kind cast their charms around them. How many a tearful, sorrowful eye has bent its gaze upward to the starry expanse, and seemed to draw from its hallowed gentleness a consolation for the broken spirit! Grief-deep, intense, corroding grief-cannot be allayed by the multiplication of words. But when the cloud of sorrow lowers darkly on the heart, let it survey the boundless creation of omnipotent energy, and know that the sustainer of the universe delights to do his creatures good. Have you met with a being, in your intercourse with your fellow creatures, whom you supposed to be the personification of perfection-whose heart you thought was the very shrine of purity? And have you found that the supposed perfection was the deceitful garb of hypocrisy-that the supposed purity was hidden guile-and that your confidence was betrayed? Then pour forth your complaints to the silent stars-they are not fickle; they smile not one moment, and frown the next! You have loved, perhaps, certainly you have, for to love is to live,—not with that youthful, impetuous passion, which, in the words of the poet, "blinds the eye and rules the heart," but with that steady stream of affectionate friendship which is "sweeter than life, and stronger than death." And perhaps you have seen the object of your fondest solicitude pine away under the influence of disease— the eyes that beamed sentiments which the tongue never can express, have become dim in death, and in return for the last, warm kiss of love, the chilliness of the inanimate lips has sent the keen pang of cold despair to your heart. How soothing then to look upon the stars, and think that the idol of your affections may be traversing the plains of a particular orb whose exceeding brilliancy attracts your attention. For myself-I cannot subscribe to the doctrine which teaches that the whole universe will be annihilated by the catastrophe which displaces this almost insignificant globula from its orbit. I cannot persuade myself that when this atom shall be dashed from the majestic temple of creation, that the mighty pillars which support the stupendous fabric will crumble, and leave it a dismantled ruin in the desolate desert of space; nor do I believe that the thunder which shall rend and disjoin the foundations of the earth, will shake another gem from the crown of omnipotent glory. I would not wish to believe that destruction will ever overtake the cheerful companions of many a tedious hour of sickness, whose beams have struggled through the casement, and beguiled my weary midnight moments, when sleep had taken possession of my affectionate attendant, and Disease kept her untiring vigils by my bed-side; while flushed Fever glared fearfully upon me with her bloodshot eyes, and Death hovered with his scythe about the most lovely and blooming hopes of my heart. Oh, no!-if ever I be so happy as to out-ride the billows of Life's tempestuous ocean-to come unseared out of the fire of scorn and contumely, and hatred and calumny-I hope to spend my eternity in visiting the troops of stars that stand like sentinels around the august palace of Jehovah. And when I shall have heard all that may be known of His power, and wisdom, and goodness, and glorywhen my unfettered mind shall swell with the immensity of its own conceptions-to be let into the immediate presence of the Godhead's dazzling splendor, and plunge into the unfathomed ocean of infinite mind. C. M. F. D. THE FAIR MAID OF FALAISE. A SKETCH FROM HISTORY. EY E. G. M. DAY was flinging from his wearied pinions the last and loveliest rays of light ere he left the woods and vales of Normandy for a time to darkness, as a gallant party of mounted hunters swept through the streets of Falaise towards the castle of the duke. The trampling of their steeds, the ringing of stirrup and bit, the loud echo of the laugh and the jest startled into attention the silent street. The child stopped in its gambollings-the old man, the matron, and the maiden forsook their avocations to gaze at the stirring sight. The array swept on, and was lost behind the wooded undulations that separated the castle from the town. When the sound of the last hoof-stroke had died away, and the last glimpse had been caught of the dancing caps and waving scarfs, the little urchin got astride of his stick, and pranced and curvetted in joyful anticipation of the day when he should draw the rein and wield the sword in the train of some lordly master;-the old man returned to the instrument of husbandry he had been rudely fashioning, the matron to her househould occupation; the one to tell, and the other to listen to exploits of years when hairs, now silvered with age, curled dark as the raven's crest, and nerves, now tremulous and unfaithful, were strong and true as steel :-the maiden came back with a deepened color on her cheek, and a brighter glance in her laughing eye, for she had caught a look, perchance a smile, from one of those bold servitors that may feed her fancy until the next stolen meeting beneath the waving grove, or by the vineyard's side. But there was one who still lingered at her cottage door, leaning over the arbor-like trellis work, her form half-hidden by the clustering vine. Her eye followed not the path the cavalcade had taken, but was shaded by the long drooping lash, while the curl of her beautiful lip, the petulant stamp of her little foot, and the rending to the very fibres of the vine-leaf in her hands, told of some disappointment that was but illy borne. Thus entranced in the magic of her own all-absorbing thoughts, she heeded not that the sun's last glance had smiled and faded on the castle's highest tower, and that the broad full moon was flooding earth and sky with her softened radiance, while the "golden torch of sea-born Venus," as Bion styled that loveliest and purest of heaven's orbs, was gleaming like a diamond on the brow of night. Many a leaf and twining tendril had been plucked from its parent stem to fall in shreds at her feet, while its place was supplied by another and