RECORDS OF WOMAN.

And, with her bright locks bowed to sweep the Silence the minstrels pause-and hark! a ground,

Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said,-
'Bless me, my father, bless me! and with thee,
To the still cabin and the beechen-tree,
Let me return!"

Oh! never did thine eye
Through the green haunts of happy infancy
Wander again, Joanne !-too much of fame
Had shed it radiance on thy peasant name;
And bought alone by gifts beyond all price,
The trusting heart's repose, the paradise
Of home with all it loves, doth fate allow
The crown of glory unto woman's brow.

ALONG the star-lit Seine went music swelling,
Till the air thrilled with its exulting mirth;
Proudly it floated, even as if no dwelling
For cares or stricken hearts were found on earth;
And a glad sound the measure lightly beat,
A happy chime of many dancing feet.

For in a palace of the land that night,

Lamps, and fresh roses, and green leaves were
hung,

And from the painted walls a stream of light
On flying forms beneath soft splendour flung:
But loveliest far amidst the revel's pride
Was one, the lady from the Danube-side.

Pauline, the meekly bright!-though now no more
Her clear eye flashed with youth's all tameless
glee,

Yet something holier than its day-spring wore,
There in soft rest lay beautiful to see ;
A charm with graver, tenderer, sweetness fraught-
The blending of deep love and matron thought.
Through the gay throng she moved, serenely fair,
And such calm joy as fills a moonlight sky,
Sate on her brow beneath its graceful hair,

As her young daughter in the dance went by,
With the fleet step of one that yet hath known
Smiles and kind voices in this world alone.

Lurked there no secret boding in her breast?
Did no faint whisper warn of evil nigh?

sound,

A strange quick rustling which their notes had
drowned!

And lo! a light upon the dancers breaking-
Not such their clear and silvery lamps had
shed

From the gay dream of revelry awaking,

One moment holds them still in breathless

dread;

The wild fierce lustre grows-then bursts a cry-
Fire! through the hall and round it gathering-fly!

And forth they rush-as chased by sword and
spear-

To the green coverts of the garden-bowers;
A gorgeous masque of pageantry and fear,
Startling the birds and trampling down the
flowers:

While from the dome behind, red sparkles driven
Pierce the dark stillness of the midnight heaven.

And where is she, Pauline ?-the hurrying throng
Have swept her onward, as a stormy blast
Might sweep some faint o'erwearied bird along-
Till now the threshold of that death is past,
And free she stands beneath the starry skies,
Calling her child-but no sweet voice replies.

"Bertha! where art thou ?-Speak, oh! speak,
my own!"

Alas! unconscious of her pangs the while,
The gentle girl, in fear's cold grasp alone,

Powerless hath sunk within the blazing pile;
A young bright form, decked gloriously for death,
With flowers all shrinking from the flame's fierce

breath!

But oh thy strength, deep love!-there is no power

To stay the mother from that rolling grave, Though fast on high the fiery volumes tower,

And forth, like banners, from each lattice wave;
Back, back she rushes through a host combined-
Mighty is anguish, with affection twined!

And what bold step may follow, midst the roar
Of the red billows, o'er their prey that rise,
None!-Courage there stood still-and never

Freshly and cloudlessly the morning broke
On that sad palace, midst its pleasure-shades;
Its painted roofs had sunk-yet black with smoke
And lonely stood its marble colonnades:

Such oft awake when most the heart seems blest But yester-eve their shafts with wreaths were Midst the light laughter of festivity:

bound!

Whence come those tones!-Alas! enough we Now lay the scene one shrivelled scroll around.

know,

To mingle fear with all triumphal show!

Who spoke of evil, when young feet were flying
In fairy rings around the echoing hall?
Soft airs through braided locks in perfume sighing,
Glad pulses beating unto music's call?

And bore the ruins no recording trace

Of all that woman's heart had dared and done? Yes! there were gems to mark its mortal place,

That forth from dust and ashes dimly shone ! Those had the mother on her gentle breast, Worn round her child's fair image, there at rest.

"But when thou wak'st, my prince, my lord! and hear'st how I have kept

A lonely vigil by thy side, and o'er thee prayed and wept;

How in one long deep dream of thee my nights and days have past,

THE night-wind shook the tapestry round an Surely that humble, patient love, must win back

ancient palace-room,

And torches, as it rose and fell, waved through the gorgeous gloom,

And o'er a shadowy regal couch threw fitful gleams and red,

Where a woman with long raven hair sat watching by the dead.

love at last!

"And thou wilt smile-my own, my own, shall be the sunny smile,

Which brightly fell, and joyously, on all but me erewhile!

