Till to the bourn arrived, where all must part
In the last hour. Sweet be the sleep of death,
Nor long the absence, till we meet in heaven,
To perfect there the union formed below.

ADELINE.

IN IMITATION OF LEWIS's " ALONZO AND IMOGENE."

YON desolate mansion, so drearily old,

That frowns o'er the moss-covered way,

Those ruinous turrets of Gothic-like mould

To the eye of the pilgrim right sadly unfold

Their grandeur sublime in decay.

'Strange fate hovers round the rude castle you view;'

The hermit with horror replied:

His loose tattered mantle the wind whistled thro,

And his dark rolling eyes, as around him they flew,

Spoke a heart to distraction allied.

'Not long since the time, modest stranger, yon dome

With frolics of revelry roared;

The pilgrim, condemned by misfortune to roam,

Rejoiced to secure him so welcome a home,

For plenty smiled round the full board.

'LORENZO, the lord of this ruined domain,

Was sprung from a noble old line;

In his bosom suspicion's dark passions held reign, Yet he sought with the ardor of love to obtain

The gentle, the sweet ADELINE.

Ah, well I remember her delicate mein,

So fair, so enchanting, to view;

In her blue eyes the languish of feeling was seen,

And the glowing carnation her lips danced between ;

Her cheeks blushed expression's rich hue.

'But ADELINE loved not the turbulent knight,

His manners were distant and cold;

His dark frowning brow quenched the charm of delight,

And his stern fiery eyes spoke the terrors of night,

As around him in fierceness they rolled.

'How different was he, who first won her young heart,

ALONZO, the brave chevalier;

Whose features, unclouded by passion or art,

To the melting affection of youth could impart

The sweetness of love without fear.

But the virgin was doomed by her parents to wed

The proud lord of this desolate dome :

In tears to the altar unwillingly led,

Her heart with the terrors of agony bled,

Portentous of evils to come.

'Oft in sacred retirement her sorrows would flow,

Yet e'er to LORENZO So true,

Her sweetness concealed the keen sources of woe,

And she sought by attentions each bliss to bestow, That nuptial love claims as its due.

'And when he, on the wrath of brutality bent,

Her affection with hatred returned,

Methought, that a demon of hell might relent,

So piteous she looked thro a smile of content,

She looked, but in solitude mourned.

'Scarce a twelvemonth had past, since the damsel

was wed,

And a sweet blooming cherub she bore;

When, oh, what strange madness disorders my head,

With drops of black murder distained was her bed;

But the damsel was heard of no more.

'It was thought, that LORENZO the foul deed had done,
For he never appeared from that hour;
And thro the whole village the sad story run,
That, when the old curfeu at midnight tolls one,
Her sprite wanders thro the black tower.

'Last night the deep tempest howled sullenly round, And muttering the thunder pealed loud;

As I paced the dim corridor, skirting yon mound, Methought, for the bell had tolled one o'er the ground, I saw walk the tower a bright shroud.

'I drew near, and a light moved along, as I past,

And thro the rent casement revealed