She sits, inclining forward as to speak,

Her lips half open, and her finger up,
As tho' she said, "Beware!" Her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart-
It haunts me still, tho' many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!

Alone it hangs

Over a mouldering heirloom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent
With Scripture stories from the Life of Christ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestor.

That by the way—it may be true or false-
But don't forget the picture: and thou wilt not,
When thou hast heard the tale they told me there.
She was an only child; from infancy

The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire.
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,
That precious gift, what else remained to him?
The young Ginevra was his all in life,
Still as she grew, for ever in his sight;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
She was all gentleness, all gaiety;

Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum;
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
Great was the joy; but at the bridal feast,
When all sat down, the bride was wanting there
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried
"'Tis but to make a trial of our love!"

And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed,
But that she was not!

Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.

Orsini lived; and long mightst thou have seen An old man wandering as in quest of something, Something he could not find-he knew not what. When he was gone, the house remained awhile Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past, and all forgot, When on an idle day, a day of search 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said

By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,

"

Why not remove it from its lurking place?"

way

'Twas done as soon as said; but, on the
It burst, it fell; and lo! a skeleton,
With here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished-save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both,
"GINEVRA."

There, then, had she found a grave!

Within that chest had she concealed herself, Fluttering with joy the happiest of the happy; When a spring lock that lay in ambush there, Fastened her down for ever!

THE DIVER.

BY SCHILLER. TRANSLATED BY LORD LYTTON.

"OH, where is the knight or the squire so bold As to dive to the howling Charybdis below?— I cast in the whirlpool a goblet of gold,

And o'er it already the dark waters flow; Whoever to me may the goblet bring

Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king."

He spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep,
That, rugged and hoary, hung over the verge
Of the endless and measureless world of the deep,
Swirled into the maëlstrom that maddened the

surge.

"And where is the diver so stout to go

I ask ye again-to the deep below?"

And the knights and the squires that gathered around,

Stood silent-and fixed on the ocean their eyes; They looked on the dismal and savage Profound, And the peril chilled back every thought of the prize.

And thrice spoke the monarch—" The cup to win, Is there never a wight who will venture in?"

And all as before heard in silence the king,

Till a youth with an aspect unfearing but gentle, 'Mid the tremulous squires, stepped out from the ring,

Unbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle; And the murmuring crowd, as they parted asunder, On the stately boy cast their looks of wonder.

As he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave One glance on the gulf of that merciless main, Lo! the wave that for ever devours the wave,

Casts roaringly up the Charybdis again;

And as with the swell of the far thunder-boom,

Rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom.

And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, As when fire is with water commixed and con

tending,

And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,

And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending;, And it never will rest, nor from travail be free, Like a sea that is labouring the birth of a sea.

Yet, at length, comes a lull o'er the mighty commotion, And dark through the whiteness, and still through the swell,

The whirlpool cleaves downward and downward in

ocean

A yawning abyss, like the pathway to hell;
The stiller and darker the farther it goes,
Sucked into that smoothness the breakers repose.

The youth gave his trust to his Maker! Before

That path through the riven abyss closed again, Hark! a shriek from the gazers that circle the shore,And behold! he is whirled in the grasp of the main! And o'er him the breakers mysteriously rolled, And the giant mouth closed on the swimmer so bold.

All was still on the height, save the murmur that went From the grave of the deep, sounding hollow and fell,

Or save when the tremulous sighing lament

Thrilled from lip unto lip, "Gallant youth, fare thee well!"

More hollow and more wails the deep on the ear

More dread and more dread grows suspense in its fear.