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surface, and close by the skiff, so that he could trace the play of her features, the folds of her long tresses, and the mould of her beauteous limbs; and, as he bent half maddened o'er her, she slowly rose to the top, revealing her glowing head and dripping shoulders, and once again stretched to him her creamy arms-till Agala was forgotten; and with a shrill cry, he bounded to the other's side, dived in quick pursuit, and clasped her to his bosom on the nearest grassy sod-where none dare intrude. Neither can we even tell how long "they did embrace". fondling and kissing every doubt away;" nor the vows that false Orid made to forego his early love, and never see her more; yielding his whole being to her proud supplanter.

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Who at least may she have been? By Messina's sparkling wave was her usual home; and there, as she reared, with magic wand, her fairy palaces, lawns, and corn fields, the Sicilian peasant rushed to the beach, and shouted-" Morgana, the Sorceress! Morgana, the Sorceress !!" Yet she sometimes strayed from those classic haunts; and, with like displays, sought our Northern Coast, that she might revel in its glorious scenery, and sport amid its giant caves. And then it was she had seen young Orid, and sighed for the caresses that now he gave, and were showered on him in turn. Alas thought he, that rain. so sweet should not pour for ever.

But fleeting are all the joys of man; and soon did Orid find himself alone, depressed and sad; his new mistress gone for a season to the deep again; and his heart's allegiance fast ebbing to the injured Agala. Ah, Conscience! from the beginning thou wert the supremest power; upheld by thee, we may laugh the world to scorn, and death itself is an idle pang; but thy faintest censure stills the roar of elements-or, what is fiercer yet, the throbs of human passion.

Meanwhile, where was that "early love?" Unfortunate! She had spied the empty boat drifting by the cave; and, fearing her betrothed had perished by some dire mishap, was hurrying, with dishevelled hair, along the even ground of which we have already spoken; calling on his name, and weeping bitterly. And thus, as Orid lay at no great distance, torn by remorse, and bending to the shrine of his first affections, that saddened voice fell on his ear like a knell; and with a spring he started up, for a moment paused, then dashed o'er every obstacle, and threw himself at her feet.

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At this moment, the Sorceress raised herself on the sea once more ; and as she beheld the trembling pair, a scowl of bitter anger passed across her brow; and softer feeling was lost in jealous hate, as she steruly said- Perjured caitiff!! are thy vows so quick forgot? and "dost thou hope to baffle me? And you, deluded thing that stole him "back! must I succumb to you? No, by yon fiery heaven! Morgana "rules the fate of both, and seals it now. The spot on which ye stand "is mine. Let it part from the rest; and, by wind and tide, be swept along the Coast, invisible to mortal eyes, save at my command, and "never fixed again till pierced by a grassy sod, hurled upon it from "the land."

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And as she spoke, the level sward broke from the hill behind, and floated past; shrouded in hazy mist, and bearing with it the terrorstricken, breathless lovers.

Such is the Legend of "The Floating Isle," that still frequents our

Northern shores; floating, unperceived, from bay to bay, and point to point-now, by thy feudal walls, Kenbane, Dunseverick, or Dunluce! then, by the Head of Ben-Bane, Plaiskin steep, or Portna-Span, where the Armada's ship went down, with a last broadside at the Chimney Tops; and again, returning, by the Hermit's Cave, or Giant's Table. But at times the lonely fisher hears a wailing moan, rising from the sea, and hurrying by; or the Isle itself stands revealed!! And oft of a starry night will the young maidens seek some towering cliff, that they may cast into the deep, burdens of green sods, and sigh for the repose of "gentle Agala"-ay, and of Orid, too.

A.

THE TRAPPER OF THE MINE.

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SUGGESTED BY THE BLOCK OF COAL" IN THE GREAT EXHIBITION.

As on the giant Block of Coal I gazed with curious eyes,
From its dark mass there seemed to pour ten thousand feeble cries,
Which swept upon my listening ear, and hushed the words of praise
That from my parted lips had fallen, throughout those wondrous days.

Down in the mine, the prison-house of man beneath the sod;
Down in the storehouse of the coal, in fancy's dreams, I trod;
And, mirrored on my heart, are scenes of sorrow, woe, and care,
Which, in those endless galleries, I saw in vision there.

*

Hark! 'tis the truck; it rolls along the Trapper opes the door;
It passes through-in distance lost; there's silence as before :
Mute, motionless, that half-souled thing there sits the live-long night,
With anxious gaze, and staring eyes, fixed on the dim red light.

