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He turns and aims; Then checks himself, unwilling to disturb The sleeping echoes.—Once again he earths ; Slipping away to house with them beneath, His old companions in that hiding-place, The bat, the toad, the blind-worm, and the newt; And hark, a footstep, firm and confident, As of a man in haste. Nearer it draws; And now is at the entrance of the den. Ha ! 'tis a comrade, sent to gather in The band for some great enterprise.

Who wants A sequel, may read on. The unvarnished tale, That follows, will supply the place of one. 'Twas told me by the Count St. Angelo, When in a blustering night he sheltered me In that brave castle of his ancestors O’er GARIGLIANO, and is such indeed As every day brings with it—in a land Where laws are trampled on and lawless men Walk in the sun; but it should not be lost, For it may serve to bind us to our Country.


Three days they lay in ambush at my gate,
Then sprung and led me captive. Many a wild
We traversed; but RUSCONI, 'twas no less,
Marched by my side, and, when I thirsted, climbed
The cliffs for water ; though, whene'er he spoke,
'Twas briefly, sullenly; and on he led
Distinguished only by an amulet,
That in a golden chain hung from his neck,
A crystal of rare virtue. Night fell fast,
When on a heath, black and immeasurable,
He turned and bade them halt. 'Twas where the earth
Heaves o'er the dead—where erst some ALARIC
Fought his last fight, and every warrior threw
A stone to tell for ages where he lay.

Then all advanced, and, ranging in a square,
Stretched forth their arms as on the holy cross,
From each to each their sable cloaks extending,
That, like the solemn hangings of a tent,

Covered us round; and in the midst I stood,
Weary and faint, and face to face with one,
Whose voice, whose look dispenses life and death,
Whose heart knows no relentings. Instantly
A light was kindled and the Bandit spoke.
• I know thee. Thou hast sought us, for the sport
Slipping thy blood-hounds with a hunter's cry;
And thou hast found at last. Were I as thou,
I in thy grasp as thou art now in ours,
Soon should I make a midnight-spectacle,
Soon, limb by limb, be mangled on a wheel,
Then gibbetted to blacken for the vultures.
But I would teach thee better-
Write as I dictate. If thy ransom comes,
Thou liv'st. If not-but answer not, I pray,
Lest thou provoke me.


strike thee dead; And know, young man,

it is an easier thing To do it than to


it. Write, and thus.'I wrote. « 'Tis well,' he cried. "A peasant-boy, Trusty and swift of foot, shall bear it hence. Meanwhile lie down and rest. This cloak of mine Will serve thee; it has weathered many a storm.'

The watch was set; and twice it had been changed, When morning broke, and a wild bird, a hawk,

how to spare.


Flew in a circle, screaming. I looked up,
And all were gone, save him who now kept guard
And on his arms lay musing. Young he seemed,
And sad, as though he could indulge at will
Some secret grief. • Thou shrinkest back,' he said,
• Well may’st thou, lying, as thou dost, so near
A Ruffian-one for ever linked and bound
To guilt and infamy. There was a time
When he had not perhaps been deemed unworthy,
When he had watched yon planet to its setting,
And dwelt with pleasure on the meanest thing
Nature gives birth to. Now, alas, 'tis past.

Wouldst thou know more? My story is an old one.
I loved, was scorned; I trusted, was betrayed;
And in my anguish, my necessity,
Met with the fiend, the tempter-in RUSCONI.
Why thus ?” he cried. 6. Thou wouldst be free and

dar'st not. Come and assert thy birth-right while thou canst. A robber's cave is better than a dungeon ; And death itself, what is it at the worst, What, but a harlequin's leap?” Him I had known, Had served with, suffered with; and on the walls Of CAPUA, while the moon went down, I swore Allegiance on his dagger.

-Dost thou ask


How I have kept my oath ?—Thou shalt be told,
Cost what it may. But grant me, I implore,
Grant me a passport to some distant land,
That I may never, never more be named.
Thou wilt, I know thou wilt.

Two months ago,
When on a vineyard-hill we lay concealed
And scattered up and down as we were wont,
I heard a damsel singing to herself,
And soon espied her, coming all alone,
In her first beauty. Up a path she came,
Leafy and intricate, singing her song,
A song of love, by snatches ; breaking off
If but a flower, an insect in the sun
Pleased for an instant; then as carelessly
The strain resuming, and, where'er she stopt,
Rising on tiptoe underneath the boughs
To pluck a grape


very wantonness. Her look, her mien and maiden-ornaments Shewed gentle birth ; and, step by step, she came, Nearer and nearer, to the dreadful snare. None else were by; and, as I gazed unseen, Her youth, her innocence and gaiety Went to my heart I and, starting up, I breathed,

Fly—for your life !” Alas, she shrieked, she fell;

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