"-yes; I have cruelly banished from thine eyes "the charm of sleep which had ensteeped them "-cruelly have I done so; for why shouldst "thou too suffer?-Quit me; go once more to "thy repose, dear youth-forgive; and if thou "canst, forget the peevish temper of thy lord."

I have bathed his hands with my tears-I have fervently blessed him-yes; from my soul have I called down peace to his aid-in vain at intervals has the black demon, jealousy, pictured all my lord's transcendent acquirements-in vain was represented to my brain a fancied smile of more than even glowing approbation, which thou, O Mary! hadst conferred upon my benefactor; pity had then usurped unrivall'd sway, and banished from my soul each grovelling sentimentyes; it was the struggle of conflicting passions; and though my love was undiminished, my honour and my gratitude were also free from stain.

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'Tis midnight-O my queen! It is the solemn hour when thus I give those raptures vent, which I retrace with agonizing pleasure-yes; for rapture, such as mine, treads on the heel of agony so fast, that both are lost in extacy!

I'll pray-yes, pray; but to whom?-Have I religion? Reason answers in the affirmative;

but my passion will not let me offer praise where contrite prayer is due,-To whom then must I To love and Mary.

address myself?.

Oh, matchless power!-Oh, mistress

of my heart! thou in whom existence centersextend thy benignant powers to the most fervent of thy creatures-pour upon my devoted head some pitying ray, to illumine the prospect of and existence rendered by thee dark as Erebus, and cheerless as the cavern of despair.-Let thy invigorating beam infuse into my chaotic soul one bright spark of heavenly comfort, from whence may blaze the unextinguishable flame of requited love-No; it cannot be :- -Custom, hateful custom, thou art my bane, and Mary must be lost to Chatelar!-lost to him for ever! For ever!-Oh, horror-inexpressible !-words of death!-Hold, my brain, lest burning madness seize me.

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Faint and weak I arise

from my pallet-all has been at peace-a torpid chill ran through my burning veins and I've been wafted to Elysium.-Oh! had I awoke no more for then the last memorial of my fate had now been registered.-And yet, should I not have lost my queen?What ideas now flash

upon my intellects!-Death! what art thou ?——— A dream, a separation from all functions of this world-but, shall we know our friends in heaven-shall we love ?-All must be love; therefore my paradise in heaven will be my queen.-For her I'll barter all the bliss futurity may have in store; for in the balance they might counterpoise the very heaven of heavens!—Impiety! -Who calls me impious?—was I not framed the creature of love; and is not love my religion?-yes; all is love with me, and therefore all futurity may have to grant concentrates in my queen.

FRAGMENT III.

WHAT have I now to register, but the hateful names of those who are my deadly enemies?-In all the lustre of Aurora dressed, my queen appeared; all Edinborough seemed illumined with the radiance of her charms-I was alone the gloomy object of sullen melancholy-D'Anville too appeared with more than usual grace, and Mary smiled upon him.-Oh! how the daggers pierced my soul, at every glance bestowed upon my friend ;-Hamilton's great Earl was also there, array'd in all the pomp of proud nobility, and with him came his youthful son, the Earl of Arran.*-I marked his eye-I saw the rosy hue

* The young Earl of Arran was one of the lovers of Mary; and, from his rank, and the wealth of his father, he aspired to possess her person, and the crown of Scotland; but the ambitious views of the parent, and the love of the young Earl, were alike unsuccessful, although the boldest steps were put in practice to obtain her.

mantle his comely face, as he beheld the form of lovely Mary. He approached her, and on his knee made reverence to his queen beside his aged sire. She smiled upon him-yes; raised him with a look of sweet beneficence-I sickened at the sight, and at that instant my fire-flashing eyes fixed on D'Anville.-Oh! if conflicting passions wrung my soul, I had a partner in my sufferings-yes!-the Marechal walked hand-inhand with Chatelar in misery.-Where was then the distinction of rank and title-D'Anville, the great, the noble D'Anville, was as wretched as the creature whom he styles his slave?-I hailed the convincing auspice-I bowed more awestruck before this soul-subduer, this almighty love. A paleness, like the livery of death, o'erspread the features of my friend-black despair and fiery jealousy shot from his eyes by turns; they were the indexes of his soul; they were emanations of the consuming agonies of Chatelar.

Ah! were this but all, a spotless day amid my calendar of woe would have transpired; but more was left behind to wound the heart of D'Anville; more yet remained to torture the wretched Chatelar.

Amid the splendid crowd came the great Earl of Huntley, and with him the paragon of excellence in man: It was his son, the youthful Gor