Along the vaulted walls of coal, with terror's eyes, he sees
The goblins of the miner's thoughts, then drops he on his knees;
And with the haunting shapes of night imprest upon his brain,
He sinks into that scarce repose, the child of want and pain.

Sleep, little one! 'tis all the joy-'tis all the wealth you know, Those snatches of sweet balmy rest, 'mid hours of care and woe! Sleep, Trapper, sleep! too soon the truck will thunder at the door; Too soon, poor child, will you be called to wait and watch once more.

O! childhood pure and innocent, the dawning days of life-
The hushed repose, the silent pause before the roar of strife;
The joys of earth, the hopes of heaven, the beautiful are thine-
Yet now I see thee, Mammon's slave, a Trapper in the mine!

Oft in the busy scenes of life, when hours of musing fall
Like dew upon the spirit-worn, I hear the Trapper's call;
The straining agony of care which opes his lips, all pale,
Intense and unsubdued it comes, that piercing, child-like wail.

Then I have felt my heart beat quick, my life-blood faster flow,
While o'er my soul there swept that sound of sorrow and of woe;
And I have bowed in anguish then, and breathed to God the prayer-
"Lord, make these little ones of earth thine own peculiar care!"

Then memory pointed to the page by Inspiration writ,
While o'er its tender tales of love my musing thoughts would flit ;
And He who took the children once within His loving arms,
With holy mien and godlike words has calmed my weak alarms :

For He has loved and suffered for the little ones of earth,
He looks not on the outward form, the pride of wealth and birth;
And to their Saviour's bosom prest, in loved embrace they twine,
E'en the dark children of the night-the Trappers of the Mine.

FELIX.

LONGFELLOW'S "GOLDEN LEGEND." *

THIS will disappoint the readers of "Hyperion." It is, on the whole, an absurd production; and there is nothing of that meaning and purpose in its absurdity which is so remarkable in Tennyson's "Princess," the most incongruous, and yet the most beautiful of all romances. When Tennyson diverges into the absurd, you perceive that he is a wise man talking nonsense for amusement. When Longfellow does the same, he makes himself simply ridiculous. You or I, good reader, can talk sense; but only a man of genius can venture to talk nonsense. The tale is of Prince Henry of Hoheneck, a feudal lord, who has apparently injured his constitution by study, and brought on a disease which he says himself "hath no name," but we think, from the description, that it was what we have heard called an "all-over-ish-ness." The Prince has written to the famous medical school of Salerno, and received the opinion of the first physicians there in the following words :

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applied, but we suppose it must have been as a sponge-bath.

Next, the clergy take the case in hand, but not as ministers of comfort :

First, the Mass for the Dead they chanted,
Then three times laid upon his head
A shovelful of churchyard clay,
Saying to him, as he stood undaunted,
"This is a sign that thou art dead,
So in thy heart be penitent !"
And forth from the chapel door he went
Into disgrace and banishment,
Clothed in cloak of hodden grey,
And bearing a wallet, and a bell,
Whose sound should be a perpetual knell,
To keep all travellers away.

This, or something like it, was the ceremony by which lepers were separated from the society of mankind.

Some tenants of Prince Henry's, whom he formerly set up in life, give him a home in his banishment; and he becomes a great favourite with the children of the family, and with the daughter Elsie, a mere girl, but thoughtful beyond her years. One day, on hearing her father say that the Prince must die of his disease, unless some maiden would give up her life for him, Elsie at once exclaimed, "I will!" Her parents try to dissuade her, but find her resolution fixed. To her mother's remark,

*The Golden Legend. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. London: David Bogue, Fleet Street. 1851."

that Elsie did not know what death is, the And the other, like an empty one, flies up,

maid replied

"Tis the cessation of our breath.
Silent and motionless we lie;

And no one knoweth more than this.
I saw our little Gertrude die :
She left off breathing, and no more
I smoothed the pillow beneath her head:
She was more beautiful than before:
Like violets faded were her eyes :
By this we knew that she was dead.
Through the open window looked the skies
Into the chamber where she lay.
And the wind was like the sound of wings,

As if angels came to bear her away.
Ah! when I saw and felt these things,
I found it difficult to stay:
I longed to die, as she had died,
And go forth with her, side by side.

The Prince, who had an intense terror of death, consents to the sacrifice, proving himself thereby unworthy of it. We must extract some passages from the dialogue between the selfish and cowardly Prince and the holy and devoted maiden, before they set out for Salerno, where the operation is to be performed.

ELSIE.

Promise me,

When we have gone from hence, and on our way

Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, By word or deed, endeavour to dissuade me And turn me from my purpose but remember

That, as a pilgrim to the Holy City

And is accounted vanity and air!