still another to suffer the same unheeded fate, when the sound of a step upon the very threshhold caused her to start from her trance and bound gaily forward from her leafy screen; but how gladly would she have sought its covert again to hide the burning blushes that glowed upon her throbbing brow, had not her trembling limbs forbidden the contemplated flight, while her faithless tongue scarce allowed her to falter forth "I had hoped it was my father, returning from his labor in the valley." The intruder hesitated not to spring lightly to the maiden's side, and clasping one hand within his own to place his other arm around her slender waist, as half-fearful of her vanishing, or half playfully to support her. "Had hoped, Louise," he exclaimed reproach fully-" am I then unwelcome as unexpected? Methinks, after the toil I have undergone to bask me once more in the light of those eyes, so cold a reception is undeserved. Nay, coy one," he added, as Louise quietly disengaged her form from his encircling arm," you do not entirely escape me," and he tightened with a gentle pressure his grasp upon her hand. But Louise had recovered from the momentary embarrassment occasioned by surprise mingled with some wilder emotions, and there was a playfulness in her tones as evading a reply to the reproach implied in his question, she said— "I looked for you among the duke's hunters as they galloped by here about sunset, but your steed led them not as was wont-your eye glanced not as usual from the front of the gallant array, and my busy fancy whispered me that Robert had forgotten his cottage bird and was bowing at the foot-stool of some high-born lady at the French or English court." blissful day dreams that cheered her loneliness, while, mingled with every thought, came the vision of that mild old man, whose voice never met her ear save in tones of kindness, whose eye dimmed with labor and fatigue grew bright and smiled at her affectionate caresses-that voice alas! now hushed, and that eye closed in death. She bowed her head to shut out the scene from her view, and that tear-drop driven from its resting place by a dozen others, fell upon the face of a lovely infant, that was slumbering softly at her feet. The little sleeper opened its eyes and laughed; in a moment the mother reigned supreme in her soul, drowning, in the full swell of its emotions, every other feeling and passion. It was a busy night throughout the castle. The vassals hastened to and fro in the court and the antechambers, some with viands for the banquet, others with goblets of the grape's ruddy juice, while here and there was a group preparing spear and sword, burnishing the armor, and Conversing upon the strange occurrence of their lord's departure. In the grand hall was the glare of lights, the noise of revelry, the clank of the wine flagon, the chorussed song, and the applauded jest; there Robert, the magnificent, or, as he was sometimes called, the devil, feasted high with his retainers, for the morrow's sun he had vowed should see him on his pilgrimage towards the Holy Land. As these mingled sounds rose faintly to Louise's ear she clasped her child to her bosom, whom, struggling to escape the tears that fell fast and burning on his cheek, she soothed with a low and plaintive song, which floated round that turret chamber, soft yet melancholy as the silvery dip of the oar, when it breaks with a regular cadence the moonlit wave. "Hush, my babe, hush-dost thou hear not the neigh That steed and that barque are bound for the land Where pale crescents shine from dark folds that wave Who shall at daybreak that chafing steed ride? What pilgrim doth yon idle vessel abide? My heart feels-and oh! how that feeling doth burn! His brow will be blanched by the desert wind's breath, Or plague spots declare the dread angel of death, And my soul will droop helpless, crush'd, withered, and broke, Like tender vine torn from the stem of the oak, Which its heart-strings embraced-but thou, my babe, thou "And he comes at this moment to fulfil that vow"-she started at the well known voice, brushed away the remaining tears, and smiled, though faintly and sadly. The duke had entered unperceived, and now stood by her side, his face flushed, his eye wildly bright, and his whole demeanor betraying far more of the reckless reveller than of the humble pilgrim. "Again in tears, Louise ;-why will you entertain these sorrowful forbcdings? Believe me, it is the solitude of the life you lead that lends this sadness to your thoughts. Trust that a few short months will see me again in thine arms, dearest-I do not doubt it will be so. I must leave you now, or my guests will grow impatient at my delay. I have a surprise in store for them they wot not of. But you, young sir," he continued, holding out, his arms to the infant, who crowed and leapt gladly into them, "you must away, away with me! I will secure to thee some acquaintances before I go to pay my devoirs to the infidel who lords it at the holy tomb." "Robert! what mean you?"-she was too late. They had disappeared; but guided by the echo of his heavy tread, she stole softly after them in the direction of the banquet-hall. The loud shout which hailed their entrance bursting along the corridors, quickened her steps. She gained the door and listened; again a shout, louder than before, proclaimed that tender infant the acknowledged successor to the dukedom. Holding as mere trifles the sacred ties of marriage, and careless as their northern fore fathers of the distinction between wedlock and concubinage, with acclamations they swore the oath of fealty to the offspring of unwedded love. Louise listened, every limb trembling with joy, then sought her chamber, to indulge in a flood of tears, of mingled sorrow and gladness. "Cruel! thou knowest well each lowest note of his cottage bird is dearer to Robert than the warmest smile or spoken praise of the noblest lady whose satined foot e'er trod a palace-hall or whose flowing curls were bound by the diamond-sprinkled fillet.” He paused