A form clad in white, but with sorrow o'ercast;

Her veil rose in flutters upborne by the blast;

'Twas ADELINE's self it concealed.

'She vanished from sight with a dreadful intent, But quickly returning with shrieks,

As o'er the dark window in wildness she bent,

On her bloody robe pillowed a sweet infant leant,
And tears trickled down her pale cheeks.

'Soft music now swelled on the gusts of the gale,

In terrible concord with night;

It seemed her deep sorrow in fits to bewail,

And, mingled with thunder, rung round the feared vale,

'Ah weep for the poor murdered sprite.'

'Just then, while I gazed, a lean figure stalked thro,

In its grasp a stained dagger it bore;

The lightning's quick flash round its rusty point flew,

And o'er the stern features a lurid flame threw ;

Remorse was the visage it wore.

'ADELINE started back, as she saw the form glide, And clasped her wan babe to her breast;

'Holy Jesus! O save us, O save us,' she cried; 'Holy Jesus!' in groans the deep thunder replied, Then sunk in the midnight's dead rest.'

THE DRUID RITES.

A FRAGMENT.

HAH! what shrieks of anguish swell,

Recreant madness stands aghast;

Did you hear that demon's yell,

Roll on the shivering blast?

'Twas the Druid's midnight howl

To bid the fiends of sorcery meet;

Lo, wrapt in many a winding sheet,

With eye of wrath and withering scowl

Slowly rise they from the dead,

Each unveils his cowled head,

Muttering sounds of dark intent,

That tell the moody mind on schemes of murder bent.

Now the troubled rites begin,

Shouts that freeze the alarmed soul,

With dubious meaning peal their din;

The Furies burst a fitful laugh,

Loud, as the tempest rocks the sky;

Anon they seize the mystic bowl,

And holiest blood they quaff.

At length the cauldron boils, and round they fly,

Urged by no conscious will;

The boding raven hurries by,

And all again is still.

Lo, a lovely child appears,*

Its cheeks suffused with scalding tears;

A mother bears the fatal knife,

To yield at witchery's doom its life,

A sacrifice of eldest birth.

Can a mother urge such deeds,

To glut the Druid's savage mirth?

Break the bondage of his spell,

Nor foul the bridal bed,

With crimes so black, as startle hell:

Monster, curses blast thy head,

He bleeds, the newborn infant bleeds !

* Human victims, particularly the first born, were offered at these polluted altars of horrible superstition.

The banquet smokes, the hags advance,

And round in wild disorder dance;

Their screams disturb the dead:

Grinning now with hideous look,

In mystery's lore supremely read,
They scan the sorcerer's Runic book:

The churchyard yawns, and many a sprite,

With hurrying step, and marble glare,

Walks the midnight's baleful air,

While livid flames betray his flight.

Pillowed on clouds of curling fire,

The fateful sisters sail behind,

Yoked to the pinions of the shuddering wind;

From wormy skulls the clotted gore

With savage ecstasy they drink,

And rolling onward slowly sink;

Drown,' they cry, ' in blood your ire,