He loudly call'd on the spirits who dwell
In the shades of night, to obey his spell ;
He charg'd them in words of mighty power
To aid Glenallan in needful hour,

And to cloud the star, which, bright and free,
Still controll'd fair Edith's destiny.

(For fate had decreed, that, while her star
Should beam in the silent sky,

Though power and wealth against Edith might war,
Yet would she their efforts defy.)

Loud was the laugh that rung through the air,—
It seem'd as if legions of fiends were there;
For Glenallan tower to its base was shook,
And pale and dismayed was Glenallan's look.
No word spake the wizard, his hand he rais'd,
And with eye of fire on Glenallan gaz'd,
Whilst an awful sound the horrid laugh broke,
And a voice in accents of thunder spoke,-
"Lord of Glenallan, thy prayer
heard,

And the maid to thy power is given;
Lord of Glenallan, thy prayer is heard,

And thou art an outcast from heaven."
"I care not," he cried, with a fiendish laugh,
"The cup of revenge to its dregs will I quaff;
Soon shall that proud maid in my arms repose,
And soon shall her lover his short life close.
Spirits of evil! ye promise me well,
And soon will be proved your potent spell;
If Edith's star doth withdraw its ray,
Ere the dawn of her twentieth natal day,
Then will I own your sovereign power,
And your slave will I be from this glad hour."
Again through the vaults loud laughter rung,-
It ceas'd, and a voice as if angels sung,-

"Lost man, thou art doom'd by the powers of hellLord of Glenallan, farewell-farewell!"

The moon in her course is careering high,

Whilst Glenallan stands 'neath the clear blue sky, Yet gazes he not on the queen of night,

Though his brow is ting'd with her silver light;

His glance is fix'd in the western heaven,
But Edith star to his view is not given.
Oh then the heart of Glenallan beat high,
And the fire of triumph illumin'd his eye:
For Edith's star had withdrawn its ray,
Ere the dawn of her twentieth natal day;
The power which protected that lady bright
Had quail'd before the spirits of night;
No more would her pure and lovely star
Beam bright in mid heaven beaming afar;
The clouds of misfortune now round her would lower,'
And swiftly approached her darkest hour.
So deem'd that haughty and sinful lord,

And thrice towards heaven he raised his sword.
"Harold," he cried, "thine hour is come,-
The spirits of air have decreed thy doom;
Soon--soon shall thy life blood stain my brand,-
For a potent spell will direct my hand,
And the fiends of hell shall rejoice to see
The close of thy wayward destiny.

A moment's pause, and Glenallan is gone,-
He hath passed away like the evil one;
But vain are his hopes, and vain his spell,
Though aided by all the powers of hell.

Oh Edith! thine hour of trial draws near,-
Thy guardian star doth no more appear;
Thy foeman's arm is raised in might,
And who shall battle for Edith's right?
Yet fear not maiden, thy cause is just,
In the hand of heaven still put thy trust;
And, though earth and hell against thee combine,
The triumph of virtue shall yet be thine;
Thy star will again beam bright and free,
And glorious will prove thy destiny.

EDMUND TRAFFORD,

END OF CANTO SECOND.

THE WIZARD'S CAVE.

A TALE OF ITALY.

The evening sun had ceased to illumine the valley of Piedmont, and was slowly descending to his western home, yet still his dying splendour cast a lingering brilliancy on the surrounding mountains, and shed a glowing beauty on the fragrant flowers. But this soul-inspiring scene was scarcely felt by Inez Rosalba, who, with her head resting on her hand, sat beneath the shade of a myrtle tree, whose blossoms were not more fair than her on whom they fell. Oh! who, to gaze on that light and youthful form-that calm and beauteous brow, could think the heart that beat beneath it was bursting with anxiety? A horse's tread caught her ear, and in a moment the rider was at her side.

"Dear Ferdinand," she exclaimed, "you were not used to be so unkind,-two hours have I waited here, in what misery I can scarcely describe; but you are come at length, and all is forgotten.'

The brow of Ferdinand became darker as she spoke, and after a short silence, he replied, "You must be aware, Inez, that I was very differently situated in life when I first knew you. I was then the younger, and almost neglected child, of Count Veranzi,-now I stand as sole representative of that noble house on me alone depends its present greatness and its future fame. I have loved you, I own-nay, start notI have loved you, I repeat, but my better judgment conquers now, and I am come to free you from and bid you your vows, farewell for ever; but do not suffer yourself to be thus affected," he added, as Inez, overcome with horror and astonishment, sunk at his feet "for although I have chosen a bride whose rank and fortune will sustain the honors of my race, I shall still, Inez, feel a regard for you, and my best wishes will be yours."

