heart may be captivated by sun-bright eyes and bewitching smiles, that the heart which irradiates that captivating countenance is given to another-that the lovely structure before him, like a hallowed temple, is dedicated and devoted to wedded love. Thus the spark which beauty may kindle in a youthful bosom will be checked ere its ardour become too intense, and will reflection, be moderated into esteem,-damped, and partly extinguished in its commencement, by the commanding voice of honour, aided by the hand of time. The convenience of the wedding-ring is, at the same time, admirable. A portrait is cumbrous, it is a too abvious advertisement of the party to whom the blooming bride is allied in wedlock; but the ring is a mystic notice, a gentle announcement of the respect to be paid to her who has entered the wedded state. A portrait must be parted with on many occasions,-to dress, to retire to rest, &c.; but the ring clings like ivy to the fair finger, and speaks volumes of immutable attachment. All honour, therefore, be to the wedding-ring, and to those who wear it! and now let me return to Jane. Had envy had any part in my feelings, I should certainly have envied my happy comrade for having such a prize: it was far otherwise; our friendship had existed already for some time, and I felt it strengthened by his being the husband of her who had excited a passion which duty and reason converted into esteem. I was fortunate enough to have it in my power, for years, to be like a brother to the husband of Jane; circumstances so occurred, that I was enabled to render him repeated services and I must say, that the pleasure which I enjoyed in thus benefiting a friend and brother officer, was increased beyond all power of description, from knowing that this interesting woman shared whatever comfort might arise from efforts to befriend them. They were to me like a sister and brother-in-law; I loved the one for herself, the other for cherishing her; my heart was open to them both; they enjoyed my fullest confidence, and I believe that I was master of every secret and circumstance of their lives.

Happy pair! happy in themselves, mutually beloved, and firmly united, so that a cloud never hung over the earthly heaven of their connubial life. Such a state would have been too felicitous, had it been unmixed by care; but, alas! sickness and adversity visited their couch; they experienced many vicissitudes, and Jane was snatched in the summer of her days from the embrace of him who saw but her on earth. In a splendid coffin, decked with white satin and armorial bearings, provided by the purse of unfeeling relatives, who withheld their riches from the living in time of need, I last pressed the marble hand of my beloved friend: the hand was as cold as fair, the bosom as still as chaste, the eye was closed and sunk, but the noble features were still those of Jane. A tear which fell upon them must have sunk with them to the grave; her husband's hand trembled in mine, and long we gazed on the object of our pain, ere we could tear ourselves from regretfully contemplating remains so precious. He, too, is gone; alas! poor Tom!-the oldest comrade of

THE HERMIT IN LONDON.

I am an elder son-the heir
To all our fine estate,

I'm glad to hear the doctors say
I cant have long to wait;
Alas! my father's earthly course
Is very nearly run,
Yet I am very, very glad

That I'm an elder son.

Mothers of families who have
Young daughters,-often send
Card after card-ther's not a ball
That I must not attend;

And girls with flowing tresses look
More lovely than the sun,
Breathing soft sigh's which seem to say.
"Ah! he's an elder son."'

They send me albums-those who know
What poetry I write,

Some of them buy my autograph,

I'm pleagued from morn to night;
Deserted lovers look at me

As though I were a dun;

I've fought two duels in a week;
For I'm an elder son.

I'm quite a leading man in town,
At Crockford's" and at White's;"
I've learn'd to be an orator

And speak about our rights;

I mean to canvass for a seat,
In Parliament-'twill stun
The younger branches of our house,
But I'm an elder son,

Our patronage is very good,
My principles-but hold

I first must know the ministers
Before they can be told:
The whigs may yet continue strong,
If so, why I am one,
I'll go with the majority,
Tho' I'm an elder son.

Oh how I pity younger sons,
I see them passing by,
Wearing no smiles upon their brow,
With an averted eye;

Uncared for and alone they stand
Life's desert waste upon,
I've reason to be very glad
That I'm an elder son.

If I'm ill-a score of friends
Come knocking at my door,
And cards with kind enquiries
In by the hundred pour;
Tis balm unto my heart to be
Such a beloved one,
For oh tis honor, fortuue, fame!
To be an elder son.

THE EXILE; OR, THE FALL OF MISSOLONGHI.

