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Of those beloved fields she oft

Had heard her Father tell
In phrase that now with echoes soft

Haunted her lonely cell ;
She saw the hereditary bowers,

She heard the ancestral stream;
The Kremlin and its haughty towers

Forgotten like a dream!

PART IV.

The ever-changing Moon had traced

Twelve times her monthly round, When through the unfrequented Waste

Was heard a startling sound ;
A shout thrice sent from one who chased

At speed a wounded deer,
Bounding through branches interlaced,

And where the wood was clear.

The fainting creature took the marsh,

And toward the Island fled,
While plovers screamed with tumult harsh

Above his antlered head;
This Ina saw; and, pale with fear,

Shrunk to her citadel;
The desperate deer rushed on, and near

The tangled covert fell.
Across the marsh, the game in view,

The Hunter followed fast,
Nor pansed, till o'er the stag he blew

A death-proclaiming blast ;

Then, resting on her upright mind,

Came forth the Maid-" In me Behold," she said, “a stricken Hind

Pursued by destiny !

“From your deportment, Sir! I deem
That
you

have worn a sword, And will not hold in light esteem

A suffering woman's word ;
There is my covert, there perchance

I might have lain concealed,
My fortunes hid, my countenance

Not even to you revealed. “ Tears might be shed, and I might pray,

Crouching and terrified,
That what has been unveiled to-day,

You would in mystery hide ;
But I will not defile with dust

The knee that bends to adore
The God in heaven ;-attend, be just;

This ask and no more!
“I speak not of the winter's cold,

For summer's heat exchanged, While I have lodged in this rough hold,

From social life estranged; Nor yet of trouble and alarms;

High Heaven is my defence; And every season has soft arms

For injured Innocence.

“From Moscow to the Wilderness

It was my choice to come, Lest virtue should be harborless,

And honor want a home;

And happy were I, if the Czar

Retain his lawless will,
To end life here like this poor deer,

Or a lamb on a green hill." Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried,

“ From Gallic parents sprung, Whose vanishing was rumored wide,

Sad theme for every tongue;
Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest?

You, Lady, forced to wear
These rude habiliments, and rest

Your head in this dark lair !"
But wonder, pity, soon were quelled ;

And in her face and mien
The soul's pure brightness he beheld

Without a veil between :
He loved, he hoped-a holy flame

Kindled ’mid rapturous tears ;
The passion of a moment came

As on the wings of years. “Such bounty is no gift of chance,"

Exclaimed he; “ righteous Heaven,
Preparing your deliverance,

To me the charge hath given.
The Czar full oft in words and deeds

Is stormy and self-willed ;
But, when the Lady Catherine pleads,

His violence is stilled.

“ Leave open to my wish the course,

And I to her will go ; From that humane and heavenly source,

Good, only good, can flow.”

Faint sanction given, the Cavalier

Was eager to depart,
Though question followed question, dear

To the Maiden's filial heart.

Light was his step,-his hopes, more light,

Kept pace with his desires :
And the fifth morning gave him sight

Of Moscow's glittering spires.
He sued :-heart-smitten by the wrong,

To the lorn Fugitive
The Emperor sent a pledge as strong

As sovereign power could give.
O more than mighty change! If e'er

Amazement rose to pain,
And joy's excess produced a fear

Of something void and vain ; 'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned

So long the lost as dead, Beheld their only Child returned,

The household floor to tread.

Soon gratitude gave way to love

Within the Maiden's breast
Delivered and Deliverer move

In bridal garments drest;
Meek Catherine had her own reward ;

The Czar bestowed a dower;
And universal Moscow shared

The triumph of that hour.
Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast

Was held with costly state;
And there, 'mid many a noble guest,

The Foster-parents sate;

Encouraged by the imperial eye,

They shrank not into shade;
Great was their bliss, the honor high

To them and nature paid !

SONNET.

FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO,

YES! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,

And I be undeluded, unbetrayed ;
For if of our affections none find grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
The world which we inhabit ? Better plea
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,
Who such divinity to thee imparts
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
His hope is treacherous only whose love dies
With beauty, which is varying every hour;
But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,
That breathes on earth the air of paradise.

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GLAD sight wherever new with old

Is joined through some dear homebörn tie;
The life of all that we behold
Depends upon that mystery.
Vain is the glory of the sky,
The beauty vain of field and grove
Unless, while with admiring eye
We gaze, we also learn to love.

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