But oh! they were words of deepest woe,
And harrow'd his feeling heart;

He sprang to her arms,

"I will never go,"

He said, 66 we will never part.

If we cannot live together, dear,
Oh! let us together die ;

And then bless'd spirits we'll wander here,
In this grove where the zephyrs sigh;
And sweet vows breathe to each other still,
As reclin'd on each other's breast;

We listen the sound of the musical rill,

And kiss the sweet lips that are prest."

He said and they walk'd to a deep, clear stream,
That gurgled beneath their feet;

And 'neath the light of pale Cynthia's beam,
They plung'd in the glassy sheet.

Not a sound was heard, along the shore,
But the splash from the lonely pair;

Save the owl that scream'd, and the wind's wild roar,
That swept with its howl thro' the air.
The waters unruffled ran smooth as before,
Nor the circle was seen on the stream;

The whirlwinds loud whistled a dirge on the moor,
And the moon hid in clouds its pale beam.
They found the fond pair in each others arms,
And lovely they look'd in death;

For beauty still mantl'd their cheeks with its charms,
As tho' fann'd by an angel's breath.

Their curls had entwin'd round each other's brow,

Like the ivy twines round the tree;

Wet by the wave were their breasts of snow,
That had thrill'd with ecstacy.

G

And low they were laid in their earthy bed,
Side by side, 'neath yon lonely yew;
And the hillock is green that covers their head,
And full oft 't has been wet by the dew.
And 'tis said, by the side of that silent stream,
Their madrigals there they keep;

Like flowers of the valley, they sparkle and bloom,
When Phebus awakes them from sleep.

A white silvery vest, ting'd brightly with gold,
To flow o'er each bosom is seen;

And robes of rich whiteness, like snow to behold,
On the air flow in brightness and sheen.
Together they sit on a chrysolite cloud,
And wake with fond music the plain;

And their harps they strike sweetly, and deeply, and loud,

Till the valleys reecho the strain.

But should you e'er on that sacred spot dare,
To tread where they're sitting serene;

They vanish in mist upon the soft air,

And no more that night they are seen."

Such, such were the pensive and mournful tales, That 'guil'd many a weary hour;

When we all sat safe from the rude wind's rage,

And shelter'd from stormy shower.

With wonder each heard, astonish'd each stands, While the pale cheek trembles with fear; Convulséd each breast, we wrung our small hands, And dropp'd on our bosoms a tear.

THE MAID AND THE SMUGGLER.

31

THE MAID AND THE SMUGGLER.

A BALLAD.

THE night was dark, the billows dash'd,
And heav'd the foaming surge;

The thunders peal'd, the lightnings flash'd,
And whirlwinds howl'd a dirge.
Upon a rock along the beach,

A pensive maiden stray'd;

She look'd as far as eye could reach,
Across the sea, and pray'd.
She knelt upon the rude-flint-ground,
And rais'd her tearful eyes;
To heaven's immeasurable bound,
And breath'd to heaven her sighs.
The night was dark, but on the sea
She saw a vessel ride;

She clasp'd her hands with ecstacy,
And thanks to heaven she sigh'd.
And soon she clasp'd a smuggler brave,
To her fond thrilling breast;

Her face was pale when from the cave,
Light on his face did rest.

She led him to that cavern wide,

Where on her breast he fell;

She saw blood gushing from his side,
And knew what fain he'd tell.
Her love had been upon the wave,

Had fought most bravely there

32

THE MAID AND THE SMUGGLER.

His well-arm'd foe was swift and brave,

And he could do and dare

But wildly flew the shafts of death,
And wounded sore was he;

He curs'd the hour with deep-drawn breath,
And orders gave to flee.

They gallop'd o'er the foaming sea,

And from the foe they fly;

The smuggler reach'd the shore with glee,

But reach'd the shore to die.

She kiss'd and press'd his snowy brow,
Beside the smouldering fire;

She heard his last fond spirit's vow,
And saw him then expire.

She hung o'er charms that still were fair,
"Oh! lov'd one! art thou gone ?"
She fondly said, and softly there

Sigh'd out her soul alone.

The night's dark clouds had pass'd away,

And Phebus lit the sky;

When the bright beams of broad noon-day,

Reveal'd them to the eye.

Pale was each cheek, and like a flower,
That hangs its beauteous head,
After a heavy tempest-shower;

So look'd they both when dead.
The ringlets o'er her bosom flow'd,
With dark and shining hue;
Her lip with rosy-red still glow'd,
Her eye with azure blue.

And his stern eye was fix'd, serene,
No pain had marr'd his face,

His heart that knew not coward fear,
In death his nerves could brace.
And low they lie within one grave,
And flowrets sparkle there;

And there the young, the fair, the brave,
In pity drop a tear.

THE UNHAPPY LOVERS.

Lo! where yon mansion towers above the grove, O'ergrown with moss and twining ivy green; There liv'd a family, rich, happy, blest,

And peace and love, smil'd on the daily scene. Stern was the Father, rigorously just,

The Mother was affectionate and good; The Son possess'd each sweet and manly grace, Kind to his friends, to strangers never rude, He was the only child, and dearly lov'd, Tho' ne'er indulg'd in any vicious way; Nor was his mind bent on such vile pursuits, But works of mercy mark'd each passing day. And wandering oft beneath the poor man's cot, To cheer his heart, his pious object there; He saw a fair maid, like himself employ'd, Dispensing blessings with sweet generous care. He heard kind accents fall from her pure lips, And saw sweet tears of pity in her eye;

As o'er the abject and distress'd, she bent

Her snowy breast, that woke compassion's sigh.

H