were cast down, and a slight tremor might have been perceived in her whole person, as she stood by the side of Ulrica, upon whom, in her agitation, she leaned for support, and who gently pressed her throbbing hand.

The chant ceased. Rafu advanced, and Ulrica resigned the hand of Helga to his. They stood before the altar. The priest uttered a short prayer, the vows were pronounced, and a benediction closed the ceremony. "The Lord bless thee and keep thee," had just passed his lips, when a quick step trod the church portal, and a man of extraordinary stature, and of a noble figure, magnificently attired, entered the assembly. He looked round with a hurried glance, then darted a reproachful look upon the bride, and fixed his eyes, sparkling with indignation, upon Rafu, who quailed at the lightning which seemed to flash upon him.

The intruder was Gunnlaug. "Miserable woman-perfidious wretch!" were all the words he spoke. Helga saw in an instant the consummation of her misery, and fell senseless into the arms of Ulrica. Gunnlaug rushed forward. He would have caught the sinking victim; the emotions of rage giving place to a sudden gush of tenderness. Thorstein saw his purpose, and Rafu interposed his arm. "She is mine,” cried he, repulsing him; "touch her, and you die!"

"She is mine!" exclaimed Thorstein, "and she shall die in my bosom." He snatched her to his heart, and dropping upon a near seat, with her drooping head on his breast, the father sustained his child. The whole assembly was thrown into confusion. Some withdrew. Others stood apart, while Thorstein and Ulrica endeavored to restore Helga. The rivals forgot their mutual hate in intense anxiety for the object of their passion, and stood by her, each regardless of the other, watching for her recovery. She soon breathed faintly-opened her eyes-regained her consciousness, and, clinging to her father, burst into a passion of tears.

66

She extended her hand towards her lover; “Gunnlaug, dear Gunnlaug, forgive me!—I have been sternly urged to this faithless act. My heart, alas! could never consent to it!" She hid her face with both her hands. The next moment she extended her arms towards Gunnlaug, and cried, "Take me ;"—" and, Father," she said, looking piteously at her sire, "break the fetters which your hands have forged for your child." "Let us go home; nothing can be done here to calm her," said the distracted Thorstein to Ulrica. "Come neither of you," continued he, addressing himself to the rivals, "to my dwelling. I will hereafter confer with you apart. Leave us. We will depart."

Helga was laid upon a sort of litter in which she had been borne to the church. Her friends slowly dispersed, and Thorstein and Ulrica, with their own domestics, took their way to their sad home. There the mockery of preparation for a marriage-feast was presented to them, and desertion and misery seemed to preside at the profuse and silent board, unapproached by a human being.

The two lovers separated in mutual animosity, and each with a mutual determination to satisfy his revenge. Thorstein soon met the lover, and the husband of his daughter. The latter demanded his wife, and

Thorstein

the former related his misfortune and the treachery of Rafu. was a man of honor, and he firmly refused her to the treacherous and crafty Rafu. He even permitted Gunnlaug to see and converse with the unhappy Helga.

In this interview, they poured into each other's bosom the sad tale of wrong and woe, which was to end in their final separation. Virtue commanded that separation, and the "spirit of the North," resentful of injury even to the death of the perpetrator, sustained by the authority of duty, could sacrifice every affection to that stern behest-could submit to the forced vow paid to God, as to a power above all. Thus governed, though each loved with intensity of passion more manifest in tropical climes, this ardent lover and tender maiden tore themselves apart. Such they deemed was the will of Heaven, and their elevated sense of submission listened to no other will.

On the shores of the lake Thingvalla, a delegation of Iceland nobles, land-holders and clergy, assembled once every year to deliberate upon all questions that involved the concerns of individuals of the civil order, and of religion. The scenery about Thingvalla is awful and imposing. The whole region is volcanic. Not a tree is to be seen there-not a fir lifts its spiry head, nor a stunted willow waves its yellow branches. A little scant herbage is the only appearance of vegetable life in this domain of the fire-spirits. A sheet of water, expanded to considerable breadth, and stretched to a length of three leagues, reflects on its borders masses of matter arrested in every form of combustion; and where nature made a pause and destruction was stayed, the elements, ages ago, took a form which now declares that commotion only slumbers, and may awake and convulse the world, when Omnipotence shall give the word and kindle the spark. In the midst of the lake are two islands of volcanic formation, and at the southern extremity rises snow-covered mountains. But there is something life-like in the still majesty of these lonely and everlasting hills. Columns of vapor are incessantly ascending from hot springs embosomed within them, and give notice continually of the power that subtilizes and vivifies the whole material world.

