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So sweet did harp and voice combine,
To praise the name of Geraldine.
Fitztraver! O what tongue may say
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,
When Surrey, of the deathless lay,
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew?

'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high :
He heard the midnight bell with anxious start,
Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh,
When wise Cornelius promised, by his art,
To show to him the ladye of his heart,

Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean grim;
Yet so the sage had hight to play his part,

That he should see her form in life and limb,
And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him.
Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye,

To which the wizard led the gallant Knight
Save that before a mirror, huge and high,
A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light
On mystic implements of magic might;
On cross, and character, and talisman,
And almagest, and altar,—nothing bright;
For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan,
As watch-light by the bed of some departing man.
But soon within that mirror huge and high,
Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam;
And forms upon its breast the earl 'gan spy,
Cloudy and indistinct as feverish dream;
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem
To form a lordly, and a lofty room,

Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam,

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom, And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom.

Fair all the pageant—but how passing fair

The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind! O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair, Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined; All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined,

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine

Some strain that seemed her inmost soul to find ;

That favoured strain was Surrey's raptured line,
That fair and lovely form the Ladye Geraldine.

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Magic is a false art—a pretension of cunning men who live among the ignorant to impose upon the latter, but some men, wise in other respects, have believed in this deception. The magicians of Egypt are mentioned in the Bible. In some countries, persons called magicians have been really learned, and others, less informed, have believed them to be endowed with the knowledge of future events, and able to change their own appearance, or to transform one substance into another, as lead to gold, &c. To have such abilities, would be to possess supernatural powers powers greater than other men—No such ability has been conferred upon men.

Room of Granmarye. Granmarye means magic. The talisman and almagest, were certain instruments which the magicians pretended to employ, when they practised their art. The almagest was a book of astrology.

CONSTANCE DE BEVERLY.

"The Catholic religion," says Madame de Stael, "has taken up the inheritance of Paganism every where." She means that ceremonies, images and institutions, in use among the Pagans of Rome, were adopted by Christians of that country, and of that form of religion which originated there. The statues of Jupiter and Apollo had their heads displaced that they might receive those of St. Paul and Peter, and religious orders of the exploded faith were remodeled under the new. One instance of this may be found by comparing the order of the Vestal virgins of ancient Rome, with those of the convents of Christian females.

In Rome the people worshipped the goddess Vesta, or Fire,— originally, perhaps, because that element is so happily diffused through all nature, that it is the active agent which produces almost all the sensible changes in every thing, is one of the essential principles of life, and the indispensable power which ministers in the operation of all arts, and to the enjoyments of all comforts.

The servants of Vesta were young females from noble families; they were neither given nor persuaded to this ministry, but taken. The Pontifex Maximus, the chief priest among the Romans,

when he saw a young girl who pleased him, took her by the hand, and declaring that she was appointed a vestal virgin, devoted her to the education ordained for this order, and her parents acquiesced with readiness, believing that they gave up their child to a holy vocation.

The vestal virgins were few in number, their principal duty was to keep alive the sacred fire, which was kindled from the rays of the sun. The elder educated the younger ones, and they all spent their time in performing ceremonies now forgotten, but to which ignorance and superstition then attached a false importance. So much were the priestesses of Vesta honoured, that when they went abroad the magistrates of Rome gave place to them. But if they dared to break their vows they were buried alive.

The frightful punishment of burying alive has not been confined to the vestals of ancient Rome. Convents are houses of religious retirement, where women, and sometimes men, agree to spend their lives in the service of the Roman Catholic faith.

The nuns, the female inhabitants of convents, often lead useful, benevolent, and happy lives, but they formerly adhered to very severe regulations. The governess, or mistress of a convent, sometimes called the Abbess, and sometimes the Prioress, was made a judge in cases of crimes committed by the nuns; and the laws of these establishments ordered, if a nun eloped from a convent with the connivance of any man she loved, that when she should afterwards be seized, like the faithless vestals of Rome, she should, be buried, warm with life, in a premature grave.

A most affecting representation of such a cruel sacrifice, is found in the second Canto of Sir Walter Scott's Marmion. Constance de Beverly, a nun in the abbey of Fontevraud, was enticed from her convent by Lord Marmion. Some time after this, the wealth of the Lady Clare tempted Marmion to forsake Constance, and to seek Clara for his bride. Clara was engaged to marry young De Wilton, but Marmion contrived to bring some disgrace upon De Wilton, and to engage his master, the king of England, to command that Clara should accept Marmion as her husband. Clara fled from these importunities to the convent of Whitby, and while she was in that asylum, Constance, resolving that none but herself should marry Lord Marmion, conspired with a treacherous monk to poison Clara.

This guilty design was discovered, and its plotters were punished according to the laws of that age. The offence of Con

stance was double, and rendered her liable to the death she afterwards suffered. An "ancient Man," the Abbot of Saint Cuth

bert, the Abbess of Saint Hilda, and the Prioress of Tynemouth, sat in judgment upon these unhappy criminals, in a deep vault far beneath the surface of the earth.

"Before them stood a guilty pair ;
But though an equal fate they share,
Yet one alone deserves our care.
Her sex a page's dress belied;
The cloak and doublet loosely tied,
Obscured her charms but could not hide.
Her cap down o'er her face she drew;
And on her doublet breast

She tried to hide the badge of blue,
Lord Marmion's falcon crest.

But at the Prioress' command,
A monk undid the silken band
That tied her tresses fair,

And raised the bonnet from her head,
And down her slender form they spread
In ringlets rich and rare,
Constance do Beverly they know
Sister professed of Fontevraod,*

Whom the church numbered with the dead

For broken vows and convent fled.

When thus her face was given to view,
(Although so pallid was her hue,
It did a ghastly contrast bear

To those bright ringlets glistering fair,)
Her look composed, and steady eye,
Bespoke a matchless constancy;
And there she stood, so calm and pale
But that her breathing did not fail,
And motion slight of eye and head,
And of her bosom, warranted
That neither life nor pulse she lacks,
You might have thought a form of wax,
Wrought to the very sense was there,
So still she was, so pale, so fair.

Her comrade was a sordid soul

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His body on the floor to dash,

And crouch like hound beneath the lash:
While his mute partner standing near,
Waited her doom without a tear.

Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek
Well might her paleness terror speak!
For there were seen in that dark wall,
Two niches narrow, deep, and tall.
Who enters at such grisly door,
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more.
In each a slender meal was laid
Of roots, of water, and of bread.
By each in Benedictine dress
Two haggard monks stood motionless;
Who, holding high a blazing torch
Showed the grim entrance of the porch.
Reflecting back the smoky beam,
The dark red walls and arches gleam.
Hewn stones and cement were displayed,
And building tools in order laid.

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At length an effort sent apart
The blood that curdled to her heart,
And light came to her eye,

And colour dawned upon her cheek
A hectic and a fluttered streak
Like that left on the Cheviot peak,
By autumn's stormy sky;

And when her silence broke at length,
Still as she spoke she gathered strength,

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