And when at last this paradise he saw,

By some kind genius fenced with rocks around,
As if for him a consecrated ground,

He feels affliction from his soul withdraw:
He feels his spirit glowing with delight,
Roused from the tortures of a feverous night,
Soar to the twilight of eternal day-

6

'Here rest,' he cries, this paradise survey,
Rest, where no worldly grief our souls shall
rudely smite.'

Thus in enjoyment, and alternate toil,
He the late harvest of his life consumed,
And till'd his little spot, where ever bloom'd
Luxuriant plenty from the grateful soil—
Labour was pleasure, labour sweeten'd rest:
Lost to the world, its miseries seem'd at best
A childish dream, whene'er he turn'd to trace
The wretched earnings of his earthly race :
Thus conscience, health, and peace his spirit daily
bless'd.

Now,bow'd with years,his loved companion died—
Alone remain'd the hermit, yet the more

His spirit turn'd to that celestial shore,

Where all he loved did with their God reside-
There dwelt his soul—a wandering stranger here-
Mid the still night when objects disappear,
And bodies, as external senses die,

In their first nothing seem again to lie,

Oft on his cheek he felt a breathing spirit near.

Then his half slumbering ears in trance perceive, With shuddering rapture heard, the groves among, Angelic harmonies at distance sung,

For him the inexpressive chorus weave:

And as he lists he feels earth's slender wall, That parts him from his friends, about to fall: His spirit swells, a flame celestial bright

Burns in his breast, while robed in heavenly light Shapes of the viewless world his soul responsive call.

These yet remain, when softly laid in sleep
His eyelids close, and in the morning rays
When the wide world its theatre displays,
Still o'er his sense the warbled echoes sweep;
A soul-felt glance of heavenly joy supreme
Gilds all around, the groves and mountains gleam;
And, over all, he sees the form divine,
The Uncreated in his creatures shine,
Bright as in drops of dew the sun's reflected beam.

Thus imperceptibly did heaven and earth
United in his soul together run:

His spirit brightens like an inward sun:
Far from the dissonance of mortal birth,
From passion's turmoil, in this holy gloom
Joys that await the bless'd his soul illume.
Who locks my daring lip with viewless seal
Lest aught ineffable its warmth reveal?

Mute o'er the abyss I bend-man dares no more

presume.

SOTHEBY.

THE WILD HUNTSMEN.

The tradition of the Wild Huntsmen' is a popular superstition very generally believed by the peasants of Germany. Whosoever wishes for more information respecting these imaginary sportsmen, will find his curiosity fully satisfied by perusing the first volume of the German Romance of The Necromancer.' The original of this Ballad is by Bürger, author of the well known Leonora.'

THE Wildgrave* winds his bugle horn;
To horse, to horse, halloo, halloo !
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,

And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash through the bush, the briar, the brake; While answering hound and horn and steed The mountain echoes startling wake.

The beams of God's own hallow'd day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling sinful man to pray,

Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd.
But still the wildgrave onward rides ;
Halloo, halloo, and hark again!
When, spurring from opposing sides,
Two stranger horsemen join the train.
Who was each stranger, left and right,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell :
The right hand steed was silver white,
The left the swarthy hue of hell.

The Wildgrave is a German title, corresponding to the Earl Warden of a royal forest.

The right hand horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May;
The left from eye of tawny glare,

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.
He waved his huntsman's cap on high,
Cried, Welcome, welcome, noble lord!
What sport can earth or sea or sky,

To match the princely chase, afford?'-
- Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,'
Cried the fair youth, with silver voice;
And for devotion's choral swell,
Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise.
To-day the ill omen'd chase forbear;
Yon bell yet summons to the fane:
To-day the warning spirit hear,
To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain.'—
-Away, and sweep the glades along!'-
The sable hunter hoarse replies;

- To muttering monks leave matin song, And bells and books and mysteries.'The wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed,

And, launching forward with a bound, -Who for thy drowsy priestlike rede Would leave the jovial horn and hound? 'Hence, if our manly sport offend :

With pious fools go chant and pray; Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend,— Halloo! halloo! and hark away!'.

The wildgrave spurr'd his courser light,
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill;
And on the left and on the right

Each stranger horseman follow'd still.

Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn,
A stag more white than mountain snow
And louder rung the wildgrave's horn!—
- Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!'-
A heedless wretch has cross'd the way,-
He gasps the thundering hoofs below;
But live who can, or die who may,
Still forward, forward! on they go.
See, where yon simple fences meet,

A field with autumn's blessings crown'd;
See, prostrate at the wildgrave's feet,
A husbandman with toil embrown'd.
O mercy! mercy! noble lord,
Spare the poor's pittance was his cry,
Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd
In scorching hour of fierce July.'-
Earnest the right hand stranger pleads,
The left still cheering to the prey:
The impetuous earl no warning heeds,
But furious holds the onward way.
-Away; thou hound so basely born,
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!'-
Then loudly rung his bugle-horn,

— Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!’— So said, so done-a single bound

Clears the poor labourer's humble pale:
Wild follows man and horse and hound,
Like dark December's stormy gale,

And man and horse and hound and horn
Destructive sweep the field along ;

While, joying o'er the wasted corn,

Fell famine marks the maddening throng.