At once to fall upon his neck she flew ;
But not encouraged-back she drew,

And trembling stood in dread suspense,

Her tears her only eloquence!

All, all-the while an awful distance keeping;

Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs ;

And one, his little hand in hers,

Who weeps to see his sister weeping.

Then Jacqueline the silence broke.

She clasped her father's knees and spoke,

Her brother kneeling too;

While D'Arcy as before looked on,

Tho' from his manly cheek was gone

Its natural hue.

"His praises from your lips I heard,

"Till my fond heart was won ;

And, if in aught his Sire has erred,

"Oh turn not from the Son!

"She, whom in joy, in grief you nursed;

"Who climbed and called you father first,

66 By that dear name conjures―
"On her you thought—but to be kind!

"When looked she up, but you inclined?

"These things, for ever in her mind, "Oh are they gone from yours?

"Two kneeling at your feet behold;

"One-one how young;-nor yet the other old.

“Oh spurn them not—nor look so cold—

"If Jacqueline be cast away,

"Her bridal be her dying day.

"Well, well might she believe in you !—

"She listened, and she found it true."

He shook his aged locks of snow;

And twice he turned, and rose to go.
She hung; and was St. Pierre to blame,
If tears and smiles together came?
"Oh no-begone! I'll hear no more."
But, as he spoke, his voice relented.

"That very look thy mother wore

"When she implored, and old Le Roc consented.

True, I have done—have done and suffered wrong;

"Yet once I loved him as my own.

-Nor canʼst thou, D'Arcy, feel resentment long;

"For she herself shall plead, and I atone.

66

Henceforth," he paused awhile, unmanned,

For D'Arcy's tears bedewed his hand;

“Let each meet each as friend to friend,

"All things by all forgot, forgiven.

"And that dear Saint-may she once more descend

"To make our home a heaven!

"But now, in my hands, your's with her's unite.

"A father's blessing on your heads alight!

"All hearts shall sing ' Adieu to Sorrow!'

"St. Pierre has found his child to-day;

"And old and young shall dance to-morrow."

Had Louis* then before the gate dismounted,
Lost in the chase at set of sun;

*Louis the Fourteenth.

Like Henry, when he heard recounted *
The generous deeds himself had done,

(That night the miller's maid Colette

Sung, while he supped, her chansonnette)
Then-when St. Pierre addressed his village-train,

Then had the monarch with a sigh confessed

A joy by him unsought and unpossessed,

-Without it what are all the rest?

To love, and to be loved again.

* Alluding to a popular story related of Henry the Fourth of France; similar to ours of " The King and Miller of Mansfield."

Go-you may call it madness, folly;

You shall not chase my gloom away.
There's such a charm in melancholy,
I would not, if I could, be gay..

Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure
That fills my bosom when I sigh,

You would not rob me of a treasure

Monarchs are too poor to buy.

FROM EURIPIDES.

THE
HERE is a streamlet issuing from a rock.
The village-girls, singing wild madrigals,
Dip their white vestments in its waters clear,

And hang them to the sun.

There first I saw her.

Her dark and eloquent eyes, mild, full of fire,

'Twas heaven to look upon; and her sweet voice,