"Veranzi," interrupted Inez, while her eyes shot forth mingled glances of love and indignation, "insult me not with a cold profession of unfelt esteem! oh! had you felt half that your lips impassioned swore,' you would have spared me this, and rather have taken my life, than thus render it for ever miserable,"

"It is useless," replied the count, "to prolong this interview,-farewell! you will, I trust, soon forget me, and bestow on a more suitable object all the love that is now mine."

Inez essayed to answer, but her tongue refused utterance, and her lips moved without producing a sound; at length tears came to her relief, and she wept bitterly. Ferdinand gazed on her with a mingled feeling of pity and admiration : she was indeed an object of both. As she knelt, her long black hair escaped from its bonds, and fell over her like a veil, partially concealing her countenance, to which grief only gave a new character of beauty. When Ferdinand turned to leave her, with a convulsive grasp she clung to his cloak, while she sobbed rather than uttered, 66 Oh! do not leave me thus, without one ray of hope to illumine my misery: let me see you again,—you may, perhaps, then remember how long and truly I have loved you."

Tears, which he could no longer restrain, dimmed Veranzi's eyes, and, for the first time, he felt remorse enter his heart; but again her lowly birth, and unknown origin, flashed across his mind, and blighted the first emotions of pity, that were struggling in his bosom. He stood a few moments silent beside her, then, pressing his lips once on her burning brow, he instantly mounted his steed, and, ere Inez had recovered from the abruptness of his departure, he was far from her sight.

The deep trance of grief into which she had fallen was interrupted by the appearance of an aged woman, who, in compassionate accents, inquired the cause of her sorrow. The feeling tone in which she spoke touched Inez's heart, and she told her in almost inarticulate accents the tale of her lover's perfidy.

"Smooth that ruffled brow, my dear maiden," said the stranger, "for, if you can dare danger and difficulty, he may yet be yours.'

"Tell me, oh! tell me how!" exclaimed Inez.

"There dwells not far from hence a wizard, or necromancer, who undertakes, by his spells and drugs, to revive decaying affection, and rekindle the expiring embers of love; but at midnight only is he visible"

At that time will I see him then, for I know his abode," replied Inez; " death will be welcome, if I fail; for what is life to me without Veranzi? accept my most grateful thanks," L. 29.2.

P

she added, as she turned to leave the stranger, who wished her success, and they parted.

She en

The sable night had long usurped dominion over the sky, when Inez left her cottage to seek the wizard's cave. She had heard of him before, and had often shuddered as the horrors of his abode were described to her; but now love rendered her fearless, and, without shrinking, she traced her way through woods and forests, where human foot had seldom trod before, lighted by the cold pale moon, the only witness of her intrepidity. At length she reached a gloomy cavern: the torch glaring before it told her it was the wizard's cave. tered, and her faculties were almost suspended with horror as she viewed the scene before her. By the side of a nearly extinguished fire stood a being, whose gigantic figure was rendered more terrific by his style of dress: his arms were naked, and only concealed by long matted locks of dark hair, which streamed in thick masses from the back of his head: his solitary garment was a black cloak, on the border of which appeared death's head, and cross bones, the insignia of the black penitent; and his girdle was the skin of an immense snake, which, to the agitated eyes of Inez, appeared as if really living.

In a voice, ill calculated to sooth the terror he inspired in her, he exclaimed, What want you of me? for to me alone you must have come at this unseasonable hour."

"I have been told," she replied, in tremulous accents, "that you can recall the fickle lover's heart from its wandering, and thus administer joy to the forsaken maiden's bosom."

"It is true," replied the sorcerer; and without waiting for her reply, he drew two dark leaves from his girdle, and gave them to Inez, saying, "throw these into his wine before he drinks, and you will never more have reason to complain of his inconstancy."

The words of gratitude died on her lips, when she gazed on the hideous figure before her, and, without uttering a syllable, she expressed thanks by her look, and left him.

The next night a banquet was held at the castle of Veranzi, in celebration of his nuptials with the Lady Izabel dei Legozzi. Attired as a minstrel, Inez gained admittance, and, with a palpitating heart, entered the grand banquetting saloon. The blaze of light dazzled her senses for awhile, but, soon