To this retreat the collected and embodied mind of a whole people, "the thoughtful and the free," annually withdrew themselves to examine the interests and strengthen the bands of their federation. There a public assembly of the chief men of the nation, environed only by lofty cliffs of lava, and canopied by the blue heavens, consulted together in the year 1000 of our era, whether the old heathenism or the " glorious gospel" came down from heaven; and there the gainsayer, convinced, no longer bolted his argument, but yielded to the stronger reason; and there Thorgeir, the Langman, the chief magistrate of the island, pronounced with deep solemnity, that the truth, as it had been brought in unquestionable transmission through ten centuries of time, and through all continental Europe, was entirely and cordially received by the people there represented, as the law of the land and the rule of their lives.

To a scene thus sanctified, the injurer and the injured both resorted. Their purpose of mutual destruction had been deferred, but it was not abandoned, through the forbearance of a few months. The remon

strances of Helga had arrested the eagerness of Gunnlaug to satisfy what he believed was just resentment. "He is a man, and thy brothera creature in God's image-in him sullied, indeed, but not extinct. Lay not bloody hands upon him. He is guilty, but reserved for recompense by Him who knows when to inflict the blow. Spare him whom God spares." Such was the holy counsel given at their parting interview.

Despite this counsel, when he afterwards encountered his adversary at Thingvalla, face to face, the matchless wrong he had wrought stirred up in his breast the feeling of righteous scorn and unbearable sense of injury. He would end the strife in his soul with the life of this execrable deceiver. Thus resolved, Gunnlaug challenged his rival to meet him in single combat. He accepted the challenge, and the foes met on an island in the river Oxeraa, which flows into the lake Thingvalla. The challenge transpired. The assembly gained intelligence of it, and a deputation was sent to countermand it; and the combatants were parted without bloodshed.

The assembly immediately took into consideration whether duelling was compatible with the religion of the state; and after due deliberation, by a single and unanimous act of the delegates, the duel or single combat was abolished by law in Iceland, though the practice of the trial of arms was then universal in Europe, and was sanctioned for centuries afterwards by the laws and usages of all the continental nations.

Thus prohibited from deciding their quarrel in Iceland, the rivals passed over to the territory of Norway, and met once more without hindrance. The dexterity of the combatants long averted the fatal blowtheir attendants were killed, and each yet contended for the life of the other, when Gunnlaug, with a warded blow, severed the foot of his adversary. Rafu, pierced with agony, fell to the ground. "I am satisfied, base wretch," exclaimed Gunnlaug, approaching the fallen man ; "live and repent of your crimes."

"I take not life at your hands," replied Rafu. "Do you think to escape my vengeance, while the blood you have shed calls for satisfaction? Bring me water in this helmet,—my strength renewed shall prove the weakness of thy arm."

The generous youth, trusting to the honor of his foe, brought him water from the neighboring spring; but as he offered him the helmet, Rafu treacherously struck his unguarded head with his sword, uttering the taunting words: "Thou thinkest yet to possess the beautiful Helga. Thine she shall never be." The blow which he dealt was not fatal. Rafu rose, the fight was renewed, and he was slain. Gunnlaug himself was mortally wounded. He survived but a brief space, uttering the name of Helga with his last breath.

Her

Helga long secluded herself from every eye, and Thorstein and Ulrica could hardly prevail on her to accompany them to the house of prayer. It was in that rustic temple, however, that she was seen by Thorkell, a noble and wealthy Icelander of another district. affliction was known and commiserated by all, the high and the humble, of that country. Thorkell had been touched with her misfortunes, and his heart was captivated by the mingled charms of her beauty, her re

signation, and her piety. He vowed to devote his whole life to her happiness, innocent and exalted as she was, and so cruelly wounded. He ventured into her presence. He was welcomed by Thorstein, who persuaded his daughter that she might yet live for the happiness of others-her father, her maternal friend Ulrica, her husband, would she permit him to take that enviable title, would all rejoice in her favorable decision.'

Helga listened with deference. Grief, thought she, is selfish. I may end my days in weeping for the dead. Live to the living, is the dictate of virtue, and she gave her hand to Thorkell. But her nuptials were only the forerunner of the last ceremonial that religion performs for the broken-hearted.

