"I have been where the crown of thorns was twined invited to enter, and partake of hospitality. So in For a dying Saviour's brow;

There's a land where those who loved, when here, king of the Assyrians, until the diastrous march Shall meet to love again."

It was a custom in feudal times to hang out a effrayante; il pouvoit causer de nouvelles révoluhelmet on a castle, as a token that strangers were tions, si Conradin demeuroit en vie; et Charles,

revêtant sa défiance et sa cruauté des formes de la | With all Italia's sunshine to illume justice, résolut de faire périr sur l'échafaud le der-The ilex canopy of Virgil's tomb. nier rejeton de la Maison de Souabe, l'unique es- Campania's plains rejoice in light, and spread pérance de son parti. Un seul juge Provençal et Their gay luxuriance o'er the mighty dead; sujet de Charles, dont les historiens n'ont pas voulu Fair glittering to thine own transparent skies, conserver le nom, osa voter pour la mort, d'autres Thy palaces, exulting Naples! rise; se renfermèrent dans un timide et coupable silence; | While, far on high, Vesuvius rears his peak, et Charles, sur l'autorité de ce seul juge, fit pro- Furrowed and dark with many a lava streak. nouncer, par Robert de Bari, protonotaire du roy- O ye bright shores of Circe and the Muse! aume, la sentence de mort contre Conradin et tous Rich with all nature's and all fiction's hues; ses campagnons. Cette sentence fut communi- Who shall explore your regions, and declare quée à Conradin, comme il jouoit aux échecs; on The poet erred to paint Elysium there? lui laissa peu de temps pour se préparer à son exé- Call up his spirit, wanderer! bid him guide cution, et le 26 d'Octobre, il fut conduit, avec tous Thy steps, those siren-haunted seas beside, ses amis, sur la Place du Marché de Naples, le | And all the scene a lovelier light shall wear, long du rivage de la mer. Charles étoit présent, And spells more potent shall pervade the air. avec toute sa cour, et une foule immense entouroit What though his dust be scattered, and his urn le roi vainqueur et le roi condamné. Conradin Long from its sanctuary of slumber torn,(1) étoit entre les mains des bourreaux; il détacha lui- Still dwell the beings of his verse around, même son manteau, et s'étant mis à genoux pour Hovering in beauty o'er the enchanted ground; prier, il se releva en s'écriant: 'Oh, ma mère, His lays are murmured in each breeze that roves quelle profonde douleur te causera la nouvelle qu'on | Soft o'er the sunny waves and orange-groves. va te porter de moi!' Puis il tourna les yeux sur His memory's charm is spread o'er shore and sea, la foule qui l'entouroit; il vit les larmes, il enten-The soul, the genius of Parthenope; dit les sanglots de son peuple; alors, détachant son gant, il jeta au milieu de ses sujets ce gage d'un combat de vengeance, et rendit sa tête au bourreau. Yet that fair soil and calm resplendent sky Après lui, sur le même échafaud, Charles fit Have witnessed many a dark reality. trancher le tête au Duc d'Autriche, aux Comtes Oft o'er those bright blue seas the gale hath borne Gualferano et Bartolommeo Lancia, et aux Comtes The sighs of exiles never to return.(2) Gerard de Galvano Donoratico de Pise. Par une There with the whisper of Campania's gale rafinement de cruauté, Charles voulut que le pre-Hath mingled oft affection's funeral wail, mier, fils du second, précédât son père, et mourût | Mourning for buried heroes-while to her entre ses bras. Les cadavres, d'après ses ordres, furent exclus d'une terre sainte, et inhumés sans pompe sur le rivage de la mer. Charles II. cependant fit dans la suite bâtir, sur le même lieu, une église de Carmelites, comme pour appaiser ces ombres irritées."

No cloud to dim the splendour of the day
Which breaks o'er Naples and her lovely bay,
And lights that brilliant sea and magic shore
With every tint that charmed the great of yore;
Th' imperial ones of earth-who proudly bade
Their marble domes e'en ocean's realm invade.
That race is gone-but glorious Nature here
Maintains unchanged her own sublime career,
And bids these regions of the sun display
Bright hues, surviving empires past away.

Shedding o'er myrtle-shade and vine-clad hill
The purple radiance of Elysium still.

That glowing land was but their sepulchre.(3)
And there of old, the dread, mysterious moan
Swelled from strange voices of no mortal tone;
And that wild trumpet, whose unearthly note
Was heard at midnight o'er the hills to float
Around the spot where Agrippina died,
Denouncing vengeance on the matricide.(4)

Past are those ages-yet another crime,
Another wo must stain th' Elysian clime.
There stands a scaffold on the sunny shore-
It must be crimsoned e'er the day is o'er!
There is a throne in regal pomp arrayed,―
A scene of death from thence must be surveyed.
Marked ye the rushing throngs?—each mien is
pale,

Each hurried glance reveals a fearful tale;
But the deep workings of th' indignant breast,
Wrath, hatred, pity, must be all suppressed:

The beam of heaven expands-its kindling smile The burning tear awhile must check its course,

Reveals each charm of many a fairy isle,
Whose image floats in softer colouring drest,
With all its rocks and vines on ocean's breast.
Misenum's cape hath caught the vivid ray,
On Roman streamers there no more to play;
Still as of old, unalterably bright,
Lovely it sleeps on Posilippo's height,

Th' avenging thought concentrate all its force,
For tyranny is near and will not brook
Aught but submission in each guarded look.

Girt with his fierce Provençals, and with mien
Austere in triumph, gazing on the scene,(5)
And in his eye a keen suspicious glance
Of jealous pride and restless vigilance,

Behold the conqueror !-vainly in his face,
Of gentler feeling hope would seek a trace;
Cold, proud, severe, the spirit which hath lent
Its haughty stamp to each dark lineament;
And pleading mercy, in the sternness there,
May read at once her sentence-to despair!