How truly miserable is the life of the exile! Surrounded, in a foreign land, by men whose language he knows not, without protector or friend, his days are void of pleasure, and night brings with it the bitterness of sorrow. Born in the lap of ease, misery now follows his steps; accustomed to the tender cares of a mother, a sister, or a friend, he is now left alone-alone to his own misfortunes, or those of his unhappy companions. Ardently attached to Liberty, he has, for her sake,

torn himself from the sweets of a domestic life-for her he has devoted his existence to broils, anxieties, and perils-for her he has exposed himself to the vengeance of tyrants, has faced the danger of battles, nor even shrunk from the infamy of a scaffold. Had success crowned his efforts, he would have received honours, applause, and admiration...... But despotism triumphs; a wandering fugitive, bearing the garb of poverty, no one scarcely approaches him: he is looked upon with contempt, and spoken to with disgust. Denounced by an aristocracy, whose projects of oppression he has unveiled; calumniated by priests, whose bigotry he has exposed; and persecuted by kings, whose despotism he endeavoured to restrain, he beholds all his actions branded by the most unjust and shameful epithets. For defining the duties of kings, he is termed a demagogue; for asserting the rights of the people, he is called a regicide: he attacked the encroachments of the nobility, and is reproached as a revolutionist: he exposed the excesses of the clergy, and is branded as an Atheist ...... His patriotism was but ambition; his perseverance, obstinacy; his courage is ferocity, and his zeal for the public good, but egotism and a thirst after vengeance Having sacrificed his fortune for the freedom of his country, he is called an adventurer. He has exposed his life for the cause of justice and liberty, and therefore is he loaded with insult and oppression.— Such were the sad reflections which occupied the thoughts of Raymond, when Maximilian, the friend of his childhood, disturbed him in his musings.

"Come," said he, "let us leave this country, where thy youth and courage are wasted in idleness and misery. Let us seek the shores of Greece: there, friends of Liberty, we will fight and conquer under her banner."

"Liberty saidst thou? How have I thirsted for it, sacrificed my all for it-and as a reward, am I not exiled?,,

"Come, enlist again under her standard, and take arms in defence of our brothers in the East Wouldst thou alone remain inactive in the midst of this enthusiasm of the people of Europe, for a nation who struggles against slavery?"

Maximilian easily persuades his friend. They leave London. Raymond assumes a false name in order to conceal himself from a suspicious and cruel government, and they both arrive, in a short time, at Paris

Introduced to a spacious apartment in a magnificent dwelling, they perceived a large table covered with numerous lists and letters of antique superscription, and which were still impregnated with the smell, and bore the blue mark, of the preservative vinegar. They beheld a person of graceful stature, whose snow-white locks scarcely covered his thoughtful brow, pacing up and down the room, and, stopping occasionally, seemed to look with feelings of emotion on the busts of Socrates and Pericles, which were supported along the walls on tastefully sculptured slabs; or admired the figure of a Leonidas, in a masterpiece of a French painter who died in exile, and contemplated the approaching fate of three hundred heroes, or perhaps that of a whole nation. This personage was the venerable Duke of Larochefoucauld-Liancourt. He had just given an interview to some French officers whom he was sending to the East, and had told them with a bitter smile as they departed: "You will go to Marseilles and embark

there: that city was formerly built by the Greeks, but beware 'tis not every ship from her harbour that goes to Greece." He had also just parted with women of youth, beauty, and talents—women who bore the names of the most upright citizens, and the most distinguished warriors of the kingdom-and addressed them as he received their gifts: "There are powers more mighty than the indifference of kings and the arms of infidels -they are Justice and Liberty. There is that which is above the silence of power-it is Opinion." As soon as he perceived the two friends, he advanced towards them, and taking Maximilian affectionately by the hand," Do London and the towns of England," said he, "answer to the appeal of the French cities ?" And upon Maximilian's answer in the negative, "What!” added he with bitterness, "was Lord Byron the only one who interested himself in the cause of our brothers in the East? Germany, Sweden, Holland, and Russia, have been excited to pity. Have none of the counties of England, so rich, so proud, and breathing such liberty-have none opened subscriptions, or given concerts, for the cause of the suffering Greeks? Where is their lion-hearted Richard, ready to fly to new crusades? One would almost say that the sacred fire is extinct at St. Paul's and Westminster, and that our neighbours only show their courage where their interest is to be found. These cold-hearted speculations tarnish the splendour of their former days." As he uttered these words, his brow became clouded, and he was yielding to his ill-omened thoughts, when a servant announced two nuns, who, upon a sign from him, were ushered into the apartment.

