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He hid himself at evening behind his chamber-door,

And waited till she entered with her posies dreeping o'er.
She took the faded flowers away, set new ones in each urn,
Then to herself all wearily her fate began to mourn.

The sunlight through the chamber ran, and o'er her forehead shone-
It sparkled on the dew-drops bright, each trembling rose dropped down.
"O happy sun! O happy flowers! that here may shine and fade;
Ye lifeless leaves, I envy you, that near him have decayed!"

The sunlight through the chamber ran, and o'er the spacious room,
The pictured wall it lighted in its stern ancestral gloom.

O happy faces! would that I were fixed thereon like you,
Or that I could my aching heart to equal calm subdue !”

As though ashamed the light of day her ecstasy should mark,
She waited till the twilight came, then in the growing dark
She kissed his pillow often o'er, and in her love's excess
Scarcely sought in that lone chamber her fondness to suppress.
She left-he from his hiding-place advanced with silent foot,
And through the chamber long he strode, surprised, irresolute;
A sudden tremor seized him as he in the darkness stood,
And felt where all his pillow with her soft tears was bedewed.

Slow through his chamber on that night Lord Dynevor stepped along,
And as he mused within his mind strange fantasies upsprung;
At what he saw he wondered much, yet on the morrow went
To watch pale Barbara to her flowers pour forth her soft lament.

On the morrow too he came-till it grew his sole delight

To hear her at confessional in the fading summer-light :
Every evening in his covert her coming he awaited,

And to her sobbings listened with a wonder never sated.

But he by daylight through the woods is wandering oft alone;
Rusty hangs his battle-armour, his dogs neglected moan:
Though the king at length has summoned his vassals to the war,
But little now for glory cares the Lord of Dynevor.

Oh! little knew the mother of the change that love had made
And that he wed-wars let alone-she still unto him prayed,
Till he one day smiling answered, "If you the feast provide,
I pledge upon my wedding-day to show to you my bride."

;

Then glad arose the mother, and right quickly did she send
To lords and ladies biddance her son's marriage to attend.
Never doubts Dame Dynevor, though the bride be yet unknown,
That noble must the maiden be who mateth with her son.

And soon the halls of Dynevor with revelry resound;
There gather merry minstrels from many a town around,

With gallant knights and beauteous dames of high degree appear,
Bold beggars praying benison at such ungrudgèd cheer.

With posies fresh must Barbara the nuptial chamber deck,

And weave a bracelet of charmed flowers to grace the fair bride's neck; But little heeds she what the bells chime in their merry song,

Nor smiles to see the wedding guests march joyfully along.

When the guests were all assembled, and priest and clerks stood ready,
The bridegroom to his mother said, "Now ken ye who's the lady?

I love your maiden Barbara—you may refuse her hand,
To-morrow sails our gallant king to fight on foreign land."

The stately dame of Dynevor awhile in silence stood,
Then thought upon her husband and her lonely widowhood;
"Take Barbara," she said; and to the longing company
Returned to tell they shortly should the bride among them see.
From the garden hears maid Barbara the revelry within-
Ah! 'mid her flowers she vainly tries forgetfulness to win:
Each glad huzza that reaches her but paler makes her cheeks;
But, hark! is that her master's voice? Maid Barbara he seeks.
On seeing him she grew more red than sunrise ere made flower,
But when he took her hands in his, and led her to the bower,
And softly told her how he knew that she had loved him long,
The whitest lily redder was, a gossamer more strong.

Till at length a glance of wonder she dared to throw at him,
And saw his looks were trusty, through her eyes, with doubting dim.
There's a step among the flowers, and her mistress stands beside-
The stately dame of Dynevor has kissed her young son's bride.
With a dim and distant motion the bells strike on her ears,
Unreal looks the wondering crowd that round her there appears;
The voices too seem airy, and she smiles as though she knew
It were all a dream-pageantry she could not quite break through.
E'en when her maiden sisters her in silken garments dress,
And sparkling gems braid merrily around each golden tress,
Still she stands as one entranced, and never uttered word
Save the low vow at the altar she gave unto her lord.

