Page:Ainsworth's Magazine - Volume 1.djvu/342

 She smiles, while tears are dropping— She holds the treasure high ; And land and sea resounding, Ring out with one wild cry.

And sobs at its subsiding From manly breasts are heard : Stern natures—hearts guilt-hardened, To woman's softness stirr'd.

One gazes all intentness— That felon boy—and, lo ! The bold bright eyes are glistening, Long, long unmoisten'd so.

The mother holds her child up — “Look, little one !” cries she; “I pulled such, when as blithsome And innocent as thee.”

No word the old man utters— His earnest eyes grow dim : One spot beyond the salt-sea Is present now with him.

There blooms the earliest primrose, His father's grave hard by ; There lieth all his kindred — There he shall never lie.

The living mass moves onward, The Lady and her train ; They press upon her path still, To look and look again.

Yet on she moves securely, No guards are needed there ; Of her they hem so closely, They would not harm a hair !

Be blessings on that Lady ! Be blessings on that hand ! The first to plant the Primrose Upon the Exile's land ! C. S.

LEGENDS OF THE MONTS-DORES.

is the largest of the lakes of the Monts-Dores, and is situated on the summit of a mountain, having other mountains towering above it to a great height. It is evidently the crater of an extinct volcano, about half filled with water of peculiar transparency. This liquid mirror is framed by a sort of cornice of lava rocks, which have fallen from the surrounding heights. A line of these rocks runs from the edge, under the waves, for some distance, and then suddenly the blackness of the water tells of its profound depth. It is easy to distinguish, beneath the clear surface, branches of trees waving, whose leaves are of immense size, and whose nature is different from those in the neighbouring forests—huge blocks of stone and blackened beams of wood appear as if floating in a gulf beneath ; and strange are the sights and sounds which may be witnessed on those mysterious banks of the most curious and beautiful lake of Auvergne.

Its borders are in some places raised more than three hundred feet from the surface ; in others, they are depressed gradually till the sides meet at an opening, from whose narrow gorge the overflowing water rushes over a stony bed, and forming numerous cascades, as it escapes to a plain below covered with thick verdure, subsides into a murmuring stream.

The banks of the lake are here and there adorned with turf of velvet softness which gently inclines to the edge : steep and rugged rocks spring up immediately after ; and opposite them, an amphitheatre of forest extends far and wide. When a gentle wind ruffles the face of this lake on which the bright sun is shining, a thousand little waves seem suddenly to rise from the gulf in the centre, whose angles sparkle and glitter like diamonds, and break on the shore over rounded masses of voleanic substance, in flashes of light that surround the whole basin with rays. Nothing can be more exquisite than the scene in a warm day of summer, when the rich bine of the sky is reflected in the waters, together with the lively green of the bending woods and the broad shadows of the frowning rock's piled along the banks. The profound stillness around adds to the charm—not a sound is heard—it seems as if all was peace and tranquillity on the borders of this secluded mass of crystal, and that nature feared to disturb the majestic quietude.

But it is not always so : fearful are the commotions within the breast of the 