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Whom the vision, with aspect black as This morning, in the fulness of thy heart, jet,

Thou wast so, far beyond thine art ! Mastered again; and its hand of ice

III. Held her heart crushed, as in a vice! “Paul, be not sad ! 'Tis a holiday;

Now rings the bell, nine times reverTo-morrow put on thy doublet gay!

berating, But leave me now for a while alone.”

And the white daybreak, stealing up

the sky, Away, with a hop and a jump, went Paul,

Sees in two cottages two maidens And, as he whistled along the hall,

waiting, Entered Jane, the crippled crone.

How differently! “Holy Virgin! what dreadful heat! Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed, I am faint andweary,and out of breath!

The one puts on her cross and crown, But thou art cold, -art chill as death

Decks with a huge bouquet her breast, My little friend! what ails thee,

And flaunting, fluttering up and down, sweet?"

Looks at herself, and cannot rest. “Nothing! I heard them singing home The other, blind, within her little the bride;

room, And, as I listened to the song,

Has neither crown nor flower's perI thought my turn would come ere

fume; long,

But in their stead for something gropes Thou knowest it is at Whitsuntide.

apart Thy cards forsooth can never lie, That in a drawer's recess doth lie, To me such joy they prophesy, And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide

dye, When they behold him at my side. Convulsive clasps it to her heart.

And poor Baptiste, what sayest thou?
It must seem long to him ;---methinks I The one, fantastic, light as air,

'Mid kisses ringing,
see him now !”
Jane, shuddering, her hand doth

And joyous singing,

Forgets to say her morning prayer! press: “Thy love I cannot all approve; The other, with cold drops upon her We must not trust too much to happi

brow,

Joins her two hands, and kneels upon Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love

the floor, him less!”

And whispers, as her brother opes the "The more I pray, the more I love !

door, It is no sin, for God is on my side!

O God! forgive me now!” It was enough; and Jane no more replied.

And then the orphan, young and blind,

Conducted by her brother's hand, Now to all hope her heart is barred

Towards the church, through paths and cold;

unscanned, But to deceive the beldame old She takes a sweet, contented air;

With tranquil air, her way doth wind. Speaks of

weather or of fair, Odours of laurel, making her faint and At every word the maiden smiles !

pale, Thus the beguiler she beguiles;

Round her at times exhale, So that, departing at the evening's close, And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, She may be saved ! she

But brumal vapours gray. nothing knows !

Near that castle, fair to see, Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress! Crowded with sculptures old, in every Now that thou wouldst, thou art no

part, prophetess!

Marvels of nature and of art,

ness;

She says,

And proud of its name of high Crushes the laurel near the house imdegree,

mortal, A little chapel, almost bare

And with her head, as Paul talks on At the base of the rock is builded

again, there;

Touches the crown of filigrane All glorious that it lifts aloof,

Suspended from the low-arched Above each jealous cottage roof,

portal, Its sacred summit, swept by autumn No more restrained, no more afraid, gales,

She walks, as for a feast arrayed, And its blackened steeple high in And in the ancient chapel's sombre night air,

They both are lost to sight. Round which the osprey screams and

At length the bell, sails.

With booming sound,

Sends forth, resounding round, “Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!”

Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down Thus Margaret said. “Where are we?

the dell. we ascend!”

It is broad day, with sunshine and “Yes; seest thou not our journey's

with rain; end?

And yet the guests delay not long, Hearest not the osprey from the belfry

For soon arrives the bridal train, cry?

And with it brings the village The hideous bird, that brings ill luck,

throng. we know ! Dost thou remember when our father

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, said,

For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant day,

Mute as an idiot, sad as yester-morning, The night we watched beside his bed, 'O daughter, I am weak and low;

Thinks only of the beldame's words of Take care of Paul; I feel that I am

warning dying!'

And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; And thou, and he, and I, all fell to

To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper crying?

Feels her heart swell to hear all round Then on the roof the osprey screamed

her whisper, aloud;

“How beautiful ! how beautiful she is !” And here they brought our father in his But she must calm that giddy head, shroud.

For already the Mass is said ; There is his grave; there stands the At the holy table stands the priest ; cross we set;

The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Mar

receives it; garet?

Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it, Come in! The bride will be here soon: He must pronounce one word at least ! Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art 'Tis spoken ; and sudden at the groomsgoing to swoon !”

man's side She could no more,-the blind girl, “'Tis he!” a well-known voice has cried. weak and weary !

And while the wedding-guests all hold A voice seemed crying from that grave

their breath, so dreary,

Opes the confessional, and the blind “What wouldst thou do, my daughter?”

girl, see! -and she started;

“Baptiste," she said, “since thou hast And quick recoiled, aghast, faint

wished my death, hearted;

As holy water be my blood for thee !" But Paul, impatient, urges ever more And calmly in the air a knife susHer steps towards the open door ;

pended! And when, beneath her feet, the un- Doubtless her guardian angel near happy maid

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!”

Nuns in frigid cells
At this holy tide,

For want of something else, Christmas songs at times have tried.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher
Sing them till the night expire !

Washerwomen old,
To the sound they beat,

Sing by rivers cold,
With uncovered heads and feet.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher
Sing them till the night expire !