Right joyous is the bridegroom as the guests with merry voice,
In pledging deep his happiness, approve his gallant choice;
Till amid soft minstrel music the bride is led away,

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And the silken path before her with flowers is sprinkled gay.
They've brought her to the bridal-bed within her master's hall,
On that pillow placed her head where her tears were wont to fall :
Two tapers cast soft light around the dim and lofty room;
She sees not now the portraits frown in stern ancestral gloom,
Nor heeds the welcome that her flowers show in their warm perfume.
Then the bridegroom straightway entered, and standing by her side,
His arms throws round her, asking, "Art thou happy, oh my bride ?”
I am happy, I am happy," with closed eyes she murinured o'er;
Joyful bridegroom at that moment was the Lord of Dynevor.
As to catch those words more closely, he leant upon her breast,
And listened fond-till suddenly her breathing grew suppressed.
He raised his head in wonder as her silence he should chide-
'Say once again, sweet Barbara, thou art happy, oh my bride!"
But her eyes are standing open, her brow is damp with sweat ;---
Faintly heaves her bosom beneath its silken coverlet ;
Though her arms are yet around him, she does not seem to hear,
While slowly through the whitening lips the whiter teeth appear.
"Speak, oh speak, one word, dear Barbara!" The eyes are open still,
Beneath each lid a darkness grows-strange fears rise 'gainst his will.
"One other word speak, Barbara"-her arms have lost their hold,
And backward heavily she falls, more fair, more white, and cold.

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A sorrow, sudden, awful, that he dared not yet believe,
There seized that bridegroom as he stood upon his marriage eve:
Ah! sadly from the banquet-hall the sound of music sped;
His new-wed wife, maid Barbara, in her happiness is dead.

F. R. MACDONALD.

EUROPEAN POLITICS.

SINCE we last wrote, the horizon of foreign politics has only grown darker. Persia, backed by Russia, has attacked Affghanistan and captured Herat, the outer gate of India; and our Indian Government, after declaring war against the Russianised court of Teheran, has despatched an expedition to secure a point d'appui for future operations in the Persian Gulf. Meanwhile a Russian army of 40,000 men, which has been slowly concentrating in that quarter since the war closed in Europe, is cantoned on the shores of the Caspian, ready to advance to the support of the Persians; and at the same time a determined effort is being made by another Russian corps to conquer the Circassians, break down the barrier of the Caucasus, and open a broad path for Muscovite aggression into the region of Anatolia. Nearer home, the Neufchatel question has assumed a grave aspect; and Sicily has given one of those premonitory throes which so frequently prelude more serious commotions. And as to the relations between the great European Powers, what do we find but a rivalry and hostility less disguised than before? The Peace settled nothing. It simply gave Russia the means of getting rid of the Allied armies, and of thereafter acting as fraudulently and defiantly as before. Russia has good reason to believe that the Grand Alliance will not again coalesce to oppose her. France, that fought so gallantly by our side while the war lasted, now anxiously propitiates Russia, and, though refusing to abandon the English alliance, acts rather as a drag than as an auxiliary. The proceedings preliminary to the new Congress expected at Paris, sufficiently indicate the change that has taken place in our relation with the Continental Powers, since the Peace virtually broke up the anti-Russian alliance. When Russia, in August, first proposed to refer the Boundary questions to a new congress, so far from standing alone, it appeared that she had won a clear majority of the Powers to her side! Prussia, who was her covert helper during the war, and her humble slave at