No more in vain affection's thirst my weary soul shall pine

Pale shone the features of the dead, yet glorious Oh! years of hope deferred were paid by one

still to see, Like a hunter, or a chief struck down while his heart and step were free;

No shroud he wore, no robe of death, but there majestic lay,

Proudly and sadly glittering in royalty's array.

But she that with the dark hair watched by the cold slumberer's side,

On her wan cheek no beauty dwelt, and in her garb no pride;

Only her full impassioned eyes as o'er that clay she bent,

A wildness and a tenderness in strange resplendence blent.

And as the swift thoughts crossed her soul, like shadows of a cloud,

Amidst the silent gloom of death, the dreamer spoke aloud;

She spoke to him who could not hear, and cried. "Thou yet wilt wake,

And learn my watchings and my tears, beloved one for thy sake.

fond glance of thine!

Until the shadows of the grave had swept o'er every grace,

Shedding no hope.-He knew, he felt his doom-
Oh! what a tale to shadow with its gloom

Left midst the awfulness of death on the princely That happy hall in England!-Idle fear!

form and face.

And slowly broke the fearful truth upon the watcher's breast,

And they bore away the royal dead with requiems to his rest,

With banners and with knightly plumes all wav

ing in the wind

Would the winds tell it ?-Who might dream or
hear

The secret of the forests ?-To the stake
They bound him; and that proud young sol
dier strove

His father's spirit in his breast to wake,

Trusting to die in silence! He, the love
Of many hearts !-the fondly reared,-the fair,

But a woman's broken heart was left in its lone Gladdening all eyes to see!—And fettered there despair behind.

THE AMERICAN FOREST
GIRL.

A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid,
Woman!-a power to suffer and to love,
Therefore thou so canst pity.

WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum

16

On the deep hush of moonlight forests broke;
Sing us a death-song, for thine hour is come,'
So the red warriors to their captive spoke.
Still, and amidst those dusky forms alone,
A youth, a fair-haired youth of England stood,
Like a king's son; though from his cheek had
flown

The mantling crimson of the island-blood,
And his pressed lips looked marble.-Fiercely
bright,

And high around him, blazed the fires of night,
Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro,
As the wind passed, and with a fitful glow
Lighting the victim's face:-But who could tell
Of what within his secret heart befel,

He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand
Flamed up to light it, in the chieftain's hand.
He thought upon his God.-Hush! hark!-a cry
Breaks on the stern and dread solemnity,-
A step hath pierced the ring!-Who dares intrude
On the dark hunters in their vengeful mood ?-
A girl-a young slight girl-a fawn-like child
Of green savannas and the leafy wild,
Springing unmarked till then, as some lone flower,
Happy because the sunshine is its dower;
Yet one that knew how early tears are shed,-
For hers had mourned a playmate brother dead.

She had sat gazing on the victim long,
Until the pity of her soul grew strong;
And, by its passion's deepening fervour swayed,
Ev'n to the stake she rushed, and gently laid
His bright head on her bosom, and around
His form her slender arm to shield it wound

Like close Liannes; then raised her glittering eye
And clear-toned voice that said, "He shall not

die !"

"He shall not die!"-the gloomy forest thrilled To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell On the fierce throng; and heart and hand were stilled,

Struck down, as by the whisper of a spell. They gazed, their dark souls bowed before the maid,

Known but to heaven that hour?-Perchance a She of the dancing step in wood and glade!

thought

Of his far home then so intensely wrought,
That its full image pictured to his eye
On the dark ground of mortal agony
Rose clear as day!-and he might see the band,
Of his young sisters wandering hand in hand,
Where the laburnum drooped; or haply binding
The jasmine, up the door's low pillars winding;
Or, as day closed upon their gentle mirth,
Gathering with braided hair, around the hearth
Where sat their mother;-and that mother's face
Its grave sweet smile yet wearing in the place
Where so it ever smiled!-Perchance the prayer
Learned at her knee came back on his despair;
The blessing from her voice, the very tone
Of her "Good-night," might breathe from boy.

hood gone!

He started and looked up :-thick cypress boughs Full of strange sound, waved o'er him, darkly red

In the broad stormy firelight:-savage brows,
With tall plumes crested and wild hues o'er-
spread,

Girt him like feverish phantoms; and pale stars
Looked through the branches as through dungeon

bars,

And, as her cheek flushed through its olive hue,
As her black tresses to the night-wind flew,
Something o'ermastered them from that young

mien

Something of heaven, in silence felt and seen;
And seeming, to their child-like faith, a token
That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken.

They loosed the bonds that held their captive's

breath;

From his pale lips they took the cup of death;
They quenched the brand beneath the cypress