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"Know him," replied the maniac, "can I ever forget him, was he not my own fond husband, though the corpse-light glimmered on our union? Oh! you cannot-cannot tell how I have wept for his loss." As she said this, she drew near to Hoel, whose heart seemed bursting with emotion. "Do you weep, old man?" she continued, "heaven bless you! I have found few who ever wept for Elinor." The minstrel averted his head. "She was so young, so beautiful," he exclaimed, “and now"


Nay, speak not thus unkindly; indeed, indeed, I did not mean to offend you; but my mother is dead, and my friends are dead, and so you will turn me from your door." With these words, she drew the nosegay from her bosom and placed it in his hand. "I have brought you a chaplet," she added, "here are violets and daisies, and the lily that dies like a sick girl for love." The harper took the flowers, while Elinor affected by his silence, began singing to herself in a plaintive but incoherent manner;

Mother and baby are fast asleep,

The summer breeze sighs o'er them,
The flowers in the silence of twilight weep,
And the nightingales deplore them.

High o'er yon sod where the violet blows,
When spring looks o'er the heather,
stone wears-'tis there they repose,
The child and it's mother together.


The maniac ceased, and her spirits which had been so long excited by derangement, seemed now to settle into that languid sensitiveness, the forerunner of approaching death. She seated herself by the cottage window, while Hoel, who watched every expression of her countenance, marked the favorable opportunity, and struck a few wild notes on his harp. Her mind seemed reviving at the sound; she pressed her hand to her brow, but as if aware of the fruitless effort, burst into tears. On a sudden, the minstrel paused; he changed the lay, and introduced an air which had first welcomed her to the greenwood. As its plaintive tones struck upon remembrance, the cloud passed from her brain, and her eye-lids closed in slumber. Hoel quitted the apartment.

Towards evening he returned; but Elinor, poor Elinor, was restored to the possession of reason. The lines of death were in her countenance, his shadow already darkened the lustre of her eyes. "I am going to my long home," she exclaimed, as

"and you and

the minstrel advanced towards her, I must part."


Say not so, dear Elinor, you have yet many years to enjoy, again shall the greenwood"—" I know what you would add," she replied, "but the greenwood shall never again echo the name of Elinor, unless in after times, when the wanderer pauses beside my grave, he shall say 'here she lived, here loved, and here she reposes.'

The sun was now setting, but his last rays still beamed a faint lustre upon the landscape. The Towy lapsed in gentlest murmurs along the glen, and high up among the rocks appeared the well-known cave. Elinor looked out upon the scene, but all was changed to her: "We are the last that remain," she exclaimed with a wan smile.

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"Not so, lady, there are a few stragglers left, and to morrow we may chance behold them."

"To morrow!-there is no morrow for me, if the sun shines I shall not see it, and if the wanderer asks for Elinor, he will be told that she has passed away. But you will sometimes think of me, will you not, dear Hoel, and play upon my grave the lays I most loved?" She paused: for the tears were fast coursing down the minstrel's rugged cheeks. "Do not weep for me," she continued, pressing his hand to her pale lips; "it is better,

far better that I should die now, than linger on, when existence can only be a curse. Would you wish to see me withering, hour after hour, in silent yet hopeless decay? Oh! believe me, friend, my spirits are now for the first time tranquil, and death creeps like a sweet dream upon my senses. In a few moments I shall join him, whom I most loved-I shall see his fond smile, I shall listen to his voice-I shall for ever, and for ever be his.Hark!" she added, after a sudden pause, "do you not hear the distant village bell? It is the last music I shall have on earth, for when it tolls tomorrow, it will be my funeral knell." They listened; slowly the gale wafted its sweet tones upon the ear; moorland and glen rung awhile with the softened vibration of its harmony, until the echo after prolonging its lengthened chimes, consigned them to stillness and to distance.

At this instant a noise was heard at the cottage door. The minstrel went to open it, and returned leading in some orphan children, whom Elinor had supported at Llandisent, and who had now come to enquire after their benefactress. As they entered the apartment, a faint sigh escaped her, for she could not but remember, that when last she saw them, the outlaw was her companion. "Dear children," she said, "a few years ago, I was healthy

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and cheerful as yourselves, and thought that a long life lay before me. But the ties that bound me to existence are loosened, and I am fast approaching that spot where all cares are lulled. Start not, dear little ones, you are young yet, so am I; but I am dying; and you too may die ere the spring of your life is closed. I have often talked to you of death, and now it is here before In a few hours you will no longer listen to my voice. Go then, and let fate serve as a warning to you all. Go; be happy in the bosom of your friends, and in your prayers remember Elinor."



Twilight had by this time crept over the landscape, but the fatal rock still glistened with its waning sun-beams. The lady of Llandisent was attracted by its radiance. "What is that," she exclaimed, " that glimmers so brightly in the twilight." "It is the greenwood cave," replied the minstrel. "The greenwood cave," she repeated while a slight convulsion passed over her countenance, “it was there, in that very spot that—but no matter, he is cold and silent now," and with these words she fell back into the arms of Hoel, and breathed her last sigh with eyes still fixed on the rock that overhung the recess. The minstrel rushed from the apartment, but not alone, for the memory of the departed was with him. He thought of

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