a Pharisee, he was heard to commend the piety of De Clare, while he more than doubted of the zeal of Fitz

our.

The spring sun was about descending into the cool waves of the Atlantic, when the warden of the castle of Vallis Florida hurried into the presence of his lady to inform her that a pilgrim was hastening towards the postern gate. O, give him instant entrance,' cried Angelique, impatiently, 'it must be my lord; the time has elapsed when he promised to return; but, thank heaven, he is here at last.'

She was mistaken: De Clare had returned alone; and he brought the distressing intelligence that, in an encounter with some Arabs of Mount Lebanon, Fitzour had perished. In his last moments,' continued De Clare, 'he commended me to his fair lady, and bestowed on me this diamond ring, which he had received from her at parting, as a proof of his friendship.' He addedsome other circumstances confirmatory of his account, and he appeared so sincerely affected that Angelique half loved him for being so much attached to her husband.

For six long months she gave herself up to grief; but suddenly, to the surprise of all, appeared in public, still sorrowful, but apparently not disinclined to enjoy a world which she ornamented. The solution of this conduct was soon made manifest: De Clare had found means to persuade her that she would become a second bridal dress, and such is the weakness, or, if you will, the inconstancy of woman's nature, the bridal day was appointed. The gay and great were invited to the ceremony; and the castle re-echoed with preparations for mirth and festivity.

The long wished-for hour at length arrived, and the parties hastened to the castle chapel: the robed priest proceeded with the rite, but just as the bride was about to make the response which surrendered her person to De Clare, a strong hand seized her arm: she turned round, and her indignant husband, in his palmer cosVOL. II. Nov. 1829.

X

tume, stood before her: she gave one shriek, and sank upon the steps of the altar: in a moment after the bridegroom's blood streamed from that holy sanctuary, and the war cry of Fitzour rang through the Vallis Florida. At the well known sound the adherents of his house thronged about Raymond; the followers of De Clare were soon silenced, and that treacherous friend had already paid the forfeit of his villany.

It appeared that on their return from Jerusalem, De Clare, from notions easily understood, treacherously assailed his confiding companion in an unfrequented part of their route. His blow was deadly, but before he had fully completed his barbarous intention, he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of two mounted Saracens. Pulling the ring from off Raymond's finger, De Clare hastily retired, and the Paynim rovers having ascertained, from another ring which remained on his right hand, that the wounded man was a christian of some consequence, they staunched his wounds, and carried him to a place of security in the hope of a heavy ransom. Raymond recovered but slowly: and when restored to his strength he knew not how to escape. His situation was the more irksome since he suspected De Clare's motives, and, dreading the long interval that must elapse before ransom could arrive, he contrived to effect his escape, and reached England in safety, just in time to disappoint the designs of the wretch who had attempted his life.

He had been revenged, but not comforted: his foe was dead-dead by his hand, but his wife, though still a beautiful, was a guilty thing; he could never again consort with her; and Angelique, covered with shame, hid herself and her sorrows in a nunnery. Her husband fulfilled the remainder of his vow: he erected the monastery, the ruin of which still attracts the curiosity of all who visits Somersetshire, and the good priest who urged him to the work was appointed first abbot. Raymond himself repaired to Palestine, and died Grand Master of the Order of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem.

NINETEEN.

On, magic word! thou hast a spell
Which thrills like music through the heart;
A bower that beamed its last farewell,
As summer clouds ere they depart.
The past hath died away with bliss,
The future hath no sunny scene;
Waft back to me the smile, the kiss,
The dream of sweet Nineteen.
The soul was borne on rainbow wings,
And fraught with rapture then,
And lutes had many syren strings
That will not wake again.

On lips that sung to music's spell,
The spectral hue of death has been ;
Oh, time! how couldst thou break the spell
Of beautiful Nineteen!

Away regret; and lay the heart

Upon the shrine of spotless truth,
And other days shall then impart
To pensive age the joys of youth!
And then, if death should dim the flower
Of many a sad and lonely scene,
Beyond the skies there is a bower,
A hope for sweet Nineteen!

STANZAS TO MEMORY.

R. AUGUSTINE.

When sunset sheds its parting ray,
And brightly gilds the azure sea,
And evening brings the close of day,
Oh, then, fair maid, I'll think of thee.
And Memory's dreams, in fairest form,
Shall picture scenes of brightest joy;
And Hope, which soothes fierce Passion's storm,
Shall promise bliss without alloy.

There is no joy the earth bestows,

Which can the bosom's griefs beguile; There's nought so well can soothe our woes, Or charm us, as a woman's smile.