At once to fall upon his neck she flew;
But-not encouraged-back she drew,

And trembling stood in dread suspense,

Her tears her only eloquence!

All, all-the while-an awful distance keeping;

Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs;

And one, his little hand in hers,

Who weeps to see his sister weeping.

Then Jacqueline the silence broke.

She clasped her father's knees and spoke,
Her brother kneeling too;

While D'Arcy as before looked on,

Tho' from his manly cheek was gone

Its natural hue

"His praises from your lips I heard,
“ Till my fond heart was won;
"And, if in aught his Sire has erred,

"Oh turn not from the Son!

"She, whom in joy, in grief you nursed;

"Who climbed and called you father first,

66

By that dear name conjures

"On her you thought-but to be kind!

"When looked she up, but you inclined?

"These things, for ever in her mind, "Oh are they gone from yours?

"Two kneeling at your feet behold;

"One-one how young;-nor yet the other old.

"Oh spurn them not-nor look so cold

"If Jacqueline be cast away,

" Her bridal be her dying day.

'Well, well might she believe in you!

"She listened, and she found it true."

He shook his aged locks of snow;

And twice he turned, and rose to go.
She hung; and was St. Pierre to blame,
If tears and smiles together came?
"Oh no-begone! I'll hear no more."
But, as he spoke, his voice relented.

"That very look thy mother wore

"When she implored, and old Le Roc consented.

66

True, I have done-have done and suffered wrong;

"Yet once I loved him as my own.

"-Nor can❜st thou, D'Arcy, feel resentment long;

"For she herself shall plead, and I atone.

66

Henceforth," he paused awhile, unmanned,

For D'Arcy's tears bedewed his hand;

"Let each meet each as friend to friend,

"All things by all forgot, forgiven.

"And that dear Saint-may she once more descend

"To make our home a heaven!

"But now, in my hands, your's with her's unite.

"A father's blessing on your heads alight!

6

"All hearts shall sing Adieu to Sorrow!'

"St. Pierre has found his child to day;

"And old and young shall dance to-morrow."

Had Louis* then before the gate dismounted,

Lost in the chace at set of sun;

*Louis the Fourteenth.

Like Henry, when he heard recounted *
The generous deeds himself had done,

(That night the miller's maid Colette

Sung, while he supped, her chansonnette)

Then-when St. Pierre addressed his village train, Then had the monarch with a sigh confessed

A joy by him unsought and unpossessed,

-Without it what are all the rest?

To love, and to be loved again.

*

Alluding to a popular story related of Henry the Fourth of France; similar to ours of "The King and Miller of Mansfield."

Το

Go-you may call it madness, folly;
You shall not chase my gloom away.
There's such a charm in melancholy,
I would not, if I could, be gay.

Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure
That fills my bosom when I sigh,

You would not rob me of a treasure

Monarchs are too poor to buy.

FROM EURIPIDES.

THERE is a streamlet issuing from a rock.

The village-girls, singing wild madrigals,

Dip their white vestments in its waters clear,
And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her.

Her dark and eloquent eyes, mild, full of fire,