And then the orphan, young and blind,
Conducted by her brother's hand,
Towards the church, through paths
unscanned,

With tranquil air, her way doth wind.

Odours of laurel, making her faint and pale,

Round her at times exhale,

And in the sky as yet no sunny ray,
But brumal vapours gray.

Near that castle, fair to see, Crowded with sculptures old, in every ; part,

Marvels of nature and of art,

And proud of its name of high degree,

A little chapel, almost bare,

At the base of the rock is builded
there;

All glorious that it lifts aloof,
Above each jealous cottage roof,
Its sacred summit, swept by autumn
gales,

And its blackened steeple high in air,

Round which the osprey screams and sails.

There is his grave; there stands the cross we set;

Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Margaret?

Come in! The bride will be here soon: Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art going to swoon !"

She could no more,—the blind girl, weak and weary!

A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary,

"What wouldst thou do, my daughter?" and she started;

And quick recoiled, aghast, fainthearted;

But Paul, impatient, urges ever more Her steps towards the open door; And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid

Crushes the laurel near the house immortal,

And with her head, as Paul talks on again, Touches the crown of filigrane Suspended from the low-arched portal, No more restrained, no more afraid, She walks, as for a feast arrayed, And in the ancient chapel's sombre night They both are lost to sight.

At length the bell,

With booming sound,

Sends forth, resounding round,

Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down

the dell.

It is broad day, with sunshine and with rain;

And yet the guests delay not long,
For soon arrives the bridal train,
And with it brings the village

throng.

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant day, Mute as an idiot, sad as yester-morning, Thinks only of the beldame's words of

warning.

And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper

Feels her heart swell to hear all round

her whisper,

"How beautiful! how beautiful she is!"

But she must calm that giddy head,
For already the Mass is said;

At the holy table stands the priest ; The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste receives it;

Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it,

He must pronounce one word at least! 'Tis spoken; and sudden at the groomsman's side

"Tis he!" a well-known voice has cried. And while the wedding-guests all hold their breath,

Opes the confessional, and the blind girl, see!

"Baptiste," she said, "since thou hast

wished my death,

As holy water be my blood for thee!" And calmly in the air a knife suspended!

Doubtless her guardian angel near
attended,

For anguish did its work so well,
That, ere the fatal stroke descended,
Lifeless she fell!

At eve, instead of bridal verse,
The De Profundis filled the air;
Decked with flowers a single hearse
To the churchyard forth they bear;
Village girls in robes of snow
Follow, weeping as they go;
Nowhere was a smile that day,

No, ah no! for each one seemed to say :"The roads shall mourn and be veiled in gloom,

So fair a corpse shall leave its home! Should mourn and should weep, ah, well-away!

So fair a corpse shall pass to-day!"

Noble and stalwart.
He bade him a sea-ship,
A goodly one, prepare.
Quoth he, the war-king,
Over the swan's road,
Seek he would
The mighty monarch,
Since he wanted men.
For him that journey
His prudent fellows
Straight made ready,
Those that loved him.
They excited their souls,
The omen they beheld.
Had the good-man
Of the Gothic people
Champions chosen,
Of those that keenest
He might find,
Some fifteen men.

The sea-wood sought he,
The warrior showed,
Sea-crafty man!
The landmarks,

And first went forth.
The ship was on the waves,
Boat under the cliffs.
The barons ready
To the prow mounted.
The streams they whirled
The sea against the sands.
The chieftains bore
On the naked breast
Bright ornaments,
War-gear, Goth-like.
The men shoved off,

Men on their willing way,

The bounden wood.

Then went over the sea-waves, Hurried by the wind,

The ship with foamy neck,
Most like a sea-fowl,

Till about one hour

Of the second day