They were of very dissimilar ages; the one having arrived at that time of life when strength, as well as beauty, is on the decline; the other could scarcely have reached her eighteenth year. The elder female had been handsome; the younger possessed features of perfect regularity, and of exquisite sweetness- but the rose had fled from the cheeks of both; their dark eyes and eyebrows only served as a contrast to the extreme paleness of their complexion, which was scarcely relieved by the slight carnation in their lips. They wore long black dresses, and their white veils reaching to their waists, gave them a resemblance to those migratory birds who quit our shore as winter approaches, and whose periodical return announces the commencement of spring. Alas! real wanderers, they wished to visit other climes; but far from seeking a more protected life, they were prepared to meet storms and wounds, and the carnage and death of camps. The venerable old man was much moved as he listened to them; "But reflect," said he, "what you are abaut to undertake: you cannot afford assistance to more deserving objects, nor pour your wine and oil into more glorious wounds; and if you seek to staunch the blood of martyrs, it is towards that desolated country that you should direct your steps: but again let me entreat you to pause before you decide." One of the sisters then proceeded to relate the misfortunes at Barcelona; and the younger, pointing to her cross, said--" They are Christians at Missolonghi." Larochefoucauld raised his eyes to the busts of Socrates and Pericles, and the figure of Leonidas :" It is not your inspiring names,' ," said he, "which animate them; no, it is a virtue unknown to your age of idolatry. O Christ, behold thy religion!" Again, turning towards the two females who stood before him, he could scarcely

contain his emotion: and addressing Maximilian and Raymond, "The religion I invoke," said he, "has numberless ministers and eloquent defenders, and yet all have remained silent and inactive, except these two women, who recollect that at Missolonghi there are Christians;" and tears bedewed his cheeks as he took leave of his four visitors.

Maximilian and Raymond made but a short stay in Paris; they soon left for Marseilles, and immediately embarked for Greece,

Twenty days sail brought the two friends in sight of Missolonghi. A Turkish fleet blockaded the port, and it was with considerable difficulty and danger that the frail vessel which bore Maximilian and Raymond reached the shore. The two strangers were welcomed by a concourse of people; and the frequent discharges of artillery were interrupted by the loud cries of Liberty! Liberty whilst a thousand voices asked and re-echoed the question, whether soldiers and provisions were likeley to come to the releif of Missolonghi, and save that city from all the horrors of famine which desolated it? The answer of the two friends held out but little encouragement. The Greek Committee of Paris gave promises of assistance, but the period of its arrival was uncertain; and already was the garrison reduced for subsistence to the bones of animals which they had devoured, and the few herbs thrown on shore by the

ocean.

It was on the 3rd of April that Maximilian and Raymond entered Missolonghi ; the following day the Turks summoned the garrison to surrender, on a promise of safety to all the inhabitants. The Greeks replied

"The arms you demand of us are stained with your blood, and by blood alone shall you obtain them;" and they immediately repaired, to the ramparts, to sustain the attack of the advancing troops of Reschid Pacha.

Raymond and Maximilian exhibited the most determined courage; and, followed by a body of Franks, thay made a sally from the gates of the city, and, sword in hand, rushed with intrepidity amidst the enemy's ranks. Already had five of the barbarians fallen by Raymond's sword, when he was arrested in his career of victory by a musket-ball. Maximilian, whose courage had been equally fatal to the Turks, seeing his friend stretched on the field, ran to his assistance, and bearing him away in his arms, had the good fortune to reach the entrenchments without further impediment to his retreat than a slight pistol wound.

Raymond is conveyed to the hospital of Missolonghi, and the first person he beholds there is the young "Sister of Charity" whom he had seen at the residence of the Duke of Larochefoucauld, on his journey through Paris. The beautiful nun recognized him and a tear of pity stole down her cheek; she proceeded, however, to staunch the blood from his wound, which was deep and dangerous, and promised his afflicted friend to devote her utmost attention to her valiant patient. . . . She was constantly by his bed side, and, with all the art in her power, soothed the sufferings of the wounded man; she endeavoured to dissipate his fears and anxieties, and even inspired hope in his desponding mind.