Who by the fireside stands
Stamps his feet and sings;

But he who blows his hands
Not so gay a carol brings.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher
Sing them tiĩl the night expire !

A CHRISTMAS CAROL. (2) FROM THE NOEL BOURGUIGNON DE GUI

BARÔZAI.
I HEAR along our street
Pass the minstrel throngs;

Hark! they play so sweet,
On their hautboys, Christmas songs!

Let us by the fire

Ever higher
Sing them till the night expire !

In December ring
Every day the chimes;

Loud the gleemen sing,
In the streets their merry rhymes.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher
Sing them till the night expire !

Shepherds at the grange,
Where the Babe was born,

Sang, with many a change,
Christmas carols until morn.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher
Sing them till the night expire !

These good people sang
Songs devout and sweet;

While the rafters rang,
There they stood with freezing feet.

Let us by the fire

Ever higher
Sing them till the night expire !

SONG,
FROM THE SPANISH.

Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!

Enemy.
Of all that mankind may not rue !

Most untrue
To him who keeps most faith with thee!

Woe is me!
The falcon has the eyes of the dove !

Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous love!

Thy deceits
Give us clearly to comprehend

Whither tend
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets!

They are cheats,-
Thorns below, and flowers above !

Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!

BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO

HEORT.
FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON.
Thus then, much care-worn,
The son of Healfden
Sorrowed evermore,
Nor might the prudent hero
His woes avert.

The war was too hard,
Too loath and longsome,
That on the people came,
Dire wrath and grim,
Of night-woes the worst.
This from home heard
Higelac's Thane,
Good among the Goths,
Grendel's deeds.
He was of mankind
In might the strongest,
At that day
Of this life,
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
The curved prow
Had passed onward
So that the sailors
The land saw,
The shore-cliffs shining,
Mountains steep,
And broad sea-noses.
Then was the sea-sailing
Of the earl at an end.

Then up speedil
The Weather people
On the land went,
The sea-bark moored,
Their mail-sarks shook,
Their war-weeds.
God thanked they,
That to them the sea-journey
Easy had been.

Then from the wall beheld
The warden of the Scyldings,
He who the sea-cliffs
Had in his keeping,
Bear o'er the balks
The bright shields,
The war-weapons speedily.
Him the doubt disturbed
In his mind's thought,
What these men might be.

Went then to the shore,
On his steed riding,
The Thane of Hrothgar.
Before the host he shook
His warden's staff in hand,
In measured words demanded

“What men are ye
War-gear wearing,
Host in harness,
Who thus the brown keel
Over the water-street
Leading come
Hither over the sea ?
I these boundaries
As shore-warden hold;
That in the Land of the Danes
Nothing loathsome
With a ship-crew
Scathe us might.
Ne'er saw I mightier
Earl upon earth
Than is your own,
Hero in harness.

Not seldom this warrior
Is in weapons distinguished;'
Never his beauty belies him,
His peerless countenance !
Now would I fain
Your origin know,
Ere ye forth
As false spies
Into the Land of the Danes
Farther fare.
Now, ye dwellers afar off!
Ye sailors of the sea !
Listen to my
One-fold thought.
Quickest is best
To make known
Whence your coming may be.”

The soul shall come
Wailing with loud voice,
After a sennight,
The soul, to find
The body
That it erst dwelt in ;-
Three hundred winters,
Unless ere that worketh
The eternal Lord,
The Almighty God,
The end of the world.

Crieth then, so care-worn,
With cold utterance,
And speaketh grimly,
The ghost to the dust:
Dry dust! thou dreary one!
How little didst thou labour for me!
In the foulness of earth
Thou all wearest away
Like to the loam !
Little didst thou think
How thy soul's journey
Would be thereafter,
When from the body
It should be led forth.”

THE SOUL'S COMPLAINT

AGAINST THE BODY.

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON.
Much it behoveth
Each one of mortals,
That he his soul's journey
In himself ponder,
How deep it may be.
When Death cometh,
The bonds he breaketh
By which united
Were body and soul.

Long it is thencefort
Ere the soul taketh
From God himself
Its woe or its weal;
As in the world erst,
Even in its earth-vessel,
It wrought before.

SONG.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
If thou art sleeping, maiden,

Awake, and open thy door:
'Tis the break of day, and we must

away,
O’er meadow, and mount, and moor.
Wait not to find thy slippers,

But come with thy naked feet:
We shall have to pass through the

dewy grass,
And waters wide and fleet.

FRITHIOF'S HOMESTEAD.

FROM THE SWEDISH.
THREE miles extended around the fields of the homestead; on three sides
Valleys, and mountains, and hills, but on the fourth side was the ocean.
Birch-woods crowned the summits, but over the down-sloping hill-sides
Flourished the golden corn, and man-high was waving the rye-field.
Lakes, full many in number, their mirror held up for the mountains,
Held for the forests up, in whose depths the high-antlered reindeers
Had their kingly walk, and drank of a hundred brooklets.
But in the valleys, full widely around, there fed on the greensward
Herds with sleek, shining sides, and udders that longed for the milk-pail.
'Mid these were scattered, now here and now there, a vast countless number
Of white-woolled sheep, as thou seest the white-looking stray clouds,

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