“ Life hath been heavy on my head,

I come a stricken deer, Bearing the heart, midst crowds that bled,

To bleed in stillness here."

She gaz'd_till thoughts that long had slept,

Shook all her thrilling frameShe fell upon his neck and wept,

Murmuring her brother's name.

Her brother's name !-and who was he,

The weary one, th’ unknown,
That came, the bitter world to flee,

A stranger to his own?
He was the bard of gifts divine
To
sway

the souls of men ;
He of the song for Salem's shrine,

He of the sword and pen!

ULLA, OR THE ADJURATION,

Yet speak to me! I have outwatch'd the stars,
And gaz'd o'er heaven in vain, in search of thee.
Speak to me! I have wander'd o'er the earth,
And never found thy likeness.-Speak to me!
This once-once more!

Manfred.

" THOU'RT gone!--thou’rt slumbering low,

With the sounding seas above thee ; It is but a restless wo,

But a haunting dream to love thee! Thrice the glad swan has sung,

To greet the spring-time hours, Since thine oar at parting flung

The white spray up in showers.

There's a shadow of the grave on thy hearth, and round

thy home; Come to me from the ocean's dead !-thou’rt surely of

them--come !"

'Twas Ulla's voice--alone she stood

In the Iceland summer night,

Far gazing o'er a glassy flood,

From a dark rock's beetling height.

" I know thou hast thy bed

Where the sea-weed's coil hath bound thee :

The storm sweeps o'er thy head,

But the depths are hush'd around thee. What wind shall point the way

To the chambers where thou’rt lying? Come to me thence, and say

If thou thought'st on me in dying ?

I will not shrink to see thee with a bloodless lip and

cheek

Come to me from the ocean's dead !-thou’rt surely of

them-speak!"

She listened 'twas the wind's low moan,

'Twas the ripple of the wave,
'Twas the wakening ospray's cry alone,

As it started from its cave.

" I know each fearful spell

Of the ancient Runic lay, Whse mutter'd words compel

The tempest to obey. But I adjure not thee

By magic sign or song, My voice shall stir the sea

By love,-the deep, the strong!

By the might of woman's tears, by the passion of her

sighs, Come to me from the ocean's dead-by the vows we

pledg’d-arise !"

Again she gaz'd with an eager glance,

Wandering and wildly bright ;
She saw but the sparkling waters dance
To the arrowy

northern light.

By the slow and struggling death

Of hope that loath'd to part,
By the fierce and withering breath

Of despair on youth's high heart ;
By the weight of gloom which clings

To the mantle of the night, By the heavy dawn which brings

Nought lovely to the sight,