He drew her, trembling, closer to his side,
And seal'd with a long kiss of love his vow,
Swearing, that she alone should be his bride,
Before that Power to whom all creatures bow.

But soon the parting hour disturb'd her peace,
The tide of passion fill'd her panting heart;
Oh! how does pure love in the breast increase,
When the sad time draws on that lovers part!
She hung with eager fondness on his neck,

The glist'ning tear-drop gath'ring in her eye,
And, gazing wistful on him, strove to check,
In her full heaving bosom, the deep sigh.

He left her never to return again,

His recreant heart bow'd at another shrine; Poor Marie knew it,—and her wilder'd brain Totter'd to madness,-the slow deep decline, The sure companion of a broken heart,

Bore its young victim to her earthy bed, While, from one aged eye, the tears which start, A father's tears declare Marie is dead.

And, in the dreams of that traitor knight,
Flits before him a spirit of light,-

A pale and melancholy shade,

But beautiful as was that maid,

When on her bed of death she laid.

Rushes he to the battle feld,

With lance in rest, with helm and shield,
Contending fierce in thickest fight,

Still is there with him that vision bright:
Bends he the knee to God in prayer,
The pale young ghost of Marie is there,
And the lips of the dead one seem to say,
Think on the broken heart and pray.
Gazes he on his fair young bride,
The shadowy form is by his side,-
He struggles in vain with his destiny,

Nor can banish a moment the young Marie.

11, Cross-street, Horton New Town.

THE EXILE'S DAUGHTER.

(Continued from page 119.)

In setting out on her pilgrimage, she was prepared to meet with resignation all the sufferings and dangers, which, in her ignorance of the world, she could represent to herself; the inclemency of winter, oppressive heat, hunger, nakedness, diseases, death; but since she had become a little more acquainted with larger collections of men, than in her village of Ischim, she feared her courage would be insufficient. In the wilderness, she had no conception of the mournful and chilling solitude that awaits the poor in populous cities: she did not imagine that thousands of fellow-beings would walk by her, without seeing her, and without listening to her prayers, as if they had no eyes for misery, nor ears for sighs and lamentations.

Besides, since her acquaintance with Mrs. Milin and her friend, a sense of propriety, self-respect, and perhaps a little pride, rendered the humiliations, to which her situation exposed her, more painful than ever. "When shall I find," said she to herself, "friends like those I have left? I am now at more than a thousand wersts from them; and how shall I be able to approach the palace of the emperor, when I tremble to ask shelter at the poorest inn ?"

For the first time her courage was shaken, and, with mournful dejection and bitter tears, she dwelt on the thought that she had, perhaps, been wrong to leave her parents, on so adventurous an errand. But her natural strength soon got the better of this momentary weakness. Her confidence in God reviving in her bosom, she became ashamed of her despondency, sought forgiveness of her guardian angel, and hurried again into the church, to implore the Almighty for new fortitude to support her sufferings. Her steps towards the altar were precipitate her prayers were fervent. A nun, who was about to shut the church, and had seen her enter, and witnessed her devotion, interrupted her, by observing that it was time to retire, and by addressing some questions to her, Prascovia, yet agitated, told her the cause of her re-entrance into the church, and, confessing her reluctance to seek for a shelter in an inn, she declared how infinitely she would prefer spending

the night in the poorest corner of the convent. The nun replied that it was not permitted to lodge strangers, but that the abbess would perhaps succour her. "I want no other assistance than a night's lodging." returned Prascovia; and, showing her little purse, she added, "this gift of two charitable ladies, places me above the necessity of asking alms for the present, and all I now long for, is to be permitted to pass the night under this roof; to-morrow I shall continue my journey.'

The sister offered to present her to the abbess. At the entrance of her closet, they found her on her knees, engaged in prayer. The nun stopped, and kneeled. Prascovia, following the example, breathed ardent supplications to God to dispose the heart of the abbess in her favor. After a little while, this lady rose, and, advancing towards Prascovia, kindly offered her hand to raise her. Our traveller related her story, showed her passport, and begged for hospitality. Her request was immediately granted. The company was soon increased by the arrival of several nuns, whom curiosity had brought into the room of the abbess. In answering their various inquiries, Prascovia was insensibly led to mention the many incidents of her journey; and such were the affecting simplicity and natural eloquence of her narrative, that her hearers could not restrain their tears, and vied with each other in showing the interest with which she had inspired them. She was loaded with kindness and caresses; the abbess lodged her in her own apartment, and was glad to think that she might become one of her novices.