the first Congress, was resolute to vote with Russia again. France was quite willing to take the same course; and her ambassador at Constantinople has acted in concert with the Russian embassy in a vain but violent effort to overthrow Lord de Redcliffe and British influence at the Porte. Sardinia, duped by lying promises of Russian aid against Austria, and duly informed of the course which France meant to take, likewise agreed to favour Russia's non-fulfilment of the treaty. And so the Czar, elated, might have exclaimed in his palace at St Petersburg, like Soult at the battle of Orthes, "At last I have them, those English!" But in both cases the rejoicing was premature. Nowhere does British pluck shine out more strongly than in fighting a lost battle. Russia was triumphant--the_battle was lost; but as Hardinge thought at Albuera, there was time to win another. And the British Government, rapidly taking up a strong position, exerted so firm a pressure upon her recalcitrant allies, that the latter thought it better to resume their old position by her side. Whether the renewed allegiance of France and Sardinia to the British side of the question be genuine or feigned, remains to be seen. After what has happened, we cannot believe it hearty; and we wish we felt assured that the British party in the new Congress will prove sufficiently powerful to foil the onset of Muscovite diplomacy.

There are some who fancy that the present difficulties of our national position are merely factitious. With eyes blind to the deeper springs and grander movements of European politics, they profess to regard the gathering troubles abroad as not the product of natural causes, but as all the work of individual conjuring. They fancy that a soothing breath, a soft word from Downing Street, would blow them all away! Alas, they know not the helplessness of the individual when brought face to face with the movements of a continent. The mistake is a serious one; for it

seeks to put the country on a wrong track, and to lull it into a most baseless dream of security. It bids us regard the overcasting of the political horizon as a matter of no moment, as a danger against which we need make no preparation, seeing that a puff of diplomatic courtesy, a softworded protocol, is capable of turning the gathering storm to sunshine. The idea is absurd, superbly conceited, eminently dangerous. It may be very popular in the salons of the Tuileries, but it will find little acceptance in this country. The French Emperor, surrounded with embarrassments, and bent on peace at any price in order to avoid them, may foster in others views which his own penetration knows to be false, and by professing universal friendship, seek to postpone the evil day. And he does right-for he thereby attends. to his own interests. But the very eagerness with which he acts as a balance, leaning now to one side, now to another-now supporting Russia, now acting as a friendly drag on England-shows his sense of the critical nature of the "situation." He knows the danger, and doubtless is preparing for it as well as he can, but he wrestles against its coming. He has shown himself ready to abandon the terms of the treaty rather than risk a new struggle with Russia. France has assumed, since the Peace, the position which Austria held during the war. It becomes this country to consider these things. Already, since the Peace, there has been a wavering to and fro among the Governments of the Continent. The balance has begun to incline again to the side of Russia. A popular rising, which may happen any day, would probably range all the Absolutist Courts on her side. In these circumstances, what does it become us to do Clearly to stand well with the Continental Governments as long as we can-as long as they will let us. But do not let Britain delude herself with the belief that she can rely upon any of them for aid, or that meekness on our part will suffice to disarm hostility. Our only security for the future lies in our own strength; and it would be only madness to surrender any outwork or post of van

tage in the expectation of the weakened citadel being left in security.

Very few persons indeed, in January last, would have anticipated the change that a twelvemonth has wrought on the political aspect of Europe. A man would have found only incredulous hearers had he then ventured to predict that ere January 1857 Russia, despite her defeats, would have emerged so little damaged from the struggle, her soil freed from the 200,000 soldiers that then encamped around the ruins of Sebastopol, or garrisoned the captured strong points of her Black Sea coasts, and herself, backed by some of her old foes, stronger than ever in the councils of Europe, and ready to re-enter the lists with us in Asia. How this has come about we have explained in former articles : we simply note the circumstance in order that the country may not be unprepared if changes as great or greater take place before the present year reach its close.