for a moment to gaze fondly in her face, and when he again resumed, his voice was softened into tenderness, and had lost a portion of that reckless intonation which peculiarly characterized it. "Dost remember, fairest, the night when every window and portal of yonder tower streamed through the foliage that half-curtains it a joyous light far over the bosom of darkness, and every breeze that swept over the town was burdened with the sound of revelry-that night when every retainer, from the bearer of lance and shield to the meanest serf, quaffed loud and deep to the noble sister of Canute, the duke's English bride. It was upon this spot that one whose presence was missed in the banquet hall, who fled from the tumult of mirth which for once he could not enjoy, found you, Louise, pensive and alone. It was here, with that same sky bending above, scarce fairer or more pure than thine own thoughts, and yon same bright orb to witness and to smile approval, as it seemeth even now to do, he pledged to you the homage of a heart which had long been a temple filled but with the presence of thine image, and listened with rapture to the avowal that Robert, the duke's chief huntsman, was far from indifferent in the eyes of the fairest maiden in Falaise." Again he paused, and Louise murmured as half-unconscious of what she was saying "The peasants in the vineyard and the cottage are loud in their praises of the beauty of the noble English lady." Her companion drew himself quickly back, as if to hide the expression which he felt was quivering in the muscles of his lip, and flashing from his eye; a moonbeam stealing through the leaves, fell that instant upon his bold and handsome countenance as it was half-upturned, showing each well-formed feature at the same time that it revealed the traces of a scarce governable passion, and of a wildness of mood which had gained for their possessor the sobriquet of Le Diable. The nightbreeze rustled the leaves, and that beam was again intercepted, but scarce less quickly had his features assumed their composure and his voice its winning tenderness. : Hush, Louise, you must not speak her praises to the duke. Start not-you have of late truly surmised that the almost unknown hunter who has won thy youthful love-and that he has won it each leaf around us and each star above is a silent witness-bears a title he would not exchange for any other less than king. That title he may not share with you-a cursed policy has already given it to another--but he here offers you all that he still can call his own, his heart and his protection: be but his, and here, where first he whispered his vows, he swears by every thing that is pure and holy-by thyself and by the love he bears thee-by his honor and by the sword of his father-that thou and thine shall be honored and esteemed above all others within his wide domain. I read in thine eyc, gentle one, what thou art about to say:-thy father, I would not sadden thee, but thy father is advanced in years. A short time, a very short time, and the valley sod may rest lightly on his breast; then, oh! why not before then, give thyself to one who can and will cherish and protect thee." But why follow the arguments of a tongue well skilled in pleading to gentle woman's heart-the persuasions of a spirit that seldom bent itself to win a maiden's confidence in vain. The moon rode higher in the heavens-the leaves bent and trembled in the increasing breeze, as if the tiny feet of a thousand fairies were twirling in rapid dance through the verdant mazes that shaded those lovers, yet still did those noble lips breathe burning words into the artless maiden's ear; his arm unchecked, had sought again her waist, and her glowing cheek was resting in affectionate confidence upon his shoulder. A hasty step, however, heard far in the stillnes, broke their dream of rapture. A whispered sentence-" by the brook's green side”. -a parting kiss, and Louise watched her lover's form bound over the green and vanish in the shade, ere she turned to meet her father, who gently chid her for allowing the cool-night air to chill the color from her check, then smiled to see how that color rushed again to her very temples at his playful chiding. Ir was moonlight again on Falaise. At the casement of one of the apartments of the castle sat a lady gazing in earnest and thoughtful silence at the spot where an opening in the underwood allowed a glimpse of one of the prettiest vine-sheltered cottages of the town. Her brow rested lightly on her hand, and a tear-drop trembled on one of her long eye-lashes, for a thousand sadly tender recollections were stealing through her bosom with the noiseless rapidity of the flowing wave. It was Louise, the duke's favorite, as she was gently styled, and though years had flown by since she received his plighted love in the shade of that cottage-bower, yet time had swept with his wing nothing of the bloom from her cheek, nor had chilled with his touch any thing of the spring whose warm gush was felt in each heart's throb. She thought of her girlhood's days, when, the village-pride, she led her companions in the evening dance, then of those intoxicating hours of stolen love, and of the Years rolled rapidly on, pregnant with important events. A monument at Nice, told of a noble pilgrim-the fourth lineal descendant of Rollo-who died on his return from Palestine. The valley flowers bloomed and faded on the sod beneath which lay the mouldering frame of one whose beauty was the theme of many a song, whose modest goodness was the burthen of many a fireside tale for leagues around the castle. But that infant, the son of the humble maid of Falaise, became William, duke of Normandy, and afterwards conqueror of England. August, 1839. SONNETS. BY THOMAS R. HOFLAND, PHILAD. TO M. C. I LOVE thee! not because thy high clear brow These, my beloved, shall not pass away; FIRST LOVE. TO THE SAME. OH give to me the lowliest forest flower That ever graced the garden or the bower, If it hath bloomed upon another's breast! |