ay thy pater noster, child! turn to God and grace! will, that turn'd thy bliss to bale, ■n change thy bale to bliss.'

mother, mother, what is bliss? mother, what is bale?

William's love was heaven on earth, ithout it earth is hell.

ny should I pray to ruthless Heaven,

ince my loved William's slain? ■ly pray'd for William's sake, nd all my prayers were vain.'

take the sacrament, my child, nd check these tears that flow; resignation's humble prayer, O hallow'd be thy woe!'

o sacrament can quench this fire, Or slake this scorching pain; o sacrament can bid the dead Arise and live again.

Ɔ break, my heart-O break at once! Be thou my god, Despair! eaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me,

And vain each fruitless prayer.'

enter not in judgment, Lord, With thy frail child of clay!

he knows not what her tongue has spoke ;

Impute it not, I pray!

Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,
And turn to God and grace;
Well can devotion's heavenly glow
Convert thy bale to bliss.'

'O mother, mother, what is bliss?
O mother, what is bale?
Without my William what were
heaven,

Or with him what were hell?'

Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,
Upbraids each sacred power,
Till, spent, she sought her silent room,
All in the lonely tower.

She beat her breast, she wrung her hands,

Till sun and day were o'er, And through the glimmering lattice shone

The twinkling of the star.

Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell
That o'er the moat was hung;
And, clatter! clatter! on its boards
The hoof of courser rung.

The clank of echoing steel was heard
As off the rider bounded;
And slowly on the winding stair
A heavy footstep sounded.

And hark! and hark! a knock-tap! tap!

A rustling stifled noise; Door-latch and tinkling staples ring; At length a whispering voice:

'Awake, awake, arise, my love! How, Helen, dost thou fare? Wak'st thou, or sleep'st? laugh'st thou, or weep'st?

Hast thought on me, my fair?'

'My love! my love!-so late by night!
I waked, I wept for thee:
Much have I borne since dawn of morn;
Where, William, couldst thou be?'
We saddle late-from Hungary
I rode since darkness fell;
And to its bourne we both return
Before the matin-bell.'

'O rest this night within my arms, And warm thee in their fold! Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind:

My love is deadly cold.'

And, with a fearful bound, Dissolves at once in empty air,

And leaves her on the ground.

Half seen by fits, by fits half heard,

Pale spectres flit along,

Wheel round the maid in dismal dance,

And howl the funeral song;

'E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft,

Revere the doom of Heaven! Her soul is from her body reft; Her spirit be forgiven!'

THE WILD HUNTSMAN.

THE Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo ! His fiery courser snuffs the morn, And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed, Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake;

While, answering hound, and horn, and steed,

The mountain echoes startling wake.

The beams of God's own hallow'd day Had painted yonder spire with gold, And, calling sinful man to pray,

Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd.

But still the Wildgrave onward rides;

Halloo, halloo! and, hark again! When, spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train.

Who was each Stranger, left and right, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; The right-hand steed was silver white, The left, the swarthy hue of hell.

fair,

His smile was like the morn of My The left, from eye of tawny glare Shot midnight lightning's lurid 1

He waved his huntsman's cap on hig... Cried, 'Welcome, welcome, noble lord!

What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,

To match the princely chase, afford?' 'Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,' Cried the fair youth, with silver voice;

'And for devotion's choral swell, Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise.

'To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear,

Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To-day the Warning Spirit hear, To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain,'

'Away, and sweep the glades along!' The Sable Hunter hoarse replies; 'Tomuttering monks leave matin-song, And bells, and books, and mysteries.'

The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed,

And, launching forward with a

bound,

'Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, Would leave the jovial horn and

hound?

'Hence, if our manly sport offend!

With pious fools go chant and pray: Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend :

Halloo, halloo! and hark away!'

The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light,

O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and

hill;

And on the left and on the right, Each Stranger Horseman follow'd still.