Page:Peterson's Magazine 1842, Volume I.pdf/37

32 penned a challenge to his former companion; sent it fought and fell.

She was now left alone. There was no being in existence who could control her, and she hastened to mature her plans. On the continent, she was aware her life would be endangered, but, hearing that some nuns had formed themselves into a society in Yorkshire, she requested—and her wealth easily obtained—her admission. A rigid noviciate, shortened at her own request, was terminated, and under the name of Anastasia, she took the black veil. Unexampled privations and the most severe penance soon triumphed over a constitution impaired by disappointment and corroded by remorse, and, on the second anniversary of her entrance into the convent, the grave shed over her its tranquilizing mold.

THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. In a mountain glen, a streamlet sprung, From a rude and rocky bed, The wild flowers over its margin hung; And their odorous incense around it flung, Where its glancing waters sped

In summary, 'it was a bright and joyous stream. As it laughed in its infant glee, And kissed by the warm sun's amorous beam, It murmuring flowed; oh, nothing could seem More sportive, happy, and free.

The young rose bathed her blushing face. In its pure and sparkling tide, And the lily fair, in her queenly grace, Her beauties, loved in its wave to trace, With her glance of maiden pride

But that bounding streamlet onward flew, Afar from its native glen, No wild flowers on its margin grew, And near the cultured plains it drew, To the noisy haunts of men.

And though the garden flowed around, it shone. More fair than the wild glen bore, Yet the sunny smile on its face was gone. And slowly and silently, it wandered on. Unheeding the lovely shore

And farther yet, in its onward course, The broad stream proudly flowed. The rude winds sang for it, music hoarse. And the tempest smote it with angry force. Till its foamy crest, it showed.

And a proud and mighty river it grew; And it gained a name from men: And they feared the wrath of its waters. Nor dreamed of the tranquil time it knew, Ere, it left its own loved glen.

In the ocean's boundless depths at last, A goal that the river found And its course of strife and passion past, It sought rest in those vast, Where no fathom line can sound

Oh, say, is not that a warring tide? Like a man's ambitious life? Condemned from tranquil joys to glide, And'mid oblivion's waters wide, To end his course of strife. B. J. M.

THE GERMAN RHINE.

By Nicholas Becker.

"Sie sollen ihn nicht hanbn."

They never shall have it! The free, the German Rhine! They threaten in vain for ever. The river of the vine!

So long as its billows are bounding They will wear their dark-blue vest, So long as an oar, resounding, Shall cleave its glorious breast.

They never shall have it! The free, the German Rhine! No stranger's heart will ever Shall you bathe in its fiery wine?

So long as one flower shall blossom Beside its exulting foam, So long as the glass of its bosom Shall mirror castle and dome.

They never shall have it! The free, the German Rhine! Our youths shall guard for ever. The Father of the Vine!

No, until its abundant waters Shall you yield us fish no more? No!—till our Fatherland's daughters No longer shall it haunt its shore.

They never shall have it! The free, the German Rhine! For first on its waves for ever The sun must cease to shine!

SONNET.

KEATS.

The world he dwelt in was one of solitude. And he a flitting shade, a spectre pale, A voice, like that embodied in the gale, When in its softest whisper, it has wooed A Naiad is in her cave. Earth's common brood , Trampling the flowers, which Heaven's own sweets exhale, He looked at him as a glowworm or a snail. Crushed under foot, if in their way it stood: And so they crushed him.

"I was a grateful boon, To send him early from this world of sorrows; For his young heart, which dried up and withered soon, Having no joy, save what from love it borrows Love, like his own Endymion's for the moon And hope, the rainbow spanning our tomorrows.