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That mind in whose regard all things were placed
In views that softened them, or lights that graced, -
That soul's example could not but dispense
A portion of its own blessed influence;
Invoking him to peace, and that self-sway
Which fortune cannot give, nor take away :
And though he mourned her long, 'twas with such wo,
As if her spirit watched him still below.


TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky

When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud philosophy

To teach me what thou art-
Still seem as to my

childhood's sight,
A midway station given
For happy spirits to alight

Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Can all that optic teach, unfold

Thy form to please me so,
* As when I dreamt of gems and gold

Hid in thy radiant bow?
When Science from Creation's face

Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!


And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,

But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams

Was woven in the sky.
When o’er the green undeluged earth

Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth

To watch thy sacred sign.
And when its yellow lustre smiled

O’er mountains yet untrod,
Each mother held aloft her child

To bless the bow of God.

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,

The first made anthem rang
On earth delivered from the deep,

And the first poet sang.
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye

Unraptured greet thy beam:
Theme of primeval prophecy,

Be still the poet's theme!
The earth to thee her incense yields,

The lark thy welcome sings,
When glittering in the freshened fields

The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle cast

O’er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirrored in the ocean vast,

A thousand fathoms down! As fresh in yoń horizon dark,

As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark,

First sported in thy beam.

For, faithful to its sacred page,

Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age

That first spoke peace to man.



The brave Roland !- the brave Roland !
False tidings reached the Rhenish strand

That he had sall’n in fight :
And thy faithful bosom swooned with pain,
O loveliest maiden of Allemayne !

For the loss of thine own true knight.
But why so rash has she ta’en the veil,

yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale?

For her vow had scarce been sworn,
And the fatal mantle o'er her flung,
When the Drachenfells to a trumpet rung,

'Twas her own dear warrior's horn!
Wo! wu! each heart shall bleed-shall break!
She would have hung upon his neck,

Had he come but yester-even ;
And he had clasped those peerless charms
That shall never, never fill his arms,

Or meet him but in heaven.

I'he tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine, is shown as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired, on having heard an unfounded account of his death. Whitever may be thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be recollected with pleasure by every one who has ever visited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfells, the Rolandseck, and the b). tiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands.

Yet Roland the brave-Roland the true
He could not bid that spot adieu ;

It was dear still ’midst his woes;
For he loved to breathe the neighb’ring air,
And to think she blest him in her prayer,

When the Halleluiah rose.

Isle ;

There's yet one window of that pile,
Which he built above the Nun's green

Thence sad and oft looked he
(When the chant and organ sounded slow)
On the mansion of his love below,

For herself he might not see.
She died !-He sought the battle-plain ;
Her image filled his dying brain,

When he fell, and wished to fall;
And her name was in his latest sigh,
When Roland, the flower of chivalry,

Expired at Roncevail.



Light rued false Ferdinand, to leave a lovely maid

forlorn, Who broke her heart and died to hide her blushing

cheek from scorn. One night he dreamt he wooed her in their wonted

bower of love, Where the flowers sprang thick around them, and the

birds sang sweet above.

But the scene was swiftly changed into a church-yard's

dismal view, And her lips grew black beneath his kiss, from love's

delicious hue. What more he dreamt, he told to none; but shuddering.

pale, and dumb, Looked out upon the waves, like one that knew his hour

was coine.

'Twas now the dead watch of the night,—the helm was

lashed a-lee, And the ship rode where Mount Ætna lights the deep

Levantine sea; When beneath its glare a boat came, rowed by a woman

in her shroud, Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood up

and spoke aloud: “Come, Traitor, down, for whom my ghost still wanders

unforgiven! Come down, false Ferdinand, for whom I broke my

peace with heaven !”?_ It was vain to hold the victim, for he plunged to mee

her call, Like the bird that shrieks and flutters in the gazing

serpent's thrall. You may guess the boldest mariner shrunk daunted

from the sight, For the spectre and her winding-sheet shone blue with

hideous light; Like a.fiery wheel the boat spun with the waving of her

band, And round they went, and down they went, as the cock

crew from the land.

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