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.

TO THE RAINBOW.

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!

N

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.

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!-the brave Roland!-
False tidings reached the Rhenish strand
That he had fall'n in fight:

And thy faithful bosom swooned with pain,
O loveliest maiden of Allemayne!

In

For the loss of thine own true knight.

yon

But why so rash has she ta'en the veil,
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! wo! 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.

T'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 Boun 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. Whatever 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 beau tiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands.

It was dear still midst us WOES:

Ive he inver to wreathe he height ang ar

And to think the test amn er prayer,
When the Halleiniah use.

There's yet one window of that pile,

Which he built above the Nun's green Isle ;
Thence sad and oft looked he

(When the shant 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 be a lovely maid