The convent's chanted rite was stay'd,

And the hermit dropp'd his beads,

And a trembling ran through the forest-shade, At the neigh of the phantom steeds,

And the church-bells peal'd to the rocking blast As the Wild Night-Huntsman pass'd.

The storm hath swept with the chase away,
There is stillness in the sky,

But the mother looks on her son to-day,

With a troubled heart and eye,

And the maiden's brow hath a shade of care
Midst the gleam of her golden hair!

The Rhine flows bright, but its waves ere long

Must hear a voice of war,

And a clash of spears our hills among,

And a trumpet from afar;

And the brave on a bloody turf must lie,

For the Huntsman hath gone by!

*For the year of the Queen of Prussia's death.

M

Earth shrouds with burial sod

Her soft eye's blue,—

-Now o'er the gifts of God

Fall tears like dew!

THE SHADE OF THESEUS.

ANCIENT GREEK TRADITION.

KNOW ye not when our dead

From sleep to battle sprung? -When the Persian charger's tread

On their covering greensward rung!

When the trampling march of foes

Had crush'd our vines and flowers,

When jewell'd crests arose

Through the holy laurel-bowers,

When banners caught the breeze,

When helms in sunlight shone,

When masts were on the seas,

And spears on Marathon.

There was one, a leader crown'd,

And arm'd for Greece that day; But the falchions made no sound

On his gleaming war-array.

In the battle's front he stood,

With his tall and shadowy crest;

But the arrows drew no blood

Though their path was through his breast.

When banners caught the breeze,

When helms in sunlight shone,

When masts were on the seas,

And spears on Marathon.

His sword was seen to flash

Where the boldest deeds were done;

But it smote without a clash;

The stroke was heard by none !

His voice was not of those

That swell'd the rolling blast,

And his steps fell hush'd like snows

'Twas the Shade of Theseus pass'd!