Now gently gliding from his twining arm, Sweet smiled her eyes, fair shone her happy brow, Soft stirred her tresses in the gentle blast; His doting eye still watched - as, playful now, Bright flowers and branches in the tide she cast; To mark their fatal voyage, sailing fast From peace to ruin, in the swallowing foam. He muses on the stream calm-gliding past: Sweet stream, asleep, unconscious of its doom – Perchance himself might sleep, nor dream of wreck to come! Wearied at length, she seeks once more his side, To wake in happy fields, where storms no more shall sweep.' She answered soft: "The picture is most bright, Would charm like mellow music, heard with thee: Though sweet these birds we hear, these flowers we see, Still would I meet them all, wherever thou shouldst be!' Thrilled to the quick, he clasps her with a start, He speaks-an angel-voice confirms her shadowy heaven. 'Come, dearest heart! we waste our golden time; Not yet,' she cries; 'from yonder brink sublime, He guides her there with cautious feet and slow; Stands a lone starving pine, where, clinging, they look down. 'Awful!' he cries: 'how the bewildered tides At length, o'er heaps of tumbled fragments gray, 'Close down beneath our feet, now bend thy sight, It seems a floor of marble, veined with white: Cling closer now! How deep! - yet still more deep What caves, there lurk! Come hence! the frightful steep Dizzies my steadier brain, and numbs my will to sleep.' They leave the brink: And now,' he cries, 'for home! Where late they stood, he springs, he flies, to seek Horrors too wild for thought! there, in the lake below, Sees the last sinking flutter of her robe of snow! 'She's fallen!-oh she's fallen!' with a shout, That soon had quenched his torments far below, Oh! why not leave him to that easier fate, Were downier bed, alas! than he again shall press! I never look upon that fiendish pool Without a thrill, though years have rolled away; As though its breast no murder hid from day: Now frantic threats of rash self-sacrifice, Now sobs and prayers his frame alternate shake: Soon gathering friends, with ready kindness, flew; Still as a dreaming statue, there she lay, Weep not, poor mourner! o'er those perished charms: For underneath the everlasting arms' Caught soft and bore her better part away, Where treacherous steeps no more shall fright or slay. And God thy patience with her sight will pay : Incense best loved of Him, who knows to heal the smart. Oh! blessed knowledge, that all tears that shower Now from his fever dull collapse ensued, They bear the lovely ruin to the grave; But there he stood, with stony heart and brow, Nor shuddering once, though others wept, was found; Save when the first-dropped clod sent up its dull cold sound. They lead him to his home-oh! dismal scene! The empty cup of joys that late had been, Save the pale star of hope that shines beyond the tomb ! Passaic! ever when the generous sun And shuddering on the brink, pause o'er the murderous deep. There young Romance the deepness shall look down, And thrill with pangs and trials not his own: And Mirth, light-tripping on the fatal brow, Shall hush for her whose joy was quenched below: THEODORIC: OR THE SIEGE OF ROME. His desert speaks loud; and we should wrong it To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time, MEASURE FOR MEASURE.' IN the reign of the Emperor Justinian, on the banks of the Euphrates, retired and alone, lived Ecebolus, once governor of the African Pentapolis, a province of the Eastern empire. It was At the time this story commences, he lay sick of a fever. midnight, and the light from an untrimmed lamp threw a twilight shade over the spacious room. By his side sat a youth, his head resting on his hand, as he gazed with anxiety and fear on the form which lay before him. The raven locks of the sufferer were scattered in ringlets over his pillow, and his noble features were distorted, as if restlessness and pain weighed heavily upon him. But he was silent; and it was evident that the struggle between life and death had commenced, and was well nigh completed. The youth who sat by his side, seemed to watch with deep interest the evidences of returning consciousness, as if there was some secret in the bosom of the dying man, which deeply concerned himself, and which he could learn from no one else. It is all over!' he exclaimed, as he fancied he saw the last struggle of expiring nature; and bursting into tears, he rose from his seat and moved toward the door. A noise in the direction of the couch caught his ear, and hastening back, he found that the sick man had revived, and was looking him full in the face. 