We have already mentioned that Prascovia had formed the resolution of spending the rest of her life in a convent, if she should succeed in her endeavours to procure the liberty of her father. Better acquainted with the religious establishments of Kiew, than with those of Niejeni, she had determined to take the veil in one of the convents of the former city, because she wished to visit the famous catacombs,* which she had

*The catacombs of Kiew are large subterraneous galleries under the cathedral, containing the remains of a great number of Greek saints, dressed in rich apparel, but of whose persons only the faces, hands, and feet, are visible; yet the bodies are said to be entire. The fleshy part of them has the color and hardness of mahogany. The religious service at the cathedral is committed to the monks of an ancient and rich monastery.

heard belonged to its cathedral, and was desirous to be near the many holy relics which those tombs enclose. However, since she had learned that Kiew was not in the road of St. Petersburg, she was not disinclined to choose the convent of Niejeni for her future retreat. The nuns pressed her to make her vows, but she would only give a qualified promise. "Do I know," said she," what God may yet require from me? I wish, I long to finish my days here, and if it is also the will of heaven, who shall oppose it?"

She readily consented to spend a few days at Niejeni, to rest herself, and prepare for her journey to Moscow; but, instead of profiting by it, she began to feel the effects of her extraordinary exertions, and became dangerously ill. Since her accident on the Wolga, she had suffered much from a troublesome cough, and she fell now into an inflammatory fever, which alarmed her physicians for her life. She, herself, felt no apprehensions. "I cannot believe," said she, "that my time has come, and I hope that God will permit me to perform my task." She mended, indeed, gradually, and spent the rest of the autumn in the convent. But, feeble as she was, she could not continue her journey on foot, and still less support the jolting of post waggons. For want of means to procure a more comfortable mode of conveyance, she was obliged to wait until the season for travelling in sledges had begun. In the mean time, she observed and practised the rules and the duties of the convent, perhaps retarding by it her recovery, but improving in her studies. By her conduct, she won more and more the esteem and affection of the nuns, who had no longer any doubt that she would, at some future time, return to them, and become a permanent member of their society.

When, at last, the roads were fit for travelling, she departed, in a covered sledge, for Moscow. The abbess gave her a letter for one of her friends in that capital, and promised her that she should find a refuge in her convent, and be received at it as a favorite child, whatever might be the result of her pilgrimage.

Prascovia arrived safe at Moscow. The friend of the abbess received her with great kindness, and kept her in her house, while she was endeavouring to find her a fellow-traveller for the journey to St. Petersburg.

L. 29. 1.

P

The person, to whom she determined to entrust her, was a merchant who travelled with his own horses, and consequently at a moderate rate. In addition to the letters, which the ladies of Ekatherinemburg had given her, she had now one for the Princess T-, an aged and highly respected lady. Under these auspices, she arrived at St. Petersburg, towards the middle of February, twenty days after having left Moscow, and eighteen months after her departure from Siberia. Her courage was unabated, and her confidence as unshaken, as on the first day of her journey.

She lodged at the merchant's house on the Ekatherinacanal, and for some time she was at a loss in that vast capital how to enter on her business, and how she should deliver her letters of introduction.

The merchant was too much engrossed by his own affairs, to care much for his lodger. He had promised her to find out the house of the Princess T-; but before he could do so, he was obliged to depart for Riga, and left Prascovia to the care of his wife, who was very kind to her, but wholly unable to afford her any advice upon the subject which alone interested her.

The letter, which the lady at Moscow had given her, was addressed to a person living on the opposite bank of the Neva. As the direction was very explicit, Prascovia thought that she could find the house, and, accompanied by her hostess, set out for Wasili-Ostrow ;* but the river was opening, and the passage was prohibited by the police, as long as there was any danger from the floating ice. She returned home, painfully disappointed. In the midst of her perplexity, a friend of her hostess advised her, unfortunately, to address a letter to the senate, to request the revision of her father's trial, and offered to procure a person who would draw up the paper. The success of that which she had addressed to the Governor of Tobolsk, encouraged her hopes, and she was thus induced to copy an ill-conceived and worse written supplication: nor could any one give her the least direction how to present it. She neglected to deliver her letters of recommendation, and in this way lost the opportunity of obtaining timely assistance.

With the petition in her hand, she went one morning to the

* A quarter of St. Petersburg, on the right bank of the Neva.