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Fair Julia seemed her brother's softened sprite-
A gem reflecting Nature's purest light,-

And with her graceful wit there was inwrought
A wildly sweet unworldliness of thought,
That almost child-like to his kindness drew,
And twin with Udolph in his friendship grew.
But did his thoughts to love one moment range?—
No! he who had loved Constance could not change!
Besides, till grief betrayed her undesigned,
The unlikely thought could scarcely reach his mind,
That eyes so young on years like his should beam
Unwooed devotion back for pure esteem.

"True she sang to his very soul, and brought
Those trains before him of luxuriant thought,
Which only Music's heaven-born art can bring,
To sweep across the mind with angel wing.
Once, as he smiled amidst that waking trance,
She paused o'ercome: he thought it might be chance,
And, when his first suspicions dimly stole,
Rebuked them back like phantoms from his soul.
But when he saw his caution gave her pain,
And kindness brought suspense's rack again,
Faith, honour, friendship, bound him to unmask
Truths which her timid fondness feared to ask.

"And yet with gracefully ingenuous power
Her spirit met the explanatory hour;
Even conscious beauty brightened in her eyes,
That told she knew their love no vulgar prize;
And pride like that of one more woman-grown,
Enlarged her mien, enriched her voice's tone.
'Twas then she struck the keys, and music made
That mocked all skill her hand had e'er displayed.
Inspired and warbling, rapt from things around,
She looked the very Muse of magic sound,
Painting in sound the forms of joy and woe,
Until the mind's eye saw them melt and glow.
Her closing strain composed and calm she played,
And sang no words to give its pathos aid;

But grief seemed lingering in its lengthened swell,
And like so many tears the trickling touches fell.
Of Constance then she heard Theodric speak,
And steadfast smoothness still possessed her cheek.
But when he told her how he oft had planned
Of old a journey to their mountain-land,
That might have brought him hither years before,
Ah! then,' she cried, 'you knew not England's shore!
And had you come,-and wherefore did you not?'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it would have changed our lot!'
Then burst her tears through pride's restraining bands,
And with her handkerchief, and both her hands,
She hid her voice and wept.-Contrition stung
Theodric for the tears his words had wrung.
'But no,' she cried, 'unsay not what you've said,
Nor grudge one prop on which my pride is stayed;
To think I could have merited your faith
Shall be my solace even unto death!'
'Julia,' Theodric said, with purposed look
Of firmness, my reply deserved rebuke;
But by your pure and sacred peace of mind,
And by the dignity of womankind,

Swear that when I am gone you'll do your best
To chase this dream of fondness from your breast.'
"The abrupt appeal electrified her thought ;-
She looked to Heaven as if its aid she sought,
Dried hastily the tear-drops from her cheek,
And signified the vow she could not speak.

"Ere long he communed with her mother mild:
'Alas!' she said, 'I warned-conjured my child,
And grieved for this affection from the first,
But like fatality it has been nursed;

For when her filled eyes on your picture fixed,
And when your name in all she spoke was mixed,
'Twas hard to chide an over-grateful mind!
Then each attempt a likelier choice to find
Made only fresh-rejected suitors grieve,
And Udolph's pride-perhaps her own-believe

That, could she meet, she might enchant even you.
You came. I augured the event, 'tis true,
But how was Udolph's mother to exclude
The guest that claimed our boundless gratitude?
And that unconscious you had cast a spell
On Julia's peace, my pride refused to tell :
Yet in my child's illusion I have seen,
Believe me well, how blameless you have been :
Nor can it cancel, howsoe'er it end,

Our debt of friendship to our boy's best friend.'
At night he parted with the aged pair;
At early morn rose Julia to prepare

The last repast her hands for him should make :
And Udolph to convoy him o'er the lake.
The parting was to her such bitter grief,
That of her own accord she made it brief;
But, lingering at her window, long surveyed
His boat's last glimpses melting into shade.

