knight had taken one long, loving kiss. Nectar and ambrosia! He thought on Dr. Butts and his "repetatur haustus -a prescription Father Francis had taken infinite pains to translate for him. He was about to repeat it, but the dose was interrupted in transitu. It has been hinted already that there was a little round polished patch on the summit of the knight's pericranium, from which his locks had gradually receded a sort of oasis, or, rather, a Mont Blanc in miniature, rising above the highest point of vegetation. It was on this little spot, undefended alike by art and nature, that at this interesting moment a blow descended, such as must borrow a term from the Sister Island adequately to describe; it was a "whack." Sir Guy started upon his feet; Beatrice Grey started upon hers, but a single glance to the rear reversed her position; she fell upon her knees and screamed. The knight, too, wheeled about, and beheld a sight which might have turned a bolder man to stone. It was she-the all but defunct Rohesia. There she sat bolt upright! Her eyes no longer glazed with the film of impending dissolution, but scintillating, like flint and steel; while in her hand she grasped the bed-staff, a weapon of mickle might, as her husband's bloody coxcomb could now well testify. Words were yet wanting, for the quinsy, which her rage had broken, still impeded her utterance; but the strength and rapidity of her guttural intonations augured well for her future eloquence.
Sir Guy de Montgomeri stood for awhile like a man distraught: this resurrectionfor such it seemed had quite overpowered "A husband ofttimes makes the best physician," says the proverb: he was a living personification of its truth. Still, it was whispered he had been content with Dr. Butts; but his lady was restored to bless him for many years. Heavens, what a life
Years rolled on. The improvement of Lady Rohesia's temper did not keep pace with that of her health; and one fine morning Sir Guy de Montgomeri was seen to enter the porte-cochère of Durham House, at that time the town residence of Sir Walter Raleigh. Nothing more was ever heard of him; but a boat-full of adventurers was known to have dropped down with the tide that evening to Deptford Hope, where lay the good ship the Darling, commanded by Captain Kemyss, who sailed next morning on the Virginia voyage.
A brass plate, some eighteen inches long, may yet be seen in Denton chancel, let into a broad slab of Bethersden marble: it represents a lady kneeling, in her wimple and hood; her hands are clasped in prayer, and beneath is an inscription in the charac ters of the age
"Praie for ye sowle of ye Lady Royse,
And for alle Christen sowles."
The date is illegible; but it appears that she survived King Henry VIII., and that the dissolution of monasteries had lost St. Mary Rounceval her thousand marks.
[JOSEPH R. DRAKE. Born at New York, 7th August, 1795. Educated at Columbia College. Adopted the
profession of medicine, but died of consumption at the early age of twenty-six, September, 1820.] 'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell: The wood-tick has kept the minutes well; He has counted them all with click and stroke, Deep in the heart of the mountain oak, And he has awakened the sentry elve, Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, To bid him ring the hour of twelve, And call the fays to their revelry: Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell ('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell)
"Midnight comes, and all is well!
Hither, hither, wing your way,
'Tis the dawn of the fairy day."
They come from beds of lichen green,
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen;
Some on the backs of beetles fly
From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,
Where they swung in their cobweb-hammocks
high,
And rocked about in the evening breeze;
Some from the hum-bird's downy nest-
They had driven him out by elfin power,
And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,
Had slumbered there till the charmed hour;
Some had lain on the scoop of the rock,
With glittering rising stars inlaid;
And some had opened the four o'clock,
And stole within its purple shade.
And now they throng the moonlit glade:
Above-below-on every side,
Their little minim forms arrayed
In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!
They come not now to print the lea,
In freak and dance around the tree,
Or at the mushroom board to sup,
And drink the dew from the buttercup:
A scene of sorrow waits them now,
For an Ouphe has broken his festal vow;
He has loved an earthly maid,
And left for her his woodland shade;
He has lain upon her lip of dew,
And sunned him in her eye of blue,
Fanned her cheek with his wing of air,
Played in the ringlets of her hair,
And, nestling on her snowy breast,
Forgot the lily-king's behest.
For this the shadowy tribes of air
To the elfin court must haste away;
And now they stand expectant there,
To hear the doom of the culprit Fay.
The throne was reared upon the grass,
Of spice-wood and of sassafras ;
And on pillars of mottled tortoise-shell
Hung the burnished canopy,
And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell
Of the tulip's crimson drapery.
The monarch sat on his judgment seat,
On his brow the crown imperial shone,
The prisoner Fay was at his feet,
And his peers were ranged around the throne.
He waved his sceptre in the air,
He looked around and calmly spoke,
His brow was grave and his eye severe,
But his voice in a softened accent broke :-
Fairy, fairy, list and mark!