'Come near,' he whispered faintly; and the youth placed his ear close to the faltering lips of the speaker. For a moment he remained in this position, trying to catch the struggling speech of the dying man. He stood listening, even after the sufferer had ceased to articulate; when he had said all his strength would permit, he quietly pushed the youth aside. Summoning what vital energy remained, Ecebolus drew from his bosom a rich miniature, and extending it toward the young man, exclaimed, in faltering accents, 'Beware!" But the arm which was held forth, was stricken with death, before the youth could grasp the rich treasure which it held, and the miniature fell upon the floor. It sprung open, and he found within evidence which rendered certain all that had been obscurely gathered from the broken speech of the corse before him. 'God of the Christian, is it so!' exclaimed the youth, as he smote his breast, and hastened from the apartment. Theodoric, for such was the name of the youth who attended the last moments of Ecebolus, was a native of Tyre. At the age of ten, he was removed to the hills of Yemen, in Arabia. The history of his birth was both a secret and a mystery, to himself and the world. When hurried into the mountains of Yemen, it did not escape his notice, notwithstanding his youth, that the forced retirement had some object other than to rescue him from the vices and temptations of a profligate city. He was protected and guided by Gilimer, the nurse and friend of his youth, who, with no other friend than Theodoric, sought security under the name of happiness, in an obscure part of the mountains. But the life of a hermit did not suit his restless and daring spirit. He complained bitterly that in the bloom and freshness of youth, he should be made to anticipate and feel the inactivity of age. The use of the bow and the javelin, the excitement of the chase, and the study of the arts of war, were in turn resorted to, to soothe his spirit, and occupy his time. From childhood he had manifested a predilection for arms, and he early familiarized his mind with the history of the first Romans. But the mystery of his birth sat heavy upon him, and all he could extort from his nurse, was, that he was of noble parents, but that farther knowledge might be the prelude to his destruction. The care with which his existence was concealed from the world; the mystery which hung over him; and the obscure hints which increased rather than diminished his anxiety, all preyed upon his mind, and added to the miseries of his situation. Twice each year Theodoric and Gilimer visited the banks of the Euphrates, and always met a hearty welcome at the hands of Ecebolus. But they were now received with caution as well as affection; and after a few days' sojourn, were dismissed with anxiety. Twice during these visits, Theodoric was awakened in the night, and hurried away to the mountains. When he had attained his twentieth year, the restraints by which he was surrounded became insufferable; and he determined to force every barrier, and make his way into the world. 'I have been guilty of no crime; I have wronged no man; I have done the world no injustice; then why should I,' exclaimed the noble youth, be shut up in the mountains, like a robber! No,' he continued, as he wiped a tear from his eyes, I will seek the camp, and win my way to death or glory, under the eagles of the empire!' The youth departed stealthily from his solitary abode, and after many vicissitudes, arrived safely in Italy, at that time the theatre of a bloody war. Theoditus, the king of the Goths, after a feeble struggle to maintain a crown which he purchased with crime, and which he afterward proved himself unworthy to wear, had been defeated and slain by the legions of Belisarius, who were then in possession of Rome. But the Goths were not disheartened by the loss of their capital; and Vitiges, a successful general in the Illyrian war, was raised by the voice of the soldiery to the head of the nation. A spirit of resistance animated the barbarians; and in a short time Vitiges could boast, that one hundred and fifty thousand fighting men marched under his banner to the siege of Rome. Theodoric, pursuing the Appian Way, which, after a lapse of nine centuries, still preserved its primitive beauty, came in sight of the capital, a few days before the besieging army crossed the Tiber, and commenced the attack upon the city. As he entered the Asinarian gate, he heard the shouts of the soldiers in the direction of Hadrian's Sepulchre, and with rapid steps he hastened thither. He felt his heart beat quick, as he approached and beheld the eagles under which Cæsar, Pompey, Scilla, Scipio, and others, carried among the nations of the earth the terror and glory |