No tenderness bestowed upon her by others, nor duty performed by herself, could restore to Helga the happy, healthful tone of existence. The silver cord was broken-the sound of music was low-the pitcher was broken at the fountain. All that constitutes the charm of being was unfelt. There was no faculty of relish, no feeling of satisfaction left to her. While she struggled to endure and enjoy life, her frame sunk under the effort.

They who loved her, saw the wane of their hopes. The flame was flickering the bright was waxing dim. They looked at one another, and sighed, but spake not. On a summer's day, the gradually sinking girl reclined upon a couch near the door of her father's house, which she had never left for her husband's. She looked earnestly and fondly upon the prospect. The valley terminated in the domain that was her lover's; and the low mansion which once was his, lay in the cheerful sunshine before her 66 eyes. Bring to me, dear mother," said the gentle sufferer to Ulrica, "the ermine robe which lies beneath all my vestments in the oaken chest, and spread it before me."

Ulrica flew to gratify her wish. The mantle had never been worn. It was the gift of the injured departed. He had with much care and cost procured the fur from Norway, and the nurse of his infancy had wrought it to fit the slight form of her for whom the gift was intended. When it was finished, the robe was brought and presented by the lover. Helga received the present with delight. She should keep it long. She would only array herself in it upon rare occasions, in honor of the giver.' She now fixed her eyes upon it. "This is his only gift-the only one that I have preserved," said she, as she bent her eyes upon its snowy whiteness. "Emblem of his love," she murmured; "pure, stainless, fit for a queen's garment. The hand which first folded it around me is cold-the voice which then spake words of affectionate endearment, is hushed and still. Alas! they will return no more. He will not come to me, but I shall go to him-and his presence will form the blessedness of a better world." The faithful girl spake no more. Her pulse fluttered for a moment-then ceased-then moved again, as her dim eyes rested upon the dear token of affection, and were lighted up with a transient ray, glimmering through the mists of dissolution. She leaned gently back upon the bosom of her aged attendant, and suddenly, but calmly, fell asleep in death.

Min. Eliz7:

ILDEGONDA:

NOVELLA DI TOMMASO GROSSI: Ꭲ Ꭼ Ꭱ Ꮓ Ꭺ EDIZIONE

MILANESE.

THE character of Italian poetry has become essentially changed during the last century. To the dry and superstitious imitation of those who aspired to tread in the steps of the early writers, and the puerile conceits which distinguished the age of the seicentisti, has succeeded the reign of a purer taste and a more rational philosophy. A wider intercourse with other civilized nations, and the increase of that commerce of mind which so accelerates the march of improvement in any department of knowledge, have no doubt contributed principally to produce the effect; to such causes being added the influence of original and independent minds, in which Italy was so fruitful during the eighteenth century. Under their auspices, the walks of the muse, hitherto too exclusively occupied by pedants and arcadians, have been cultivated in a higher and worthier spirit; and poetry, regarded as something too pure and sacred to minister to the vanity of despotism, has assumed her legitimate influence over the moral character of men. This spirit of regeneration has been universal in every branch of the art; and not only has dramatic poetry been emancipated from the fetters which so long impeded its advance toward excellence, and a fresh impulse given to other departments-but a new school also created, which opens an extensive field for future and loftier achievements.

For the introduction of the new principles of romantic poetry, Italy is mainly indebted to Cesarotti; a poet as remarkable for the greatness of his own powers, as for the independence with which he devoted them to the improvement of his country's literature. Regarding the blind veneration for the classic writers of Greece and Rome, which had long been the prevailing passion, as a serious obstacle to successful progress in the art, he declared open war against their example, and endeavored to show, by his own splendid triumphs in a field as yet unknown, how much remained to be performed. He selected the poems of Ossian for the trial of his skill; and in presenting his countrymen with a translation of those admired productions, which united all the sublimity of the original with the grace and harmony of Italian verse, awakened in their minds a keen relish for the beauties of foreign authors. His new system could soon boast of numerous adherents; and the taste for imitating the distinguished poets of modern nations speedily became general. Lord Byron's works were translated; and the admiration they excited, and the eagerness with which they were sought by all classes of readers, contributed still more to elevate into popular favor the romantic school.

Among the poems of this class, the most interesting which has been produced of late years is the Ildegonda of Grossi, which forms the subject of our present article. In interest, in pathos, and in the faithful delineation of characters and scenes frequent in the middle ages, it is perhaps unequalled by any modern production of the same kind. It is