Thou hast broke thine elfin chain;
Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,
And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain ;
Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity
In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye;
Thou hast scorned our dread decree,
And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high;
But well I know her sinless mind
Is pure as the angel forms above-
Gentle, and meek, and chaste and kind,
Such as a spirit well might love.
Fairy had she spot or taint,
Bitter had been thy punishment.
Tied to the hornet's shardy wings,
Tossed on the pricks of nettles' stings,
Or seven long ages doomed to dwell
With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell,
Or every night to writhe and bleed
Beneath the tread of the centipede;
Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim,
Your gaoler a spider, huge and grim,
Amid the carrion bodies to lie
Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered
fly:
These it had been your lot to bear,
Had a stain been found on the earthly fair.
Now list and mark our mild decree-
Fairy, this your doom must be:
"Thou shalt seek the beach of sand,
Where the water bounds the elfin land;
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine
Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moon-
shine,
Then dart the glistening arch below,
And catch a drop from his silver bow.
The water-sprites will wield their arms,
And dash around, with roar and rave,
And vain are the woodland spirit's charms,
They are the imps that rule the wave.
Yet trust thee in thy single might;
If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right,
Thou shalt win the warlock fight.
"If the spray-bead gem be won,
The stain of thy wing is washed away;
But another errand must be done
Ere thy crime can be lost for aye:
Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,
Thou must re-illume its spark.
Mount thy steed and spur him high
To the heaven's blue canopy;
And when thou seest a shooting star,
Follow it fast, and follow it far;
The last faint spark of its burning train
Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay;
Shall light the elfin lamp again.
Hence! to the water-side, away!
The goblin marked his monarch well;
He spake not, but he bowed him low,
Then plucked a crimson colen-bell,
And turned him round in act to go.
The way is long, he cannot fly,
His soiled wing has lost its power,
And he winds adown the mountain high,
For many a sore and weary hour.
Through dreary beds of tangled fern,
Through groves of nightshade dark and dern,
Over the grass and through the brake,
Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake:
Now o'er the violet's azure flush
He skips along in lightsome mood;
And now he threads the bramble-bush,
Till its points are died in fairy blood.
He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the
briar,
He has swum the brook, and waded the mire,
Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak;
And the red waxed fainter in his cheek.
He had fallen to the ground outright,
For rugged and dim was his onward track,
But there came a spotted toad in sight,
And he laughed as he jumped upon her back.
He bridled her mouth with a silk-weed twist
He lashed her sides with an osier thong,
And now through evening's dewy mist,
With leap and spring they bound along,
Till the mountain's magic verge is past,
And the beach of sand is reached at last.
Soft and pale is the moony beam,
Moveless still the glassy stream;
The wave is clear, the beach is bright
With snowy shell and sparkling stones;
The shore-surge comes in ripples light,
In murmurings faint and distant moans;
And ever afar in the silence deep
Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap,
And the bend of his graceful bow is seen-
A glittering arch of silver sheen,
Spanning the wave of burnished blue,
And dripping with gems of the river-dew.
The Elfin cast a glance around,
As he lighted down from his courser toad,
Then round his breast his wings he wound,
And close to the river's brink he strode.
He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer,
Then tossed a tiny curve in air,
Above his head his arms he threw,
And headlong plunged in the waters blue.
Up sprang the spirits of the waves,
From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves,
With snail-plate armor, snatched in haste,
They speed their way through the liquid
Some are rapidly borne along
On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong;
Some on the blood-red leeches glide,
Some on the stony star-fish ride,
Some on the back of the lancing squab,
Some on the sidling soldier-crab,
And some on the jellied quarl, that flings
At once a thousand streamy stings;
They cut the wave with a living oar,
And hurry on to the moonlit shore,
To guard their realms and chase away
The footsteps of the invading Fay.
Fearlessly he skims along,
His hope is high, and his limbs are strong;
He spreads his arm like a swallow's wing,
And throws his feet with a frog-like fling;
His locks of gold on the waters shine,
At his breast the tiny foam-beads rise;
His back gleams bright above the brine,
And the wake-line foam behind him lies.
But the water-sprites are gathering near
To check his course along the tide;
Their warriors come in swift career,
And hem him round on every side.
On his side the leech has fixed his hold,
The quarl's long arms are round him rolled,
The prickly prong has pierced his skin,
And the squab has thrown his javelin.
The gritty star has rubbed him raw,
And the crab has struck with his giant claw;
He howls with rage, he shrieks with pain,
He strikes around, but his blows are vain:
Hopeless is the unequal fight:
Fairy! nought is left but flight.
He turned him round and fled amain,
With hurry and dash, to the beach again.
