For many a night I've borne my lot,
Nor yet disturb'd thee here,
Then sure a pillow thou wilt give
Unto thy old compeer?"

"Tempt me no more," the robber cried,
And struggled with his fear,
"Were this a night to ope my door,
Thy taunt should cost thee dear."
"Ah, comrade, you did not disown,
Nor bid me brave the cold,
The door was open'd soon, when I
Brought murder'd Mansell's gold.

"When for a bribe you gave me up
To the cruel gallows tree,
You made my bed with readiness,
And stirr'd the fire for me.
But I have sworn to visit thee,
Then cease to bid me go,
And open-or thy bolts and bars
Shall burst beneath my blow."

Oh sick at heart grew Polydore,
And wish'd the dawn of day;
That voice had quell'd his haughtiness,
He knew not what to say.

For now the one that stood without
An entrance craved once more,
And when no answer was return'd,
He struck-and burst the door.

Some words he mutter'd o'er the latch,
They were no words of good,
And by the embers of the hearth,

All in his shackles stood.

A wreath of rusted iron bound

His grim unhallowed head;

A dæmon's spark was in his eye

Its mortal light was dead.

"Why shrink'st thou thus, good comrade, now

With such a wilder'd gaze,

Dost fear my rusted shackles' clank,

Dost fear my wither'd face ?

But for the gallows rope, my face

Had ne'er thus startled thee;

And the gallows rope, was't not the fruit
Of thy foul treachery?



"But come thou forth, we'll visit now The elm of the wither'd rind;

For though thy door was barr'd to me,
Yet I will be more kind.

That is my home, the ravens there
Are all my company;

And they and I will both rejoice
In such a guest as thee.

"The wind is loud, but clasp my arm→
Why, fool, dost thou delay ?
You did not fear to clasp that arm
When my life was sold away."
The midnight blast sung wild and loud
Round trembling Polydore,

As by his dead companion led
He struggled o'er the moor.

Soon had they reach'd a wilderness
By human foot unpress'd,

The wind grew cold, the heather sigh'd,
As conscious of their guest.

Alone amid the dreary waste

The wither'd elm reclined,

Where a halter with a ready noose
Hung dancing in the wind.

Then turning round, his ghastly face
Was twisted with a smile-
"Now living things are far remote,
We'll rest us here awhile.
Brothers we were, false Polydore,
We robb'd in company;
Brothers in life, and we in death
Shall also brothers be.

"Behold the elm, behold the rope,
Which I prepared before-
Art pale? 'tis but a struggle, man,
And soon that struggle's o'er.
Tremble no more, but freely come,
And like a brother be;

I'll hold the rope, and in my arms
I'll help you up the tree."

The eyes of Polydore grew dim,
He roused himself to pray,

But a heavy weight sat on his breast
And took all voice away.

The rope is tied-Then from his lips
A cry of anguish broke-
Too powerful for the bands of sleep,
And Polydore awoke.

All vanish'd now the cursed elm,
His dead companion gone,
With troubled joy he found himself
In darkness and alone.

But still the wind with hollow gusts
Fought ravening o'er the moor,
And check'd his transports, while it shook
The barricaded door.


From the German.


GOOD youth, farewell, your destin'd way pursue,
My faith, you know, is to another due;
Your woes from me no remedy can prove,
Pity I may, but dare not, must not love,
Say to what country do your footsteps bend,
That all my wishes may their course attend?

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Though o'er their confines beams celestial light,
The paths are shrouded in eternal night.


Short will appear the gloomiest, rudest road,
That leads your troubles to that calm abode.
When there arriv'd, O fail not to impart
The grateful tidings to my anxious heart,
That, after all your pains and miseries past,
True, pure felicity is yours at last.


No; from the far, far country where I go,
Nothing of me, alas! thou e'er canst know;
Farewell for ever! landed on that shore,
None ever yet were seen or heard of more.


The magnificent and durable structure now erected on the Bell Rock, will remain to future ages a monument of the ingenuity and public spirit of the nineteenth cen tury. In former times, a bell, erected by a float so as to ring by the agitation of the waves, was the simple means of indicating to the watchful sailor the situation of this perilous rock; who, when he heard the warning sound, no doubt blessed the man who had been at the trouble of placing it there. Tradition says, that the bell was stolen, and that the man who did it was afterwards very deservedly shipwrecked on the rock. We have been so much pleased with the following spirited and highly poetical lines of an unknown author on this subject, that we cannot avoid wishing to give them a fairer chance for permanency, than could be obtained by circulation in manuscript, or a place in the corner of a newspaper.

No stir in the air, no stir on the sea,
The ship lies as still as still may be ;
Her sails have neither breath nor motion,
Her keel is steady in the ocean.

Without either sound or sign of their shock,

The waves rolled over the Inch Cape rock:

So little they rose, so little they fell,
You could not hear the Inch Cape bell.
That bell had a holy abbot hung,
And on a floating raft it swung;

Still as the billows rose or fell,

Louder and louder was heard the knell;

And sailors bore off from the perilous rock,
And blessed the good Abbot of Aberbrothock.

But now the bell and the raft were seen
Like a darker speck on the ocean green;
The sun in heaven rode high and gay,
All things were happy on that day;
The sea-gull scream'd as she flitted round,
And there was pleasure in the sound.
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd the deck,
His eye was on that darker speck,
He felt the influence of the spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the pirate's mirth was wickedness;
His eye was on the bell and float,—
"My men," he said, "get out the boat,
And row me to the Inch Cape rock,
I'll plague the old priest of Aberbrothock."

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The boat they lower, the boat they row,
And to the Inch Cape rock they go;
Sir Ralph has leant him o'er the boat,
And he cut the bell from off the float.
Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound,
The bursting bubbles gathered round.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "the next that comes to the rock,
Won't bless the old priest of Aberbrothock."

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away,
He harried the seas for many a day,
And having gather'd gold good store,
He home return'd to Scotland's shore.
The wind had blown a gale all day,
Towards evening it had died away;
So thick was the mist on the ocean green,
Nor shore nor headland could be seen.

On deck the Rover takes his stand,

"The weather's so dark we can spy no land."

Quoth another, "it will be lighter soon,
Yonder's the beam of the rising moon."

Quoth another," dost hear the breakers roar?
Yonder methinks should be the shore;

But where we are I cannot tell

Would to God that we heard the Inch Cape bell !" Though the wind was down, the tide was strong, The vessel swiftly drifts along;

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