sweetest! it is I:--
Thy living, breathing BERTHO stands before thee!
This happiness, at least, I owe the Queen,
Who, since repentant, may her gift resume,
Should Heaven not grant us now a quick escape.
But once--this once--though death should press me next--
Come to my arms--to thy dear bosom draw me,
So fondly close!--and feed my famished lips
With kisses worth a life of wo to gain!
Nay, pause not to inquire--'tis better thus
To feel the throbbing of thy timid heart,
Than to waste breath in words.--

"How did it come?
I know not: I was tranced in sleep profound,
And when I woke I was my former self.
Queen OENE hoped my gratitude would grow
To love, in time; and I was grateful--would
Have given her everything but what was thine,
And that alone she coveted. Come, sweet!
Fly from this land forlorn:--if miracles
Are still in fashion, one might serve us well.
Cling to my guiding hand; trust all to me;
My soul is so elate I would not flinch
From meeting every imp of this dark land--
The touch of thy soft hand is such a triumph!"

Even while his accents lingered, they were gone
By an obscure and solitary path,
Until they came upon some rough-hewn steps,
Which wandered round and down, interminable.--
A stairway leading to the upper world
For the ascent of gnomes, who dwelt beneath
In those huge tidal caves which underlaid
Old Thug, upheaved from earth in ancient times.
Silent the lovers fled; their locks grew wet
With mildew, and their breath came gaspingly.
A sound of gibbering gnomes, of elfish song--
Mingling high discords with the patient clink
Of instruments of toil--of laughter strange--
Warned them of the wild laborers they must meet.
A moment more, and the pale fugitives
Stood at the bottom of those countless steps,
Peering into the lowest deep of all.
A hell-like spot! and spirits of the doomed
Were scarce more haggard than the clumsy elves
Who here pursued their coarse and perilous toil.

'Tis in these horrible caverns, deep and wide,
Each day the ocean sinks, when, rushing round
With the swift world, he falls into this snare;
From whence with groans, and anger impotent,
He backward struggles to his bed of sand
And lies there panting; while the credulous earth,
Dream