O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid,
Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight;
Through the gateway she entered-she felt not afraid
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade
Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night.

All around her was silent, save when the rude blast
Howled dismally round the old pile;

Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed,
And arrived at the innermost ruin at last,

Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle.

Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near,
And hastily gathered the bough;

When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear-
She paused, and she listened, all eager to hear,

And her heart panted fearfully now.

The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head

She listened-nought else could she hear,

;

The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread

Of footsteps approaching her near.

Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear,

She crept to conceal herself there;

That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear,
And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear,
And between them a corpse did they bear.
Then Mary could feel her heart's-blood curdle cold,
Again the rough wind hurried by-

It blew off the hat of the one, and behold!

Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled;

"Plague the hat !" he exclaims. "Nay, come on, and fast hide

The dead body," his comrade replies.

She beholds them in safety pass on by her side,
She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied,

And fast through the abbey she flies.

She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door,
She cast her eyes horribly round;

Her limbs could support their faint burden no more,
But, exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor,
Unable to utter a sound.

Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart,
For a moment the hat met her view;

Her eyes from that object convulsively start,

For, oh God! what cold horror thrilled through her heart,
When the name of her Richard she knew!

Where the old Abbey stands on the common hard by,

His gibbet is now to be seen;

Not far from the road it engages the eye,

The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh,

Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

THE VULTURE OF THE ALPS.-Anonymous.

I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their vales,
And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales,
As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was o'er,
They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of more.
And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of fear,
A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear:
The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous;
But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus:-
"It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells, 1
Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells;
But, patient, watching hour on hour upon a lofty rock,
He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock.
One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high,
When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry,
As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief and pain,
A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again.

I hurried out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright,
The children never ceased to shriek, and from my frenzied sight
I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care;
But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing through the air.
Oh! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye-
His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry;
And know, with agonising breast, and with a maniac rave,
That earthly power could not avail, that innocent to save!
My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me,
And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly, to get free;
At intervals, I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and screamed!
Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed.

The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he flew
A mote upon the sun's broad face he seemed unto my view;
But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight—
'Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite.

;

All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was ne'er forgot,

When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot,

From whence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached,
He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleached!
I clambered up that rugged cliff-I could not stay away-
I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay;
A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred;
The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon the head,

That dreary spot is pointed out to travellers passing by,
Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh.”
And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny way,
The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.—Goldsmith

"Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale,

And guide my lonely way,

To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.

For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem length'ning as I go."

"Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries,
"To tempt the dang'rous gloom;
For yonder phantom only flies
To lure thee to thy doom.

Here to the houseless child of want

My door is open still;

And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.

Then turn to-night and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,

My blessing and repose.

No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn;

Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them:

But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied,
And water from the spring.

Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong,
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."

Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell:

The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure,
The lonely mansion lay;

A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care;
The wicket op'ning with a latch,
Received the harmless pair.

And now when busy clouds retire
To take their evening rest,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd, and smiled;
And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The ling'ring hours beguiled.

Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart,
To soothe the stranger's woe:
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the Hermit spied,
With answering care oppress'd:
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
"The sorrows of thy breast?

From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?"

"Alas! the joys that fortune brings,
Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.

And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?

And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair-one's jest ;
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest."

"For shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex!" he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surprised, he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view,
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright and transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms!

The lovely stranger stands confess'd
A maid in all her charms.

"And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried,
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside!

But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray,
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.