Maximilian, who visited his friend every morning, was penetrated with feelings of gratitude towards the fair Sister for her tender care; and he scarcely regreted any longer the state of Raymond's health, since

his misfortunes had procured him such kind and unremitting attentions. Love, too, had taken possession of his heart, though he remained unconscious of its existence.

He, however, advanced rapidly towards recovery, and he could, with the assistance of crutches, make his way round the vast apartment, in which other invalids were attended with equal care by the amiable Sister. She frequently lent Raymond the support of her arm, and from her beautiful lips words of sweet consolation sank deep into the soul of her companion. By the subdued sadness of her conversation and manner, it was clearly perceptible that misfortune weighed also heavily upon. this angelic being, who was now the consolation and support of the distressed and unfortunate.

Every thing, however, combined to threaten Missolonghi with final destruction;-the besieged had, in vain, called Gouras, Fabvier, and the fleet of Miaoulis, to their assistance; in them they were alike doomed to disappointment. The ramparts of the city, reduced to ruins by the destructive fire of the enemy, crumbled and fell beneath the feet of their valiant defenders---and famine, with its devouring jaws, daily swallowed up a tenth part of the population. In this state of utter hopelessness, the Greeks, prompted by despair, but supported by a courage worthy of their holy cause, resolved to abandon the city, and force their way through the enemy's ranks to Mount Aracyntha.

Raymond, though still an invalid, on being informed of this daring resolution of Maximilian,determined to accompany his friend, and save also the young nun.

The population of Missolonghi comprised three thousand soldiers, including those who, though wounded or invalids, were still enabled to proceed, supported by their companions; one thousand of the working class, incapable of bearing arms; and about five thousand, including old men, women, and children. Those women who were willing, and thought themselves able, to brave the dangers and fatigues of this sally, dressed themselves in men's attire, that in the event of their not escaping the enemy, they might like true warriors, meet death on the field of battle. Those, however, whose want of courage or strength shut out the hope of following the warlike band, joined the wounded the sick, the aged, and the children, who were condemned to the fatal alternative of burying themselves beneath the ruins of the city.

The hour of departure arrived. Almost every family was divided into two parties, the one remaining to meet death, the other breathing vengeance and destruction, and hastening to encounter fresh dangers. Tears and sadness were on the faces of all, and nothing was heard but lamentations, and the last solemn, sad farewell.

Among the sallying party, Raymond looked with anxiety for the young nun, who had promised to be there; but the exiled youth sought in vain for the being whom he so passionately adored. He then proceded to the invalid party; his anxious eye examined the crowd, and he at length perceived the amiable nun bestowing her tender cares on her more aged companion. Raymond hastened to her, and endeavoured to save her from the fate of those whose death was inevitable. "How can I abandon my sister, who is too infirm to follow me?" was her only answer to his solicitations. Maximilian, who had followed his friend and overheard these words, bore off the elder female in his

arms, and all four were soon out of Missolonghi, and in the midst of her heroic defenders.

But a deserter, in the mean time, had basely informed Ibrahim of the intended sally of the Greeks, and he accordingly opposed the whole army to them. The centre of the Greek body was driven back into the city, the left wing gave way, and the right was in great part massacred; a few hundreds only among the last were enabled to reach the mount, to which they were pursued by the Turkish horsemen.

Raymond escaped the general destruction with his tender charge, who had fainted in his arms. He placed her on a projecting rock, and endeavoured to recal her to life; she at length recovered, and with a timid and anxious look surveyed the objects around her. They were alone. Maximilian and the elder sister-all, indeed-had disappeared. They were in the midst of a barren and uncultivated waste; the road before them was mountainous and rugged, nor could they perceive a habitation or a living creature near them.

"Be

In this moment of extreme danger, Raymond, taking the young nun in his arms, and excited by uncontrollable passion, revealed the love which he felt for her. "Heaven have pity on me!" exclaimed the timid virgin; and escaping, with an effort, from the arms of Raymond, she fled fearfully into the surrounding country. Raymond followed and overtook her. loved of my soul," said he, "fear not my passion; it is pure as yourself—it is chaste as the sentiments which animate you. Ah! fly not turn not from me that look from which I draw existence-hear me hear my vows-believe me-trust yourself to me-love is only a vice in vicious hearts." "God has received my vows," replied the virgin; "God rejects such offerings; I have loved, I love yet," added she, shedding a torrent of tears. "Since you have torn the secret from me, be my brother, my protector; drive me not to despair by the continuance of a love which I can never return." At these words, Raymond let fall the hand of the fair girl, which, till then, he held pressed to his bosom. He walked by her side in silence, respectfully contemplating the lonely maiden, who, like a flower touched by a ploughshare, or like the poppy after a stormy night, languidly bowed her head in grief.

