'And still no peace for the restless clay
Will wave or mould allow;

The horrid thing pursues my soul,-
It stands before me now!"
The fearful boy look'd up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow!

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kiss'd,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walk'd between,
With gyves upon his wrist.

The Sword Chaunt of Thorstein Raudi.

Hood.

'Tis not the grey hawk's flight o'er mountain and mere;
'Tis not the fleet hound's course tracking the deer;
'Tis not the light hoof print of black steed or grey,
Though sweltering it gallop a long summer's day,
Which mete forth the lordships I challenge as mine;
Ha ha! 'tis the good brand
I clutch in my strong hand,

That can their broad marches and numbers define.
LAND GIVER! I kiss thee.

Dull builders of houses, base tillers of earth,
Gaping, ask me what lordships I own'd at my birth;
But the pale fools wax mute when I point with my sword
East, west, north, and south, shouting, 'There am I lord!'
Wold and waste, town and tower, hill, valley, and stream,
Trembling, bow to my sway,
In the fierce battle-fray,

When the star that rules Fate, is this falchion's red gleam.
MIGHT GIVER! I kiss thee.

I've heard great harps sounding in brave bower and hall,
I've drank the sweet music that bright lips let fall,
I've hunted in greenwood, and heard small birds sing;
But away with this idle and cold jargoning!
The music I love, is the shout of the brave,

The yell of the dying,

The scream of the flying,

When this arm wields Death's sickle, and garners the grave. JOY GIVER! I kiss thee.

Far isles of the ocean thy lightning hath known,
And wide o'er the main land thy horrors have shone.
Great sword of my father, stern joy of his hand!

Thou hast carved his name deep on the stranger's red
And won him the glory of undying song.

Keen cleaver of gay crests,

Sharp piercer of broad breasts,

Grim slayer of heroes, and scourge of the strong!
FAME GIVER! I kiss thee.

[strand;

In a love more abiding than that the heart knows,
For maiden more lovely than summer's first rose;
My heart's knit to thine, and lives but for thee;
In dreamings of gladness, thou'rt dancing, with me,
Brave measures of madness, in some battle-field,
Where armour is ringing,

And noble blood springing,

And cloven, yawn helmet, stout hauberk and shield.
DEATH GIVER! I kiss thee.

The smile of a maiden's eye soon may depart;
And light is the faith of fair woman's heart;
Changeful as light clouds, and wayward as wind,
Be the passions that govern weak woman's mind.
But thy metal's as true as its polish is bright:
When ills wax in number,

Thy love will not slumber;

But, starlike, burns fiercer, the darker the night.
HEART GLADDENER! I kiss thee.

My kindred have perish'd by war or by wave-
Now, childless and sireless, I long for the grave.
When the path of our glory is shadow'd in death,
With me thou wilt slumber below the brown heath;
Thou wilt rest on my bosom, and with it decay-
While harps shall be ringing,
And Scalds shall be singing

The deeds we have done in our old fearless day.
SONG GIVER! I kiss thee.

Gertrude Von Der Wart.

Motherwell.

HER hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes raised,
The breeze threw back her hair;

Up to the fearful wheel she gazed;
All that she loved was there!

"

The night was round her clear and cold,
The holy heaven above,

Its pale stars watching to behold

The might of earthly love.

And bid me not depart," she cried,
My Rudolph, say not so;

This is no time to quit thy side;
Peace-peace-I cannot go.
Hath the world aught for me to fear,
When death is on thy brow?

The world-what means it?-mine is here;
I will not leave thee now!

**

'I have been with thee in thine hour

Of glory and of bliss;

Doubt not its memory's living power,
To strengthen me through this.
And thou, mine honour'd lord and true,
Bear on, bear nobly on;

We have the blessed heaven in view,
Whose rest shall soon be won."

And were not these high words to flow
From woman's breaking beart?
Through all that night of bitterest wo,
She bore her lofty part.

But oh! with such a glazing eye,
With such a curdling cheek,

Love, love, of mortal agony,

Thou only, thou shouldst speak!

The wind rose high, but with it rose
Her voice that he might hear;
Perchance that dark hour brought repose

To happy bosoms near.

While she sat pining with despair,

Beside his tortured form,

And pouring her deep soul in prayer,
Forth on the rushing storm.

She wiped the death-damps from his brow,
With her pale hands and soft,

Whose touch upon the lute chords low,
Had still'd his heart so oft.

.

She spread her mantle o'er his breast;
She bathed his lips with dew;
And on his cheek such kisses press'd,
As hope and joy ne'er knew.

Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!

She had her meed, one smile in death,
And his worn spirit pass'd.

While even as o'er a martyr's grave,
She knelt on that sad spot;

And, weeping, bless'd the God who gave
Her strength to forsake it not!

The Uncle.-A Mystery.

I HAD an uncle once a man
Of threescore years and three;—
And when my reason's dawn began,
He'd take me on his knee;
And often talk, whole winter-nights,
Things that seem'd strange to me.

He was a man of gloomy mood,
And few his converse sought;
But, it was said, in solitude

His conscience with him wrought;
And there, before his mental eye,
Some hideous vision brought.

There was not one in all the house
Who did not fear his frown,
Save I, a little careless child,
Who gamboll'd up and down,
And often peep'd into his room,
And pluck'd him by the gown.

I was an orphan and alone,—
My father was his brother,
And all their lives I knew that they
Had fondly loved each other;
And in my uncle's room there hung

The picture of my mother.

Mrs. Hemans.

There was a curtain over it,-
'Twas in a darken'd place,
And few or none had ever look'd
Upon my mother's face,

Or seen her pale expressive smile
Of melancholy grace.

One night I do remember well,
The wind was howling high,
And through the ancient corridors.
It sounded drearily-
I sat and read in that old hall;
My uncle sat close by.

I read-but little understood
The words upon the book;
For with a sidelong glance I mark d
My uncle's fearful look,

And saw how all his quivering frame
In strong convulsions shook.

A silent terror o'er me stole,
A strange unusual dread;

His lips were white as bone-his eyes
Sunk far down in his head;

He gazed on me, but 'twas the gaze Of the unconscious dead.

Then suddenly he turn'd him round, And drew aside the veil

That hung before my mother's face;-
Perchance my eyes might fail,

But ne'er before that face to me
Had seem'd so ghastly pale.

Come hither, boy!" my uncle said,-
I started at the sound;

'Twas choked and stifled in his throat, And hardly utterance found;'Come hither, boy!" then fearfully

He cast his eyes around.

'That lady was thy mother once,Thou wert her only child;Oh God! I've seen her when she held Thee in her arms and smiled,She smiled upon thy father, boy, "Twas that which drove me wild!