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And brought a little page who poured

It out, and knelt and smiled:
The stunned knight saw himself restored

To childhood in his child;
And stooped and caught him to his breast,

Laughed loud and wept anon,
And with a shower of kisses pressed

The darling little one. “ And where went Jane?"_" To a nunnery, Sir

Look not again so pale-
Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her.”—

“ And has she ta’en the veil ?"
" Sit down, Sir," said the priest, “ I bar

Rash words.”—They sat all three, And the boy played with the knight's broad star,

As he kept him on his knee. “ Think ere you ask her dwelling-place,"

The abbot further said; 66 Time draws a veil o’er beauty's face

More deep than cloister's shade. Grief may

have made her what you can Scarce love perhaps for life.” “ Hush, abbot," cried the Ritter Bann,

“ Or tell me where's my wife.” The priest undid two doors that hid

The inn's adjacent room,
And there a lovely woman stood,

Tears bathed her beauty's bloom.
One moment may with bliss repay

Unnumbered hours of pain ; Such was the throb and mutual sob

Of the Knight embracing Jane.


Well may sleep present us fictions,

Since our waking moments teem With such fanciful convictions

As make life itself a dream.Half our daylight faith's a sable;

Sleep disports with shadows too,
Seeming in their turn as stable

As the world we wake to view.
Ne’er by day did Reason's mint
Give my thoughts a clearer print
Of assured reality,
Than was left by Phantasy
Stamped and coloured on my sprite
In a dream of yesternight.
In a bark, methought, lone steering,

Į was cast on Ocean's strise ;
This, 'twas whispered in my hearing,

Meant the sea of life.
Sad regrets from past existence

Came, like gales of chilling breath; Shadowed in the forward distance

Lay the land of death. Now seeming more, now less remote, On that dim-seen shore, methought, I beheld two hands a space Slow unshroud a spectre's face; And my flesh's hair upstood, 'Twas mine own similitude. But my soul revived at seeing

Ocean, like an emerald spark, Kindle, while an air-dropt being

Smiling steered my bark.

Heaven-like-yet he looked as human

As supernal beauty can,
More compassionate than woman,

Lordly more than man.
And as some sweet clarion's breath
Stirs the soldier's scorn of death-
So his accents bade me brook
The spectre's eyes of icy look,
Till it shut them-turned its head,
Like a beaten foe, and fled.

Types not this,” I said, “ fair spirit!

That my death-hour is not come?
Say, what days shall I inherit ?-

Tell my soul their sum.”
No," he said, " yon phantom's aspect,

Trust me, would appal thee worse, Held in clearly measured prospect :

Ask not for a curse ! Make not, for I overhear Thine unspoken thoughts as clear As thy mortal ear could catch The close brought tickings of a watch. Make not the untold request That's now revolving in thy breast.

« 'Tis to live again, remeasuring Youth's


like a scene rehearsed, In thy second lifetime treasuring

Knowledge from the first. Hast thou felt, poor

self-deceiver !
Life's career so void of pain,
As to wish its fitful fever

New begun again?
Could experience, ten times thine,
Pain from Being disentwine-

Threads by Fate together spun?
Could thy flight heaven's lightning shun?
No, nor could thy foresight's glance
'Scape the myriad shafts of chance.
« Would'st thou bear again Love's trouble-

Friendship's death-dissevered ties;
Toil to grasp or miss the bubble

Of ambition's prize?
Say thy life's new-guided action

Flowed from Virtue's fairest springs-
Still would Envy and Detraction

Double not their stings?
Worth itself is but a charter
To be mankind's distinguished martyr."
-I caught the moral, and cried, “ Hail,
Spirit ! let us onward sail
Envying, fearing, hating none,
Guardian Spirit, steer me on!”


Star of the morn and eve,

Reullura shone like thee,
And well for her might Aodh grieve,

The dark-attired Culdee.f
Peace to their shades! the


Culdees Were Albyn's earliests priests of God, * Reullura, in Gaelic, signifies " beautiful star."

+ The Culdees were the primitive clergy of Scotland, and apparently her only clergy from the sixth to the eleventh century. They were of Irish origin, and their inonastery on the island of lona or Ikolmill, was the seminary of Christianity in North Britain. Presbyterian writers have wished to prove them to have been a sort of Presbyters, strangers to the Rɔan Church and Episcopacy. It seems to be established that they were not eneniies to Episcopacy :—but that they were not slavishly subjected to Rome, like the clergy of later periods, appears by their re sisting the Papal ordinances respecting the celibacy of religious men, on which account they were ultimately displaced by the Scottish sovereigns to make way for more Popish cadons.

Ere yet an island of her seas.

By foot of Saxon monk was trode, Long ere her churchmen by bigotry Were barred from holy wedlock’s tie. 'Twas then that Aodh, "famed afar,

In Iona preachel the word with power, And Reullura, beauty's star,

Was the partner of his bower. But, Aodb, the roof lies low,

And the thistle-down waves bleaching, And the bat flits to and fro

Where the Gael once heard thy preaching ; And fall’n in is each columned isle

Where the chiefs and the people knelt. 'Twas near that temple's goodly pile

That honoured of men they dwelt. For Aodh was wise in the sacred law, And bright Reullura's eyes oft saw

The veil of fate uplifted. Alas, with what visions of awe

Her soul in that hour was giftedWhen pale in the temple and faint,

With Aodh she stood alone By the statue of an aged saint !

Fair sculptured was the stone,
It bore a crucifix;

Fame said it once had graced
A Christian temple, which the Picts

In the Briton's land laid waste:
The Pictish men, by St. Columb taught,
Had bither the holy relic brought.
Reullura eyed the statue's face,

And cried, “ It is, he shall come, “ Even he in this very place,

To avenge my martyrdom.

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