Julia, which was the name of the young sister of charity, loved Ernestus, and was loved in turn. Opposed in her affections by an ambitious father, she had taken the veil, and her lover in despair had banished himself from his native country. Raymond having received this communication from the mouth of Julia, immediately recognized in Ernestus the friend of his youth; and borne down by his misfortunes, besieged by more terrible remembrances, the Exile notwithstanding found consolation for the unfortunate nun,

They had walked nearly two days since the adve"ture, along the straight roads hastily constructed by the Turks, and in the middle of a desolated country, here and there meeting on their path with Greek families, who, terrified at the disasters of their immortal fortress, fled in all directions towards the mountains. Wandering, however, in their route, they had only reached the ruins of ancient Calydon, situated a few leagues from Missolonghi. A humble cabin stood in the middle of these ruins; but Raymond hesitated to claim hospitality for his weak companion in a country so near the camp of the Turks, when these words, chaunted in modern Greek, struck his ear, apprising him that a friend of the Hellenists inhabited the humble cabin.

"He flies, the traitor! he flies. He drags after him his dark and envenomed arms; his bosom is changed into a hideous hell.

"He has left behind, the cross and the courageous Greeks he has presented, in token of friendship, his hand to the Ottomans-he has prostrated himself before a barbarous law.

"A livid and black cloud, suspended in the air, accompanies him, like an immoveable thunderbolt over his head, and the watchful vigilance of destiny.

"Infamous renegade! If, fatigued by thy rapid flight, thou castest thyself upon the grass to rest, avenging conscience lies by thy side, and changes the herbage which surrounds thee into livid serpents.

"Thou shunnest the light of day, fearing lest the long swords of the men thou hast slain should discover thee.

"Thou callest night to thy assistance; she comesbut thou thinkest that armed enemies are enveloped in her shade, and thou remainest struck with stupor.

"If thou hearest the groans of a widow in grief, or the cries of an orphan child, thou tremblest, and the cup falls from thy frozen lips.

"Oh, what a frightful life thou hast procured thyself, infamous renegade! The Divinity prepares such gifts for all who resemble thee."

The noise which Raymond and Julia made in approaching the cabin, interrupted this chant; the moun taineer, fearing to be surprised by some enemy, tremblingly rushed from his dwelling; but after, looking at Julia, and perceiving the cross which hung upon her bosom, he immediately recognised, in the two travellers, friends of his own distressed country.

"I see by your dress," said he to them," that you are not the offspring of Greece; what seek you in this solitude?"

"Lutetia is our country. We have escaped from Missolonghi," said Raymond; "chance led us among these ruins. I lament a friend-I beg hospitality for my young companion."

66

"Come into my cabin, wreck of Missolonghi," said the mountaineer, taking them enthusiastically by the hand, come and repose yourselves; take a part of the little food left by the greedy Ottomans for my feeble frame."

"Do you know any thing of the heroic city?" said the trembling nun.

"From hence I can show you the ruins of that glorious city. That pile of confusedly-heaped columns was the temple of the Christians; it was there, for the last time, a venerable prelate celebrated the holy sacri

fice before warriors covered with blood and wounds, and before women and children sinking with want.

"The heap of rubbish that you perceive in the midst of that place, are the remains of the powder magazine, under which are interred our wives, our children, and the virtuous Capsalis, primate of Missolonghi. What a sublime death! Let us not weep! we have no more separations to fear-the tomb and heaven will soon re-unite all. Mothers tranquilly pressed their children to their bosoms, relying upon Capsalis. The enemy were gathered in crowds around this asylum; some tried to break open the doors, others to scale the windows, while some were upon the roof, endeavouring to break through into the interior. Capsalis, seeing the multitude assembled, commenced a prayer familiar to the Greeks,Save us, Lord!' and at that moment the powder magazine was reduced to ashes. The report was so loud," added the old man, "that it shook the neighbouring buildings; and the sea, swelling above its bounds, entirely inundated one quarter of the city. Two thousand barbarians perished with Capsalis."

