The servant's look-the table that revealed
His letter sent to Constance last, still sealed,
Though speech and hearing left him, told too clear
That he had now to suffer-not to fear.
He felt as if he ne'er should cease to feel
A wretch live-broken on misfortune's wheel: [Heaven. Her death's cause-he might make his peace with Absolved from guilt, but never self-forgiven.
The ocean has its ebbings-so has grief.
'Twas vent to anguish, if 'twas not relief,
To lay his brow even on her death-cold cheek.
Then first he heard her one kind sister speak:
She bade him, in the name of Heaven, forbear
With self-reproach to deepen his despair:
""Twas blame," she said, "I shudder to relate,
But none of yours that caused our darling's fate;
Her mother (must I call her such ?) foresaw,
Should Constance leave the land, she would withdraw
Our house's charm against the world's neglect,
The only gem that drew it some respect.
Hence, when you went, she came and vainly spoke
To change her purpose-grew incensed, and broke
With execrations from her kneeling child.
Start not! your angel from her knee rose mild,
Feared that she should not long the scene outlive,
Yet bade e'en you the unnatural one forgive.
Till then her ailment had been slight, or none;
But fast she drooped, and fatal pains came on:
Foreseeing their event, she dictated
And signed these words for you." The letter said
"Theodric, this is destiny above
Our power to baffle; bear it then, my love!
Rave not to learn the usage I have borne,
For one true sister left me not forlorn;
And though you're absent in another land,
Sent from me by my own well-meant command,
Your soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine
As these clasped hands in blessing you now join:
Shape not imagined horrors in my fate-
Even now my sufferings are not very great;
And when your grief's first transports shall subside,
I call upon your strength of soul and pride
To pay my memory, if 'tis worth the debt,
Love's glorying tribute-not forlorn regret :
I charge my name with power to conjure up
Reflection's balmy, not its bitter cup.
My pard'ning angel, at the gates of Heaven,
Shall look not more regard than you have given
To me; and our life's union has been clad
In smiles of bliss as sweet as life e'er had.
Shall gloom be from such bright remembrance cast?
Shall bitterness outflow from sweetness past?
No! imaged in the sanctuary of your breast,
There let me smile, amidst high thoughts at rest;
And let contentment on your spirit shine,
As if its peace were still a part of mine:
For if you war not proudly with your pain,
For you I shall have worse than lived in vain.
But I conjure your manliness to bear
My loss with noble spirit-not despair:
I ask you by your love to promise this,
And kiss these words where I have left a kiss,-
The latest from my living lips for yours."—
Words that will solace him while life endures : For though his spirit from affliction's surge Could ne'er to life, as life had been, emerge, Yet still that mind whose harmony elate Rang sweetness, ev'n beneath the crush of fate,
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 wớ,
As if her spirit watched him still below.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that flill'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,
Eut 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 yon 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 fall'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,
In 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! 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.
The 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 sad 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.
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