The

England is prone to peace. trade-spirit is eminently pacific; it is slow to take offence, and never allows pride to interfere with gain. Commerce is an international communion of self-interest, and therefore the most potent antagonist of all wars. England is the workshop and commercial centre of the world. Hence her sympathies are all in favour of a reign of peace, without which her world-wide trade of buying and selling is cramped and rendered less profitable. Therefore it is that, alone of all the countries in the world, England exhibits a Peace Party--a class of politicians whose supreme and distinctive business it is to oppose all war, and advocate peace "at any price." at any price." The error of these men consists in believing that all nations are as far advanced in, and as peculiarly devoted to trade and commerce as ourselves; whereas the refusal of other nations to adopt our principles of Free Trade, and the fact that no other country has a Peace Party but our own, ought to apprise them of the peculiarity of our position. Moreover, they are so ignorant of human nature that they pay no regard to moral differences. Commerce trades as freely th oppressors as oppressed,

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makes no difference between slave and free; and the Peace Party cannot understand why slave and free should not be equally friendly with one another. Hence they shut their eyes to the fact that between Great Britain and many of the Continental States there is a great gulf fixed. They hold it to be our duty to allow the despotic courts to extinguish, if they can, every spark of liberty on the Continent; and believe that though the regime of absolutism reigned supreme up to the shores of the Channel, free Britain would be let alone. As if, when two opposites come together, the greater will not seek to destroy the less! As if England, which the late Czar called "a foyer of revolutions," can ever be other than a thorn in the side of Continental absolutism, a sympathiser with the oppressed, a living example of freedom whose very existence is a constant incentive for other nations to throw off the yoke. Holding their peculiar opinions, indeed, the Peace party are consistent enough when they clamour for disbandment of fleet and army, and urge England to go to sleep unarmed in presence of her foes; but their principles, we trust, are alike too sordid and too Utopian, too utterly inconsistent with the great facts that surround us, to find acceptance with the practical good sense of the community at large.

The end of civilisation is Peace. The goal of civilised progress is peace among the nations, even as peace among individuals is its beginning. What history shows us accomplished in single communities, will ultimately, we trust, be established among the States of Europe. Slowly but steadily the work of national development is going on, elevating the units of the masses from the automatic condition of early society into thinking and self-acting beings; so that nations are becoming more and more conscious of their true wants and interests, and more and more powerful to enforce and secure them. Civilisation, that short phrase for many ideas for increase of population, improvement of agriculture, growth of commerce, rise of wealth, development of law and justice, spread of knowledge, and increase of locomotion and international com

munication-ever tends to throw down local barriers, to draw the nations into friendlier bonds, and engage all in a communion of selfinterest. Acting first upon individuals and single communities, its tendency is ever to widen its sphere of influence, and ultimately embrace all States belonging to the same platform of national existence. Look at the transition from England under the Heptarchy to the United Kingdom of the present day. Gradually local prejudice and antagonism have disappeared or become subordinated to higher influences: the Heptarchy has merged into a united England-Scotland and England have coalesced into Great Britain and Ireland, at first welded in by force of arms, has at length voluntarily associated herself with the sister states, forming the United Kingdom, Other countries have experienced similar changes from a similar cause. Burgundy, Normandy, Provence, once separate states, have become merged in a united France; the crowns of Castile, Arragon, and Navarre, are now united on one head in Spain; the Germanic Confederacy and commercial bonds of the Zollverein are the commencement of a corresponding aggregation among the still unconsolidated Teutonic States. As this work of internal consolidation and national development goes on, the civilised energies of a people project themselves beyond the seas or their own frontier, and seek to form commercial union, founded on self-interest, with other countries. For long, English capital has sought and found investment in every country of Europe, thereby increasing our interest in the preservation of tranquillity; and other countries have of late begun to follow in our steps. France, within the last few years, has made an extraordinary start in this direction. Her gigantic Credit Mobilier Company has undertaken to make railways for the whole Continent; and the dread of interrupting and ruining the over-venturous speculations of this enormous financial project, is one of the most potent influences which now bind the French Government to peace at any price. It is easy to see that as this intercommunion of commerce and speculation

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