he breathing of his name by her I lov'd had rung
In remembrance, like the latest sound that falleth from the tongue
Of those best loved and cherished, when upon the bed of death
They bequeath to us their injuries to visit in our wrath.

"But soon these griefs evanished, like a passing summer storm,
And a gush of hope like sunshine flashed around me, to deform
The image of repentance, while the darkness of remorse
Retreated from its presence with a blacker with'ring curse.

"I hurried home in eagerness---the leaden moments fled;
My burning tale of love was told--was told--and we were wed.
A tumult of delightfulness had rapt my soul in flame,
But on that day--my wedding day--a mourning letter came.

"Joy died on ev'ry countenance--she, trembling, broke the seal--
Screamed--glanced on me! and lifeless fell, unable to reveal
The horrid tale of death that told her new-made husband's guilt--
The hand which she that day had wed, her brother's blood had spilt.

"That brother in his mother's right another name did bear:
Twas him I slew--all shrank from me in horror and in fear;
They seized me in my bridal dress--my bride still senseless lay--
I spoke not while they pinioned me and hurried me away.

"They lodged me in a criminal cell, by iron gratings barred,
And there the third day heavily a funeral bell I heard.
A sable crowd my prison passed--they gazed on it with gloom:
It was my bride--my beautiful--they followed to the tomb!

"I was acquitted; but what more had I with life to do?
I cursed my fate--my heart--the world--and from its creatures flew.
Intruder, thou hast heard my tale of wretchedness and guilt--
Go, mingle with a viler world, and tell it if thou wilt."

XIII.

THE BALLAD OF RUMBOLLOW.

The clouds are flying, the trees are sighing,
The birds are hopping from bough to bough;
The winds are blowing, the snowflakes throwing
O'er the green earth below, below;
The storm is coming while I am roaming
The thick dark forest all through, all through;
The air is nipping, my clothes are dripping,
All in the forest of Rumbollow.[A]

On a felled tree lying a woman sits sighing,
Rocking a child both to and fro;
Her gown it is torn, her shoes they are worn--
She looks like a creature of woe, of woe;
Her eyes are glowing, her hair is flowing,
She's all over white with the snow, the snow;
She rocks the child with a gesture wild,
All in the forest of Rumbollow.

The child is crying, and she is trying
To