"Theodric sped to Austria, and achieved
His journey's object. Much was he relieved
When Udolph's letters told that Julia's mind
Had borne his loss firm, tranquil, and resigned.
He took the Rhenish route to England, high
Elate with hopes, fulfilled their ecstasy,
And interchanged with Constance's own breath
The sweet eternal vows that bound their faith.
"To paint that being to a grovelling mind
Were like portraying pictures to the blind.
'Twas needful even infectiously to feel
Her temper's fond and firm and gladsome zeal,
To share existence with her, and to gain
Sparks from her love's electrifying chain
Of that pure pride, which, lessening to her breast
Life's ills, gave all its joys a treble zest,

Before the mind completely understood
That mighty truth-how happy are the good!

"Even when her light forsook him, it bequeathed Ennobling sorrow; and her memory breathed

A sweetness that survived her living days,
As odorous scents outlast the censer's blaze.

"Or, if a trouble dimmed their golden joy,
'Twas outward dross, and not infused alloy :
Their home knew but affection's looks and speech-
A little Heaven, above dissension's reach.
But 'midst her kindred there was strife and gall;
Save one congenial sister, they were all
Such foils to her bright intellect and grace,
As if she had engrossed the virtue of her race.
Her nature strove the unnatural feuds to heal,
Her wisdom made the weak to her appeal;

And, though the wounds she cured were soon unclosed,
Unwearied still her kindness interposed.

"Oft on those errands though she went in vain,
And home, a blank without her, gave him pain,
He bore her absence for its pious end.-
But public grief his spirit came to bend ;
For war laid waste his native land once more,
And German honour bled at every pore.
Oh! were he there, he thought, to rally back
One broken band, or perish in the wrack!
Nor think that Constance sought to move and melt
His purpose: like herself she spoke and felt :-
'Your fame is mine, and I will bear all woe
Except its loss!-but with you let me go,
To arm you for, to embrace you from, the fight;
Harm will not reach me-hazards will delight!'
He knew those hazards better; one campaign
In England he conjured her to remain,
And she expressed assent, although her heart
In secret had resolved they should not part.

"How oft the wisest on misfortune's shelves
Are wrecked by errors most unlike themselves!
That little fault, that fraud of love's romance,
That plan's concealment, wrought their whole mischance.
He knew it not preparing to embark,

But felt extinct his comfort's latest spark,

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When, 'midst those numbered days, she made repair
Again to kindred worthless of her care.

'Tis true she said the tidings she would write
Would make her absence on his heart sit light;
But, haplessly, revealed not yet her plan,
And left him in his home a lonely man.

"Thus damped in thoughts, he mused upon the past: 'Twas long since he had heard from Udolph last, And deep misgivings on his spirit fell

That all with Udolph's household was not well.
'Twas that too-true prophetic mood of fear
That augurs griefs inevitably near,

Yet makes them not less startling to the mind
When come. Least looked-for then of humankind,
His Udolph ('twas, he thought at first, his sprite),
With mournful joy that morn surprised his sight.
How changed was Udolph! Scarce Theodric durst
Inquire his tidings, he revealed the worst.
'At first,' he said, 'as Julia bade me tell,
She bore her fate high-mindedly and well,
Resolved from common eyes her grief to hide,
And from the world's compassion saved our pride;
But still her health gave way to secret woe,
And long she pined-for broken hearts die slow !
Her reason went, but came returning, like
The warning of her death-hour-soon to strike;
And all for which she now, poor sufferer! sighs,
Is once to see Theodric ere she dies.

Why should I come to tell you this caprice?
Forgive me for my mind has lost its peace.
I blame myself, and ne'er shall cease to blame,
That my insane ambition for the name
Of brother to Theodric, founded all

Those high-built hopes that crushed her by their fall.
I made her slight her mother's counsel sage,
But now my parents droop with grief and age:
And, though my sister's eyes mean no rebuke,
They overwhelm me with their dying look.

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