

And music, in the river-wave,
Pass'd with a lulling sound.

* Extrinsic interest has lately attached to the fine scenery of Woodstock, near Kilkenny, on account of its having been the last residence of the author of Psyche. Her grave is one of many in the church-yard of the village. The river runs smoothly by. The ruins of an ancient abbey that have been partially converted into a church, reverently throw their mantle of tender shadow over it.-Tales by the O'Hara Family.

All happy things that love the sun

In the bright air glanc'd by, And a glad murmur seem'd to run Thro' the soft azure sky.

Fresh leaves were on the ivy-bough

That fring'd the ruins near; Young voices were abroad-but thou Their sweetness couldst not hear.

And mournful grew my heart for thee,

Thou in whose woman's mind The ray that brightens earth and sea, The light of song was shrined.

Mournful, that thou wert slumbering low, With a dread curtain drawn

Between thee and the golden glow

Of this world's vernal dawn.

Parted from all the song and bloom

Thou wouldst have lov'd so well, To thee the sunshine round thy tomb Was but a broken spell.

The bird, the insect on the wing,
In their bright reckless play,

Might feel the flush and life of spring,-
And thou wert pass'd away!

But then, ev'n then, a nobler thought
O'er
my vain sadness came;

Th' immortal spirit woke, and wrought
Within my thrilling frame.

Surely on lovelier things, I said,

Thou must have look'd ere now, Than all that round our pathway shed Odours and hues below.

The shadows of the tomb are here,

Yet beautiful is earth!

What seest thou then where no dim fear, No haunting dream hath birth?

Here a vain love to passing flowers

Thou gav'st-but where thou art, The sway is not with changeful hours, There love and death must part.

Thou hast left sorrow in thy song,

A voice not loud, but deep!
The glorious bowers of earth among,
How often didst thou weep!

Where couldst thou fix on mortal ground
Thy tender thoughts and high?--
Now peace the woman's heart hath found,
And joy the poet's eye.

Note 3, page 27, lines 17 and 18.

And her lovely thoughts from their cells found way,
In the sudden flow of a plaintive lay.

A Greek Bride, on leaving her father's house, takes leave of her friends and relatives frequently in extemporaneous verse.-See Fauriel's Chants Populaires de la Grèce Moderne.

Note 4, page 65, line 3.

And lov'd when they should hate-like thee, Imelda.

The tale of Imelda is related in Sismondi's Historie des Republiques Italienne. Vol. iii. p. 443.

Note 5, page 109, line 8.

Father of ancient waters, roll!

"Father of waters," the Indian name for the Mississippi.

Note 6, page 118, line 11.

And to the Fairy's fountain in the glade.

A beautiful fountain near Domremi, believed to be haunted by fairies, and a favourite resort of Jeanne d'Arc in her childhood.

Note 7, page 121, lines 5 and 6.

But loveliest far amidst the revel's pride,
Was she, the Lady from the Danube-side.

The Princess Pauline Schwartzenberg. The story of her

fate is beautifully related in L'Allemagne.

Vol. iii. p. 336.