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He thought of the hunter's haughty life,
And knew there must yet be noble strife;
But, oh when he thought of that orphan maid,
His high heart melted-he wept and pray'd!
For he saw her not as she moved e'en then,
A wakener of heroes in every glen,

With a glance inspired which no grief could tame,
Bearing on Hope like a torch's flame,

While the strengthening voice of mighty wrongs
Gave echoes back to her thrilling songs;
But his dreams were fill'd by a haunting tone,
Sad as a sleeping infant's moan;

And his soul was pierced by a mournful eye,
Which look'd on it-oh! how beseechingly!
And there floated past him a fragile form,
With a willowy droop, as beneath the storm;
Till wakening in anguish, his faint heart strove
In vain with its burden of helpless love!
-Thus woke the dreamer one weary night-

There flash'd through his dungeon a swift strong light;
He sprang up-he climb'd to the grating-bars,
-It was not the rising of moon or stars,
But a signal flame from a peak of snow,
Rock'd through the dark skies, to and fro !
There shot forth another-another still-
A hundred answers of hill to hill!
Tossing like pines in the tempest's way,
Joyously, wildly, the bright spires play,
And each is hail'd with a pealing shout,
For the high Alps waving their banners out!
Erni, young Erni! the land hath risen!
--Alas! to be lone in thy narrow prison!

Those free streamers glancing, and thou not there!
-Is the moment of rapture, or fierce despair?
-Hark! there's a tumult that shakes his cell,

At the gates of the mountain citadel!

Hark! a clear voice through the rude sounds ringing!
-Doth he know the strain, and the wild, sweet singing?

"There may not long be fetters,

Where the cloud is earth's array,

And the bright floods leap from cave and steep,
Like a hunter on the prey!

"There may not long be fetters,

Where the white Alps have their towers;
Unto eagle-homes, if the arrow comes,

The chain is not for ours!"

It is she! She is come like a day-spring beam,
She that so mournfully shadow'd his dream!
With her shining eyes and her buoyant form,
She is come! her tears on his cheek are warm;
And O! the thrill in that weeping voice!
"My brother, my brother! come forth, rejoice!"

-Poet! the land of thy love is free,
-Sister! thy brother is won by thee!

APPARITIONS.

"Ir is, I think," says Sir Walter Scott, in his Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft," "conclusive, that mankind, from a very early period, have their minds prepared for

supernatural occurrences by the consciousness of the existence of a spiritual world, inferring in the general proposition the undeniable truth, that each man, from the mo

The turf, o'er their dead mother laid,
Had been their altar when they pray'd;
There, more in tenderness than woe,
The stars had seen their young tears flow;
The clouds, in spirit-like descent,

Their deep thoughts by one touch had blent,
And the wild storms link'd them to each other-
How dear can peril make a brother!

Now is their hearth a forsaken spot,

The vine waves unpruned o'er their mountain-cot;
Away, in that holy affection's might,

The maiden is gone, like a breeze of the night ;-
She is gone forth alone, but her lighted face,
Filling with soul every secret place,

Hath a dower from heaven, and a gift of sway,
To arouse brave hearts in its hidden way,
Like the sudden flinging forth on high,
Of a banner that startleth silently!

She hath wander'd through many a hamlet-vale,
Telling its children her brother's tale;
And the strains, by his spirit pour'd away,
Freely as fountains might shower their spray,
From her fervent lip a new life have caught,
And a power to kindle yet bolder thought;
While sometimes a melody, all her own,
Like a gush of tears in its plaintive tone,
May be heard 'midst the lonely rocks to flow,
Clear through the water-chimes-clear, yet low.

"Thou'rt not where wild flowers wave
O'er crag and sparry cave;

Thou'rt not where pines are sounding,

Or joyous torrents bounding-

Alus, my brother!

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He thought of the hunter's haughty life,
And knew there must yet be noble strife;
But, oh when he thought of that orphan maid,
His high heart melted-he wept and pray'd!
For he saw her not as she moved e'en then,
A wakener of heroes in every glen,

With a glance inspired which no grief could tame,
Bearing on Hope like a torch's flame,

While the strengthening voice of mighty wrongs
Gave echoes back to her thrilling songs;
But his dreams were fill'd by a haunting tone,
Sad as a sleeping infant's moan;

And his soul was pierced by a mournful eye,
Which look'd on it-oh! how beseechingly!
And there floated past him a fragile form,
With a willowy droop, as beneath the storm;
Till wakening in anguish, his faint heart strove
In vain with its burden of helpless love!
-Thus woke the dreamer one weary night-

There flash'd through his dungeon a swift strong light;
He sprang up-he climb'd to the grating-bars,
-It was not the rising of moon or stars,
But a signal flame from a peak of snow,
Rock'd through the dark skies, to and fro !
There shot forth another-another still-
A hundred answers of hill to hill!
Tossing like pines in the tempest's way,
Joyously, wildly, the bright spires play,
And each is hail'd with a pealing shout,
For the high Alps waving their banners out!
Erni, young Erni! the land hath risen!
-Alas! to be lone in thy narrow prison!

Those free streamers glancing, and thou not there!
-Is the moment of rapture, or fierce despair?
-Hark! there's a tumult that shakes his cell,

At the gates of the mountain citadel!

Hark! a clear voice through the rude sounds ringing!
-Doth he know the strain, and the wild, sweet singing?

