Her pulse beat slow, and her eye waxed dim,
And she scarcely could falter her thanks to him;
But, still she passed on, o'er the forest fell,
And the lone wild moor, to Saint Edgar's Cell.

Sweet morning came ;—and the beams of day Chased the deep dark shadows of night away; The storm was at rest, and the clouds blew o'er ; But that Lady returned from the wood no more!

THE ELF KING.

After Goethe.

Who travels so late through night-winds wild?

It is a Father, with one fair Child;

He holds the boy with his bridle arm,

He clasps him tight, and he folds him warm.

"Why quak'st thou, my boy, 'mid this moon-lighted spot?"

"See, Father,―nay, see'st thou the Elf-king not?

"The Fairy king, with his crown, and train?' "Dear Child, 'tis the mist from yon marsh-covered

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plain."

'Come, darling boy, come home to me,

"Such pleasant plays will I play with thee;

"What gay sweet flowers does that bright land hold,

"And

my Mother has many a gown of gold."

"Now hearken, dear Father,say, dost thou not hear "What Fairy-king whispers so plain in mine ear?”

"Be quiet, sit quiet, mine own good child; "The leaves are dry, and the wind is wild.”

"Wilt thou, sweet boy, wilt thou go with me?

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My beautiful daughters all wait for thee :

"My daughters are come on our moonlight ride,

"And they sport, and they dance, and they sing at thy side."

"Look, Father, dear Father,-there-dost thou not see "The Elf-king's daughters, by yon dark tree?"

"I see them, my Child-I see far away,

""Tis the tall waving willow, with branches of grey."

"I love thee, fair boy, thy young face charms my sight, "And since thou'rt so wilful, now-feel thou my might!"

"Oh Father, dear Father,―he seizes me fast;

"The Elf-king has taken,—he hurts me at last!"

The Father shuddered,―he spurred o'er the wild,

And he folded more tightly the faint, groaning Child;

He dashed to his door, with a shivering dread,

And on his bosom the boy lay dead!

THE MAID'S LAMENT.

After Schiller.

The oak groves are roaring,
And clouds veil the sky;

The maiden sits lonely

Where waters flow by;

The billow beneath her is breaking, is breaking-
And she wails at deep midnight, as, wearily waking,
She dreams, yet dreams not,—of Hope crossed :—

"My heart-it has withered,

"The world is all lone,

"It cannot bring backward

"The joys that are flown;

Almighty! Do Thou call thine offspring away!

"I have basked in the brightness of Pleasure's soft ray,

"I have lived, I have loved,—and have lost!"