To me the thought of death is terrible, Having such hold on life. To thee it is not So much as even the lifting of a latch: Only a step into the open air

Out of a tent already luminous With light that shines through its transparent walls.

Elsie's character in this conversation, however, is even less beautiful than it appears in her speeches to her parents. We have quoted one. Here is another :

I heard Him call. When Christ ascended
Triumphantly, from star to star,
He left the gates of Heaven ajar.
I had a vision in the night,

And saw Him standing at the door
Of His Father's mansion, vast and splendid,
And beckoning to me from afar.
I cannot stay!

More beautiful yet is her prayer while alone :

My Redeemer and my Lord,

I beseech Thee, I entreat Thee,
Guide me still in act and word,
That hereafter I may meet Thee
Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning,
With my lamp well trimmed and burning!

*

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If my feeble prayer can reach Thee, O my Saviour! I beseech Thee, Even as Thou hast died for me, More sincerely

Let me follow where Thou leadest, Let me, bleeding as Thou bleedest, Die, if dying I may give

Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of Life to one that asks to live,

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And more nearly

Dying thus, resemble Thee!

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I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, And you shall have another friend in Heaven.

Then start not at the creaking of the door Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it.

And you, O Prince! bear back my benison Unto my father's house, and all within it. This morning in the church I prayed for them.

After confession, after absolution, When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them.

God will take care of them: they need me not,

And in your life let my remembrance linger,

As something not to trouble and disturb,
But to complete it, adding life to life.
And if at times beside the evening fire
You see my face among the other faces,
Let it not be regarded as a ghost
That haunts your home, but a guest who
loves you:

Nay, even as one of your own family, Without whose presence there were something wanting,

She goes into the slaughter-house, and the door is shut on Prince Henry, who exrelims

Gone! and the light of all my life gone with her?

Oh, what a vile and abject thing am I, To purchase length of days at such a cost! Not by her death alone, but by the death Of all that's good and true and noble in me! Our readers anticipate the end. Elsie is saved, the Prince is cured, either by touching Saint Matthew's bones, or by the journey, we are left to decide which, and he makes her his wife. They are accompanied to the hymeneal altar by a select party of friends, in as matter-of-fact a manner as we would now expect to find chronicled in the fashionable columns of the Morning Post.

We have quoted enough to enable our readers to appreciate the beautiful character of Elsie. Prince Henry is a wretched affair, bearing about the same relation to Hamlet that Professor Longfellow does to Shakespeare. We quote the only characteristic speech of his that we recollect :

Above the darksome sea of death
Looms the great life that is to be,
A land of cloud and mystery,
A dim mirage, with shapes of men
Long dead, and passed beyond our ken.
Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath
Till the fair pageant vanisheth,
Leaving us in perplexity,

And doubtful whether it has been
A vision of the world unseen,
Or a bright image of our own
Against the sky in vapours thrown.

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amusing nonsense, the case would be different. We will give instead a few of the most beautiful passages that are unconnected with the story of the poem. The first is spoken by the Prince to Elsie on the evening of their wedding, as they hear the sound of distant bells. The legend that it relates is interesting:

Dear Elsie! many years ago
The same soft bells at eventide
Rang in the ears of Charlemagne,
As, seated by Fastrada's side,
At Ingelheim, in all his pride,
He heard their sound with secret pain.

*

*

*

*

Thou knowest the story of her ring,
How, when the Count went back to Aix,
Fastrada died: and how the king
Sat watching by her night and day:
Till, into one of the blue lakes,
That water that delicious land,
They cast the ring drawn from her hand.
And the great monarch sat serene
And sad beside the fatal shore,
Nor left the land for evermore.

A description of Strasburgh cathedral at night:

Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown
Against the clouds, far up the skies,
The walls of the cathedral rise,
Like a mysterious grove of stone,
With fitful lights and shadows blending,
As, from behind, the moon ascending,
Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown!

Longfellow is most in his element among the remains of the Gothic age. It is strange that this should be the case with an AmeriAnother passage on the same cathedral, and we have done. Elsie inquires, "Who built it?" and the Prince replies:

can.

A great master of his craft, Erwin Von Steinbach: but not he alone, For many generations laboured with him. Children that came to see these saints in stone,

As day by day out of the blocks they rose, Grew old and died; and still the work

went on,

And on, and on, and is not yet completed.
Perhaps may finish it.
The generation that succeeds our own
The architect
Built his great heart into these sculptured

stones,

And with him toiled his children, and their

lives

Were builded, with his own, into the walls, As offerings unto God. You see that sta

tue

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