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like most of his infatuated countrymen he speculated and in one
Yet still the desolation of this house was not unvisited, the flower that bloomed mid the loneliness of blighted fortune spread a charm over the gloom of indigence, and Ellen saw in the ardent eyes and manly countenance of Murrough O'Brien, the love that knew no change either from the vissici. tudes of fortune, or the sneers of a cold and heartless world. Yet
the proud disposition of the spirited Kylie forbade the idea of receiving pecuniary aid ; and although in the addresses of Murrough to his child, he gave a warm and sincere concurrence, it was but in the natural wish to see his daughter united to one whose ample means and long attachment had well deserved the meed of her hand. But 'tis too true, as was and ever will be remarked, “ the cause of true love never did run smooth.” Her heart had long been another's and it was with a tearful eye, and a blushing cheek that Ellen faultered forth the fatal truth. She had loved one who had likewise seen the days of more prosperous fortune, from youth they had grown together, the sunrise of childhood slept in the remembrance of both, the years entering on the spring of life had visioned forth a pilgrimage when the star of hope settling o'er the visionary shadow of declining life, pictured calm domestic happiness. But that star was drawn of a luckless horoscope. He was an orphan, and had been the offspring of an old and decayed family, the remnants of which, scattered over the face of the earth sought in foreign shores that home and existence denied them in their own beautiful but luckless country. The fate of Arthur Claney was twined with that of Kylie O'Harra; he had joined him in his speculations with the little le possessed, and both fell.
The knowledge of this ruin pressed heavy on the sensitive heart of Ellen, and doubly dear became that being whose worldly prospects had been blasted by the imprudence of her father. Poverty had now to be their portion, but poverty with him was to her heart, crushed as it was, a silent happiness. They had nothing to lose, and in the calm interchange of unalterable affection, hope looked forth with beaming eyes, the slumbering fire of the great internal volcano of rebellion had burst forth, wounded by the harsh dealings of a world that had dealt so ruinously with him, and infatuated with the idea of imaginary freedom, Kylie was one of the first to join the standard of the Irish Insurgents. Little remains to be told, he was one of the first victims to a justly enraged Government, taken at the strife of the hill of Tarra, his life was declared forfeit to the Crown and an immediate and shameful death was his luckless doom. Long was it ere the unfortunate remnants of his family recovered in some degree the overwhelming effects of the shock, unwearied was the kindness of Murrough O'Brien, but their fears now became more painfully alive from the infatuation of one more dear to them. Tinged with the romantic idea of seeing freedom established on another and different basis of Government he had entered into the wild strife with all the enthusiasm of youth; the burst of the storm was over, yet there still remained in nightly meetings a dreadful surety of the existence of rebellion. So completely had he become wrapped up in the commotions of the period that even the beauty and silent sorrow of Ellen O'Harra sank beneath its predominating sway. It was at one of those wild meetings that being attacked by a part of the military stationed at the neighbouring town to whom intelligence of the proposed assembly had been conveyed, that he met his death, and it was over the one, that the infatuation of a sire had led astray that the tear of beauty fell, and where bowed down and heart-crushed by repeated misfortune the widow of Kylie had gazed on the wreck of youth.
Again the laugh and the song prevailed and the passing commiseration that the widow and her ill fated daughter had elicited died with their departure. Light hearted, the Irish soon forget grief and in a meeting composed of people who mostly came to keep up the country custom of “ waking," little show of sorrow could be expected. The unfortunate person on whose account
the faint semblance of sorrow was assumed had had but one • hope to realize, one ambition to attain, that of calling Ellen
his wife, her heart mid all his reckless folly had been his, and the proud consciousness of that inestimable treasure had often soothed the bed of sickness and the hours of sorrow!
I could not help turning round once more to gaze on the remains of him who had been happy in the love of such a gentle being as had mourned over his bier. He exhibited the remains of what certainly might have been deemed a fine young man, but I could not help reverting to the manly and handsome countenance of Murrough O'Brien. Death however might have effected much change in his appearance and the fair being of his heart's dream seemed just that kind of character that would have formed an attachment more on the virtues than the outward semblance of a lover. Yet in her lover's history there was nothing to recommend him beyond being as he well might be faithful to a lovely and constant girl.
I now no longer felt any interest in the scene and after expressing my thanks to the old farmer who had played my host during the night and whom I found to be a distant relation of the deceased I took my departure. The drifting haze that had enveloped the moon's disk had disappeared, and the Queen of Night shed her broad and beautiful beams on my homeward track. My destination was soon reached, and on my welcome couch vague and wandering dreams of the events of the evening passed in dim array. Methought that I was standing in the antient hall of one of the isolated Towers of the Irish. It stood on a high hill, and overlooked an immense valley where the white tents of a beleaguring army of" the marcher Lords,” lay extended like mounds of snow, the hall was dimly lit by the waning light shed by the moonbeams through the narrow casements, there were spears, battle axes, and bull hide shields with steel knobs hung on the walls, and on a kind of raised bier lay extended the figure of an Irish knight, the face was ghastly pale, (the aspect that the corpse had worn), the head was covered with a close fitting iron skull cap, over the body reaching half way down the thigh, was a shirt of Spanish link mail, the limbs were cased in plate amour, and by his side was laid a heavy two-handed sword. The scene again suddenly changed; a number of bearded men in long ancient fileas or mantles and high conical caps resembling Bishop's Mitres entered bearing pine torches, five or six minstrels habited in long yellow linen robes commenced their, “ Clareschs," a low plaintive funeral dirge, during which a lady in snow-white garments entered, and gliding to the head of the apartment bent over the corse and in the fair and sorrowful countenance of the vision was pictured the resemblance of Ellen O'Harra. But like all incoherent dreams the scene changed and I reverted to the feats of the giants and the magic circles of the less repulsive fairies, until the dawning of the morning light awakened me from my unquiet slumbers and brought back to recollection, the occurrences of the earlier part of the night and the melancholy fate of the O'Harras.
I. K. L.
Go, seek the midnight feast, the revel gay,
R. C. C.
Go! thou art free! I give thee back
Thy promise and thy vow;
Bear friendship’s fruitage now:
me ; Friendship on love can never grow,
But, lady, thou art free!
And now I'll bask my withered heart
In every sun that shines,
And search mirth’s deepest mines :
Resigning beads and books
Cold liquors, and warm looks !
What tho' the worm be at my breast,
The fire within my brain,The maniac hath his hour of rest,
And hugs his galling chain !
When I myself forget;
Shall like the bright sun set!
They told me, long ago, that thou
Would'st cease to care for me,
So holy seemed to be!
And smiling scenes around,
Though yet I hear no sound.
Ere yet my life be o'er;
And stray on every shore:
That roves from tree to tree,-
Though, lady, thou art free!
R. C. C.