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'Till Edwin came, the pride of swains, A soul that knew no art;

And from whose eyes serenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught,
Was quickly too reveal'd;
For neither bosom lodged a wish
Which virtue keeps conceal'd.

What happy hours of heart-felt bliss
Did love on both bestow!
But bliss too mighty long to last,
Where fortune proves a foe.

His sister, who, like Envy form'd,
Like her in mischief joy'd,

To work them harm with wicked skill
Each darker art employ'd.

The father, too, a sordid man,
Who love nor pity knew,
Was all unfeeling as the rock
From whence his riches grew.

Long had he seen their mutual flame,
And seen it long unmoved;
Then with a father's frown at last
He sternly disapproved.

In Edwin's gentle heart a war
Of diff'ring passions strove;
His heart, which durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.

Denied her sight, he oft behind

The spreading hawthorn crept
To snatch a glance, to mark the
Where Emma walk'd and

Oft too in Stanemore's wi
Beneath the moonlig

In sighs to pour hi

The midnigh

His che

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DEATH AND INTERMENT OF THE EMPRESS ANNE.

MRS. ALICIA MOORE.-This extract is taken from the delightful "Historical Picture of the Middle Ages," by Mrs. A. Moore, a lady whom the editor is proud to number amongst his personal friends, and whose deep learning and insight into history, is only equalled by the delicate and refined eloquence of her style.

THOUGH Anne had been the mother of ten children, she was yet comparatively young and extremely beautiful, when that awful summons, which awaits on all, was delivered to her; and there is in the memorial left by her confessor of her last moments, something exceedingly noble and affecting in her expressions on receiving the confirmation, that she must endeavour to efface from her mind the remembrance of the riches, and glory, and happiness which environed her in this world, to pass into the solitude and nothingness of the grave. She had been some time ill, without however any apprehension of danger, till within a few days of her dissolution, and the mandate to return to the dust from whence she came must have rendered it more appalling. In the language of the period she asked, "what she must now do to inherit Heaven?" The reply of her spiritual director was also characteristic; there was no mention of Christ; she was to resign herself to her doom; forgive her enemies, and leave money to the clergy through the medium of church and convent. She replied immediately: "I bow to the decree of God; and I as freely forgive those who may have injured me as I hope to be pardoned by my Heavenly Judge." Her will was unmade, and to the settlement of her earthly accounts she now directed all the powers of her unimpaired mind. Her first command was to be buried at Basle, where her youngest child, Prince Karl, a boy of seven years of age, had been interred five years previously. She did not, however, assign this as the motive of her wish, but -"Because my dear lord, the emperor, hath done much disservice to the bishop aforetime, it is my desire there to be laid." And the bequest of a sum of money to augment the episcopal revenue, sufficiently large to found two prebends, evinced her sincere wish to make atonement to the see for the wrongs inflicted by Rudolph both on the bishop and diocese. Anne left many charitable donations to various religious institutions, with valuable remembrances to her attendants; and having thus, to the best of her knowledge and ability, worthily finished her earthly task, she calmly resigned herself into the hands of her Maker on the eve of St. Matthew, 1331.

The emperor, who was ever greatly attached to this amiable woman, notwithstanding some infidelities which had a little

DEATH AND INTERMENT OF THE EMPRESS ANNE.

95

clouded her brilliant destiny, (for jealousy is the single fault of which Anne was ever accused,) prepared to fulfil her last injunctions with the pomp and circumstance which he deemed befitting his love and her rank. The body, after being slightly embalmed with aromatic drugs, and the face, hands, and feet rubbed with some peculiarly precious ointment, was splendidly attired, and then enclosed in a strong coffin, or rather coffer, made of boxwood lined with velvet, skilfully sculptured with representations drawn from sacred history; stone, at that early epoch, not being so usual on the Continent as wood. The great distance, also, from Vienna to Basle, when roads were hardly practicable for heavy carriages, might have led to the use of this more frail material. When these preliminary preparations were completed, the coffer was fastened by three padlocks, and reposed in a state apartment hung with black, till early in March, when, the heart of winter being over, it was placed in a sort of triumphal chariot, covered with escutcheons, crowns, banners, and heraldic devices. Four monks, two bare-footed, and two Dominican brethren, bearing torches, walked on each side, escorted by forty cavaliers. Three rudely-constructed, but magnificent carriages, followed, containing the ladies of the empress's suite; and a strong detachment of four hundred chosen soldiers, armed at all points, led and closed this melancholy procession from Vienna into Switzerland.

The emperor, at the period of Anne's demise, was contending with the bishop and citizens of Basle, on the pretence of demanding reparation for an alleged wrong, but in reality for the establishment of some of those onerous claims which subsequently, under his descendants, kindled so many bloody wars in his native land; but the empress's dying entreaties for peace, her generous bequests, and an autograph letter from the emperor himself, promising to repay in the amplest manner every expense attendant on her interment, having, at least temporarily, Îulled the tempest on each side, the bishop determined to second the emperor's request that it should be marked by extraordinary splendour. He had, in fact, once been confessor to the emperor, and the recollection of the empress's many virtues, as well as her donation to the church, rendered him personally disposed to honour her remains. All the clergy of his diocese received invitations to be present at the august solemnity; and on Thursday, the 19th of March, 1332, he issued from the gates of the episcopal palace at the head of twelve hundred ecclesiastics, (of whom six were abbots,) priests, conventual and secular, each bearing a lighted waxen torch, to meet the funeral cavalcade at some distance from the city gates. The imperial corpse was received at the door of the cathedral, with all the state and ceremony peculiar to papal pomp, by three other bishops, awaiting its arrival

with a minor host of dignitaries, and from thence (amid the chanting of litanies and the chiming of bells) conveyed into the choir, where the coffin was opened, and the deceased empress was placed upon a magnificent throne, which had been erected on a raised platform, surmounted by a dais or canopy of crimson velvet, fringed with gold. Her ladies, and the distinguished personages who took a prominent part in the procession, dressed in deep mourning, ranged themselves on either side, whilst the four bishops performed a solem mass before the awe-stricken multitude, assembled in thousands to witness so strange and appalling a sight. Sumptuous robes of rich silk and velvet enveloped the inanimate form of departed majesty. A veil of white silk floated from her head, and a small but elegant crown of silver-gilt rested on her forehead. A collar of gold curiously wrought, containing a rich sapphire and other precious stones, was round her neck; and on the pale fingers of her lifeless hands, crossed over her bosom, glittered many costly gems. When the solemn service for the dead was finished, the body was again recommitted to the coffin, and entombed, amid the weeping of her attendants, in the choir, close to that of the young prince Charles.

THE WILD WEST WIND.

SHELLEY.

I.

O, WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O, thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wint'ry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet birds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours, plain and hill.
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, O, hear!

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