"It is under those ruins then, without doubt, my unfortunate sister died," cried the agonized Julia.

"I perceive the ruins of a gate," replied Raymond. "It is that," said the old man," by which the cohort of our brave comrades went forth, when they marched to the achievement of Liberty or Death." "It was on that plain," said Raymond," that Maximilian, protecting me in my flight against a cloud of barbarians, devoted himself for the safety of his friend."

"It is I who was the cause of his death, bitterly exclaimed the nun. "It was to cover my retreat, that your friend was sacrificed; it was to save me, that you yourself could not come to the defence of Maximilian."

"Honoured be those," said the old man, addressing Raymond, "of thy compatriots who fell under the walls of Missolonghi, While I think of the heroism of those warriors, whom their country exiled, I forget that there are other Frenchmen, other Christians, who gird on the turban."

"Stop, old man," exclaimed the excited Raymond; "cease to calumniate France: the cowards who assume the turban are not her children: she has driven them far from her-she has cursed them."

They then entered the cabin, when a noise of horses was heard. "It is the Renegade," exclaimed the mountaineer; and he fled tremblingly towards the

ruins.

The Renegade advanced, followed by a numerous escort. The large oriental trowsers, the immense turban, the curved scymetar, had displaced the costume of his country, and would have rendered him unrecognizable, even to the eye of a brother. In taking the costume of the southerns, he had made it a principle to imitate their fury and their cruelty. He was renowned through the whole of Greece for his courage, and his contempt of death. Always in the first rank he overcame a host of enemies and the plume upon his turban always shone where the massacre was most general, or the combatants fought face to face.

As soon as he perceived Raymond and the young nun, this new servant of Mahomet ran towards them. A fierce joy shone in his face. It was with delight he again expected to shed the blood of the worshippers

NO XXXXII. VOL. IV.

of a God whom he had renounced, and whom he blasphemed.

The Exile drew his sabre, and, throwing himself before Julia, intrepidly attacked the Renegade. Already he had inflicted on him two terrible wounds, and victory seemed to be his, when, surrounded by a crowd of Musulmans, oppressed by numbers he received a mortal wound, and fell at the feet of his enemy, who immediately recognized in Raymond an old companion in arms, whose friendship had been in former times cherished by him. At this sight he involuntarily trembled, and heard within himself the terrible voice of remorse. He descended from his horse, and approached the wounded man, who appeared to be suffering the extremity of pain, and near whom Julia was standing endeavouring to stanch the blood which flowed abundantly from his wounds. Raymond recognized not the Renegade; he spoke to him, and at the sound of his voice, the nun fell fainting on the bleeding body of her intrepid defender, In the murderer of the Exile she beheld her Ernestus! He ran to her, tore away the veil which concealed her figure, and discovered Julia. A convulsive movement seized him; he caught again the shining scymetar, which he had cast on the ground, and was directing it towards his breast, to terminate his guilty existence, when, all at once, he heard his men cry "To arms!"-It was the old mountaineer who was approaching, followed by Maximilian and some French. For the first time the Renegade replied not to the signal of carnage. The Mussulmans were dispersed by the brave Maximilian; and Ernestus, wishing to perish, offered himself without defence to the sabres of the conquerors, when Julia, placing herself before her former loyer, arrested the blow which would have terminated his existence. But the Renegade could not support an existence charged with opprobrium: he flew towards his protectress, pressed her in his arms, abjured his deadly error, demanded her pardon, and, snatching off the bandage which had been hastily placed on his wounds fell lifeless on the inanimate body of the Exile. Maximilian with difficulty tore Julia from this scene of desolation, and conducted her to Tripolizza; where, in a hospital, she shared her time between the service of the sick, and the tears given to her lover and to the Exile. Maximilian remains in the service of Greece, and revenges the death of his friend by the destruction of the infidels.

HE DID NOT LEAD HER FORTH TO
DANCE.

A Ballad of the "Beau Monde," by J. E. CARPENTER,

ESQ,

He did not lead her forth to dance,
But linger'd at her side,

That fair and gentle girl was doom'd
To be another's bride;

And when she thought of love-a tear
Would dim her laughing eye,
He spoke his low and witching words
Were echoed in her sigh.

She fear'd a father's angry frown,
Knew a proud brother's hate,
And when the stranger bridegroom came
He found her desolate;

M