'Neath the dun cloud of misery! The trump

Sounds, and the shrill-mouth'd fife and battle-clang Startle the welkin; Ferdinand must away

To far-off climes; his country is in arms

And can a soldier pause? With down-cast brow He sought his Dryad, in her fond ear pour'd The summons of his harsh necessity,

Then hurried with a bleeding heart away.

And he is gone-and she is left alone To silence and to solitude. He roved To other climes, and mid the clang of arms And noisy shouts of shrill-tongued victory, Gain'd wounds and reputation. On he rush'd Where'er the fight was thickest: terrible He shone in the bright splendor of his arms; And they who saw him wield the sword of fate, His proud soul flashing through the blood-red eye, Had little reck'd that room was left for love And softer feeling, in a heart where Death Held his grim sovereignty. The war was long; And the shrill fife and hoarse-lung'd clarion, The rolling drum, the music of the trump, The wild night-bugle, and the stern array

Of battle, lash'd his soul into a sea

Of storms and tempests, whence the sun of love
Shone faint and distant, shorn of half its beams.

Ellen, meantime, in music and in thought
Wiled the sad hours away. And when the night
Of stormy winter, canopied in mist,

Swept drearily o'er the scene: when mountain floods,
Like youth released from school-tide servitude,
Ran wildly shouting down the glen, rejoicing

In their brief turbulent holiday; she would sketch
With wizard touch the face she loved so well,
And, lingering o'er each feature, recollect
The beautiful reality':-the look,

The semblance was correct; but o'er the form,
Traced by the hand of fond anxiety,

A silent sorrow reign'd. "The eye is dull,"
Said Ellen, "but it ne'er should beam with joy
And I so far away."-Poor girl! she loved ;-
And love with hue of thoughtfulness will tint
The brightest forms, and o'er the sunniest spots
Cast the long shadow of distress: she lov'd ;-
And e'en when years steal on us, it is pleasant
To see young eyes weep tears of tenderness,

Though we are chill'd for ever; and to think,
E'en thus we felt in childhood's happy hour,
E'en thus retain'd the spirit of our love,
Deep buried in our hearts, as the deep blue,
By distance buried in the mountain side.

"Tis night—the moon is up, the zenith moon; Lonely she travels o'er yon ridge of clouds,

Tinging with loveliness each liquid step

She tracks in the blue heaven: the breeze has sobb'd
Itself to slumber on the hawthorn bloom :

The lark's abed; the humming drone is still;
The halcyon slumbers on the peaceful wave;
And faintly Ocean breaks upon the coast,
As tho' his wild and billowy voice might mar
Boon nature's melancholy solitude :
One dim light still is gleaming from the bow'r,
Where Ellen weeps-night's lone idolater:
But hark! a footstep sounds-'tis nearer now,
Nearer and nearer still; the gate-bell rings,
And the watch-dog bays welcome.-There is one,
Sweet Ellen, whose fond arms shall circle thee,
Ere yon bright moon is low-he comes-he comes,
And beauty's eye beams love on Ferdinand.

And they have met; and one is happy now,
Happy as innocence: she dreams of love,
And visions tinged in hope's delightful hues ;
Thoughtful he smiles, for death is in his eye,
And wan fatigue athwart his manly brow
Has worn deep channels where the lazy blood
Ebbs silently.-Alas for Ferdinand!

"Said I not, Ellen, we should meet again,
E'en on this spot?" he cried. "But you are ill,
Poor Ferdinand; your eye is dim, your form
Akin to shadow."""Twill be over soon,
My girl, and there will be no Ferdinand

To wound thy gentleness: 'tis idle now

To say how I have loved; the grave must show it--
The grave, where I am hastening."

Prythee now

Be cheerful, dearest, or my heart will break

Come, let me see thee smile; for I have been

Too long a mourner, and methinks 'tis meet

When love returns he should be deck'd with sun-shine.”

"I'd smile, my girl, but ill doth it beseem The grave to smile; sorrow and thoughtfulness Best suit the tomb.-Oh! I have wander'd far

Mid scenes of death and carnage-Griefs and wounds,

A soldier's chiefest heritage, have bow'd

My soul to earth; and now, with the poor wreck
Of what was life, I come to lay me down

'Neath the sweet shrine of my idolatry.

Undraw the lattice, love;-the moon-beam glimmers

As when we parted; and I fain would gaze

On the dear light that oft befriended us,

When last amid these woods we talk'd of love.

Sweetly it smiles: but I must leave it now, And thee too, my young bride."

"I will not stay

Behind, when thou art in the narrow house;
The winding-sheet shall be my nuptial dress,
And death shall join us, never more to part,
In lieu of wedded bliss-I will not live."
"Oh! live for me, dear Ellen: youth is thine,
And happier days than I have ever known:
Live-if but to recall how we have loved,
And how we parted-Hark! my hour is near.
Bring me the lyre; for ere the sullen knell
Of death tolls for eternity, I would fain
Awake a few soft tones, and like the swan
Breathe out my soul in music. Listen now-