Now, every mounted foe subdued,
With looks that speak his gratitude,
The warrior from his steed descends,
And to the tomb of Edith bends,
To smite with trusty brand so true

The fated wreath of coral through

He struck-but his blows fell wide on air-
New arms-new foes were gathering there!
Before the wondering warrior's eyes
A thousand hostile spears arise...
But in his breast for every spear
A heart is glowing void of fear-
And on that rich and gorgeous bed,
In writhing, slimy circles spread,
With eyes out-flaming vengeful ire,
And forked tongues of venomed fire,
A thousand hideous serpents play,
To keep the victor-knight away—
But though each bite were valour's bane-
Though every fang should gore a vein-
And poison's deepest, deadliest flood
Should mingle with his dearest blood-
His last, fell blow shall be for thee,
Fair maid! and for thy liberty!

On pressed the knight---down shrank the spears-
In vain each hissing head uprears-

In vain around his limbs they twine-
Shorn, hacked to atoms, they resign
The combat to the mighty one,

Who, sprent with slaughter, rushes on,

Amid the dying, venomed crew,

And cleaves the wreath of coral through!
While peals again the stirring sound
Of the angry thunder's rushing bound---
And gleams again the lightning's glare,
Amid the shrieks of mad despair-

And sinks the slaughtered ruins—all
That erst remained of that bright hall—
The wreath, the globe, the beauteous bed-
All darkened, shivered, shrunk, and sped!
All-save the knight and his peerless fair-
The magic fate they may not share.

'Tis past-the magic spell is o'er,
And lovely Edith weeps no more
In the coral clasp of her circled dome,
Like a seraph in a crystal tomb.

The spell is broke---and the years long fled
Are but as so many moments sped-
Upon each form nor age nor blight
Appears revealed to mortal sight-
Of all the nights of pain and terror,
Of all the scenes of grief and horror,
Gereddin, in thy portly mien,

No transient trace can now be seen

J

And Edith's roses bloom as fair

As she had ne'er been prisoned thereAs bright and free is her blue eyes' beam, As day's first, lucid, orient stream

As bland and blithe is the dimpling smile,
As pure, as sweet, as 'reft of guile,

As that which first on Adam broke,
When from his earliest sleep he 'woke,
'Mid verdant trees and blooming flowers,
And met his Eve in Eden's bowers!

THE FAIRIES

OF

FAWDON HILL.

"Oh! well I know the enchanting mien Of my lov'd muse, my Fairy Queen!

Her rokley of green with its sparry hue,

Its warp of the moon-beam, and weft of the dew;
Her smile, where a thousand witcheries play,
And her eye that steals the soul away."

HOGG.