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narch to the beggar, who has once acted his part on the stage, continues to exist, and may again, even in a disembodied state, if such is the pleasure of Heaven, for aught that we know to the contrary, be permitted or ordained to mingle amongst those who yet remain in the body. The abstract possibility of apparitions must be admitted by every one who believes in a Deity, and his superintending omnipotence. But imagination is apt to intrude its explanations and inferences founded on inadequate evidence. Sometimes our violent and inordinate passions, originating in sorrow for our friends, remorse for our crimes, our eagerness of patriotism, or our deep sense of devotion-these or other violent excitements of a moral character, in the visions of night, or the rapt ecstacy of the day, persuade us that we witness, with our eyes and ears, an actual instance of that supernatural communication, the possibility of which cannot be denied. At other times, the corporeal organs impose upon the mind, while the eye, and the ear, diseased, deranged, or misled, convey false impressions to the patient. Very often both the mental delusion and the physical deception exist at the same time; and men's belief of the phenomena presented to them, however erroneously, by the senses, is the firmer and more readily granted, that the physical impression corresponded with the mental excitement."

The following strange story of a fatal delusion illustrates one of the cases shown to be favorable to superstition:

"Of the friend," says Sir Walter, "by whom the facts were attested, I can only say, that if I found myself at liberty to name him, the rank which he holds in his profession, as well as his attainments in science and philosophy, form an undisputed claim to the most implicit credit. It was the fortune of this gentleman to be called in to attend the illness of a person now long deceased, who in his life-time stood, as I am inform

ed, high in a particular department of the law, which often placed the property of others at his discretion and control, and whose conduct, therefore, being open to public observation, he had for many years borne the character of a man of unusual steadiness, good sense, and integrity. He was, at the time of my friend's visits, confined principally to his sick room, sometimes to bed, yet occasionally attending to business, and exerting his mind, apparently with all its usual strength and energy, to the conduct of important affairs entrusted to him; nor did there, to a superficial observer, appear anything in his conduct, while so engaged, that could argue vacillation of intellect, or depression of mind. His outward symptoms of malady argued no acute or alarming disease. But slowness of pulse, absence of appetite, difficulty of digestion, and constant depression of spirits, seemed to draw their origin from some hidden cause, which the patient was determined to conceal. The deep gloom of the unfortunate gentleman - the embarrassment, which he could not conceal from his friendly physician - the briefness and obvious constraint with which he answered the interrogations of his medical adviser, induced my friend to take other methods for prosecuting his inquiries. He applied to the sufferer's family, to learn, if possible, the source of that secret grief which was gnawing the heart and sucking the life-blood of his unfortunate patient. The persons applied to, after conversing together previously, denied all knowledge of any cause for the burden which obviously affected their relative. So far as they knew-and they thought they could hardly be deceived-his worldly affairs were prosperous; no family loss had occurred which could be followed with such persevering distress; no entanglements of affection could be supposed to apply to his age, and no sensation of severe remorse could be consistent with his charac

ter. The medical gentleman had finally recourse to serious argument with the invalid himself, and urged to him the folly of devoting himself to a lingering and melancholy death, rather than tell the subject of affliction which was thus wasting him. He specially pressed upon him the injury which he was doing to his own character, by suffering it to be inferred that the secret cause of his dejection and its consequences, was something too scandalous or flagitious to be made known, bequeathing in this manner to his family a suspected and dishonored name, and leaving a memory with which might be associated the idea of guilt, which the criminal had died without confessing. The patient, more moved by this species of appeal than by any which had yet been urged, expressed his desire to speak out frankly to Dr.

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one else was removed, and the door of the sick-room made secure, when he began his confession in the following manner :-'You cannot, my dear friend, be more conscious than I, that I am in the course of dying under the oppression of the fatal disease which consumes my vital powers; but neither can you understand the nature of my complaint, and manner in which it acts upon me, nor, if you did, I fear, could your zeal and skill avail to rid me of it.' It is possible,' said the physician, that my skill may not equal my wish of serving you; yet medical science has many resources, of which those unacquainted with its powers never can form an estimate. But until you plainly tell me your symptoms of complaint, it is impossible for either of us to say what may or may not be in my power, or within that of medicine.' 'I may answer you,' replied the patient, that my case is not a singular one, since we read of it in the famous novel of Le Sage. You remember, doubtless, the disease of which the Duke d'Olivarez is there stated to have died?' 'Of the idea,' answered the medical

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gentleman, that he was haunted by an apparition, to the actual existence of which he gave no credit, but died, nevertheless, because he was overcome and heart-broken by its imaginary presence.' I, my dearest doctor,' said the sick man, am in that very case; and so painful and abhorrent is the presence of the persecuting vision, that my reason is totally inadequate to combat the effects of my morbid imagination, and I am sensible I am dying, a wasted victim to an imaginary disease.' The medical gentleman listened with anxiety to his patient's statement, and for the sent judiciously avoiding any contradiction of the sick man's preconceived fancy, contented himself with more minute inquiry into the nature of the apparition with which he conceived himself haunted, and into the history of the mode by which so singular a disease had made itself master of his imagination, secured, as it seemed, by strong powers of the understanding, against an attack so irregular. The sick person replied by stating that its advances were gradual, and at first not of a terrible or even disagreeable character. To illustrate this, he gave the following account of the progress of his disease. 'My visions,' he said, 'commenced two or three years since, when I found myself from time to time embarrassed by the presence of a large cat, which came and disappeared I could not exactly tell how, till the truth was finally forced upon me, and I was compelled to regard it as no domestic household cat, but as a bubble of the elements, which had no existence, save in my deranged visual organs, or depraved imagination. Still I had not that positive objection to the animal entertained by a late gallant Highland chieftain, who has been seen to change to all the colors of his own plaid, if a cat by accident happened to be in the room with him, even though he did not see it. On the contrary, I am rather a friend to cats, and en

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