He twisted over from side to side,
He laid his cheek to the cleaving tide;
The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet,
And with all his might he flings his feet;
But the water-sprites are round him still,
To cross his path and to work him ill.
They bade the wave before him rise;
They flung the sea-fire in his eyes,
And they stunned his ears with the scallop
stroke,
With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak.
Oh! but a weary wight was he
When he reached the foot of the dog-wood
Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore,
He laid him down on the sandy shore;
He blessed the force of the charmèd line,
And he banned the water-goblin's spite,
For he saw around, in the sweet moonshine,
Their little wee faces above the brine,
At the piteous hap of the Fairy wight.
Giggling and laughing with all their might,
Soon he gathered the balsam dew
From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud;
Over each wound the balm he drew,
And with cobweb-lint he stanched the blood.
The mild west wind was soft and low,
It cooled the heat of his burning brow,
And he felt new life in his sinews shoot,
As he drank the juice of the calamus root;
And now he treads the fatal shore,
As fresh and vigorous as before.
Wrapped in musing stands the sprite;
'Tis the middle wane of night;
His task is hard, his way is far,
But he must do his errand right,
Ere dawning mounts her beamy car,
And rolls her chariot-wheels of light;
And vain are the spells of fairy-land;
He must work with a human hand.
He cast a saddened look around,
But he felt anew his bosom swell,
When, glittering on the shadowed ground,
He saw a purple mussel-shell;
Thither he ran, and he bent him low,
He heaved at the stern and he heaved at the bow,
And he pushed her over the yielding sand,
Till he came to the verge of the haunted land.
She was as lovely a pleasure-boat
As ever fairy had paddled in,
For she glowed with purple paint without,
And shone with silvery pearl within.
A sculler's notch in the stern he made,
An oar he shaped of the bootle-blade;
Then sprang to his seat with lightsome leap.
And launched afar on the calm, blue deep
The imps of the river yell and rave;
They had no power above the wave;
But they heaved the billow before the prow,
And they dashed the surge against her side,
And they struck her keel with jerk and blow,
Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide.
She wimpled about to the pale moonbeam,
Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed
stream;
And momently athwart her track
The quarl upreared his island back,
And the fluttering scallop behind would float,
And spatter the water about the boat;
But he baled her out with his colen-bell,
And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread,
While on every side like lightning fell
The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade.
Onward still he held his way,
They swim around with smile and song;
They press the bark with pearly hand,
And gently urge her course along
Toward the beach of speckled sand;
And as he lightly leaped to land,
They bade adieu with nod and bow,
Then gaily kissed each little hand,
And dropped in the crystal deep below.
He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer
A moment stayed the Fairy there;
Then spread his wings of gilded blue,
And on to the elfin court he flew.
As e'er ye saw a bubble rise,
And shine with a thousand changing dyes,
Till, lessening far through ether driven,
It mingles with the dews of heaven;
Till he came where the column of moonshine As, at the glimpse of morning pale,
lay,
And saw beneath the surface dim
The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim:
Around him were the goblin train;
But he sculled with all his might and main,
And followed wherever the sturgeon led,
Till he saw him upward point his head;
Then he dropped his paddle-blade,
And held his colen-goblet up
To catch the drop in its crimson cup.
With sweeping tail and quivering fin,
Through the wave the sturgeon flew,
And, like the heaven-shot javelin,
He sprang above the waters blue.
Instant as the star-fall light,
He plunged him in the deep again,
But left an arch of silver bright,
The rainbow of the moony main.
It was a strange and lovely sight
To see the puny goblin there;
He seemed an angel framed with light,
With azure wings and sunny hair,
Throned on a cloud of purple fair,
Circled with blue and edged with white,
And sitting at the fall of even
Beneath the bow of summer heaven.
A moment, and its lustre fell;
But ere it met the billow blue,
He caught within his crimson bell
A droplet of its sparkling dew.
Joy to the Fay! thy task is done,
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won;
Cheerily ply thy dripping oar,
And haste away to the elfin shore.
The lance-fly spreads his silken sail,
And gleams with blendings soft and bright,
Till lost in the shades of fading night—
So rose from earth the lovely Fay,
So vanished far in heaven away!
Up, Fairy quit thy chickweed bower,
The cricket has called the second hour;
Twice again, and the lark will rise
To kiss the streaking of the skies.
Up! thy charmèd armor don,
Thoul't need it ere the night be gone.
He put his acorn helmet on;
It was plumed of the silk of the thistledown;
The corslet plate that guarded his breast
Was once the wild bee's golden vest;
His cloak of a thousand mingled dyes,
Was formed of the wings of the butterflies;
His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,
Studs of gold on the ground of green;
And the quivering lance which he brandished
bright,
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.
Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;
He bared his blade of the bent grass blue,
He drove his spurs of cockle-seed,
And away like a glance of thought he flew
To skim the heavens and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket-star.
The moth-fly, as he shot in air,
Crept under the leaf, and hid her there;
The katydid forgot its lay,
The prowling gnat fled fast away,
The fell mosquito checked his drone,
He turns, and lo! on either side
The ripples on his path divide,
And folded his wings till the Fay was gone;
And the wily beetle dropped his head,
And fell on the ground as if he were dead.
And the track o'er which his boat must pass They crouched them close in the darksome
Is smooth as a sheet of polished glass.
Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave,
With snowy arms half-swelling out,
While on the glossed and gleaming wave
Their sea-green ringlets loosely float;
They quaked all o'er with awe and fear,
For they had felt the blue-bent blade,
And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear.
Many a time on a summer's night,
When the sky was clear and the moon was bright,
They had been roused from the haunted ground
By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound;
They had heard of the tiny bugle-horn,
They had heard the twang of the maize-silk
string
When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn,
And the needle-shaft through air was borne,
Feathered with down of the hum-bird's wing;
And now they deemed the courier Ouphe
Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground,
And they watched till they saw him mount
That canopies the world around;
Then glad they left their covert lair,
And freaked about in the midnight air.
Up to the vaulted firmament
His path the fire-fly courser bent,
And at every gallop on the wind
He flung a glittering spark behind;
He flies like a feather in the blast,
Till the first light cloud in heaven is past.
But the shapes of the air have begun their
work,
And a drizzly mist is round him cast;
He cannot see through the mantle murk,
He shivers with cold, but he urges fast;
Through storm and darkness, sleet and shade,
He lashes his steed and spurs amain,
For shadowy hands have twitched the rein,
And flame-shot tongues around him played;
And near him many a fiendish eye
Glared with a fell malignity,
And yells of rage and shrieks of fear
Came screaming on his startled ear.
His wings are wet around his breast,
The plume hangs dripping from his crest;
His eyes are blurred with the lightning's glare,
And his ears are stunned with the thunder's
blare;
But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew,
He thrust before and he struck behind,
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through,
And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind.
Howling, the misty spectres flew,
They rend the air with frightful cries,
For he has gained the welkin blue,
And the land of clouds beneath him lies.
Up to the cope careering swift,
In breathless motion fast,
Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift,
Or the sea-rock rides the blast,
The sapphire sheet of eve is shot,
The sphered moon is passed;
The earth but seems a tiny blot
On a sheet of azure cast.
Oh! it was sweet in the clear moonlight
To tread the starry plain of even,
To meet the thousand eyes of night,
And feel the cooling breath of heaven:
But the Elfin made no stop or stay
Till he came to the bank of the milky-way,
Then he checked his courser's foot,
And watched for the glimpse of the planet
shoot.
Sudden along the snowy tide
That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall,
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide,
Attired in sunset's crimson pall.
Around the Fay they weave the dance,
They step before him on the plain,
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance,
And one upholds his bridle-rein.
With warblings wild they lead him on
To where, through clouds of amber seen,
Studded with stars, resplendent shone
The palace of the sylphide queen.
In spiral columns, gleaming bright,
Were streamers of the northern light;
Its curtain's light and lovely flush
Was of the morning's rosy blush;
And the ceiling fair that rose aboon
The white and feathery fleece of moon.
But oh how fair the shape that lay
Beneath a rainbow bending bright!
She seemed to the entranced Fay
The loveliest of the forms of light;
Her mantle was the purple rolled
At twilight in the west afar;
'Twas tied with threads of dawning gold,
And buttoned with a sparkling star.
Her face was like the lily soon
That veils the vestal planet's hue;
Her eyes two beamlets from the moon
Set floating in the welkin blue;
Her hair is like the sunny beam,
And the diamond gems which round it gleam
That ne'er have left their native heaven.
Are the pure drops of dewy even
She raised her eyes to the wandering sprite,
And they leaped with smiles, for well
Never before in the bowers of light
Had the form of an earthly Fay been seen.
Long she looked in his tiny face,
Long with his butterfly cloak she played,
She smoothed his wings of azure lace,
And handled the tassel of his blade;
And as he told, in accents low,
The story of his love and woe,
She felt new pains in her bosom rise,
And the tear-drop started in her eyes;
And "Oh, sweet spirit of earth," she cried,
"Return no more to your woodland height,
But ever here with me abide,
In the land of everlasting light;
Within the fleecy drift we'll lie,
We'll hang upon the rainbow's rim,
And all the jewels of the sky
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