But thou, fair boy! the beautiful, the brave,
Thus passing from the dungeon to the grave,
While all is yet around thee which can give
A charm to earth, and make it bliss to live;
Thou, on whose form hath dwelt a mother's eye,
Till the deep love that not with thee shall die
Hath grown too full for utterance-can it be?
And is this pomp of death prepared for thee?
Young, royal Conradin! who should'st have known
Of life as yet the sunny smile alone!

Oh! who can view thee, in the pride and bloom
Of youth, arrayed thus richly for the tomb,
Nor feel, deep-swelling in his inmost soul,
Emotions tyranny may ne'er control?
Bright victim! to ambition's altar led,

Crowned with all flowers that heaven and earth
can shed,

Who, from th' oppressor towering in his pride,
May hope for mercy-if to thee denied?
There is dead silence in the breathless throng,-
Dead silence all the peopled shore along,
As on the captive moves-the only sound,
To break that calm so fearfully profound,
The low sweet murmur of the rippling wave,
Soft as it glides the smiling shore to lave;
While on that shore, his own fair heritage,
The youthful martyr to a tyrant's rage
Is passing to his fate-the eyes are dim

His soul with pangs one moment more shall still.
The lifted axe is glittering in the sun—
It falls-the race of Conradin is run!

Yet from the blood which flows that shore to stain,
A voice shall cry to heaven-and not in vain!
Gaze thou, triumphant from thy gorgeous throne,
In proud supremacy of guilt alone,
Charles of Anjou!--but that dread voice shall be
A fearful summoner e'en yet to thee!

The scene of death is closed-the throngs depart,
A deep stern lesson graved on every heart.
No pomp, no funeral rites, no streaming eyes,
High-minded boy! may grace thine obsequies.
O vainly royal and beloved! thy grave,
Unsanctified, is bathed by ocean's wave,
Marked by no stone, a rude, neglected spot,
Unhonoured, unadorned-but unforgot:
For thy deep wrongs in tameless hearts shall live,
Now mutely suffering-never to forgive!

The sunset fades from purple heavens away,-
A bark hath anchored in th' unruffled bay;
Thence on the beach descends a female form,(6)

Which gaze, through tears that dare not flow, on Her mien with hope and tearful transport warm;

him:

He mounts he scaffold-doth his footstep fail?
Doth his lip quiver? doth his cheek turn pale?
Oh! it may be forgiven him, if a thought
Cling to that world, for him with beauty fraught,
To all the hopes that promised Glory's meed,
And all th' affections that with him shall bleed!
If in his life's young day-spring, while the rose
Of boyhood on his check yet freshly glows,
One human fear convulse his parting breath,
And shrink from all the bitterness of death!

But no!-the spirit of his royal race
Sits brightly on his brow-that youthful face
Beams with heroic beauty-and his eye
Is eloquent with injured majesty.

He kneels-but not to man-his heart shall own
Such deep submission to his God alone!

And who can tell with what sustaining power
That God may visit him in fate's dread hour?
How the still voice, which answers every moan,
May speak of hope,-when hope on earth is gone?

That solemn pause is o'er-the youth hath given
One glance of parting love to earth and heaven;

But life hath left sad traces on her cheek,
And her soft eyes a chastened heart bespeak,
Inured to woes-yet what were all the past!
She sunk not feebly 'neath affliction's blast,
While one bright hope remained—who now shall

tell

Th' uncrowned, the widowed, how her loved one fell?

To clasp her child, to ransom and to save,

The mother came-and she hath found his grave!
And by that grave, transfixed in speechless grief,
Whose death-like trance denies a tear's relief,
Awhile she kneels-till roused at length to know,
To fell the might, the fulness of her wo,
On the still air a voice of anguish wild,

A mother's cry, is heard-" My Conradin! my
child!"

NOTES.

Note 1, page 146, col. 2.

Long from its sanctuary of slumber torn.

The urn, supposed to contain the ashes of Virgil, has long since been lost.

Note 2, page 146, col. 2.

The sighs of exiles never to return.

Many Romans of exalted rank were formerly banished to some of the small islands in the Medi

Note 5, page 146, col. 2.

Austere in triumph, gazing on the scene. "Ce Charles," dit Giovanni Villani, "fut sage

terranean, on the coast of Italy. Julia, the daugh- et prudent dans les conseils, preux dans les armes,

ter of Augustus, was confined many years in the isle of Pandataria, and her daughter, Agrippina, the widow of Germanicus, afterwards died in exile on the same desolate spot.

Note 3, page 146, col. 2.

apre et fort redouté de tous les rois du monde, magnanime et de hautes pensées qui l'égaloient aux plus grandes entreprises; inébranlable dans l'adversité, ferme et fidèle dans toutes ses promesses, parlant peu et agissant beaucoup, ne riant presque jamais, décent comme un religieux, zélé That glowing land was but their sepulchre. catholique, âpre á rendre justice, féroce dans ses Quelques souvenirs du cœur, quelques noms regards. Sa taille étoit grande et nerveuse, sa de femmes, réclament aussi vos pleurs. C'est á couleur olivâtre, son nez fort grand. Il paroissoit Misène, dans le lieu même où nous sommes, que la plus fait qu'aucun autre chevalier pour la majesté veuve de Pompée, Cornélie, conserva jusqu'à la royale. Il ne dormoit presque point. Jamais il ne mort son noble deuil; Agrippine pleura long-temps prit de plaisir aux mimes, aux troubadours, et aux Germanicus sur ces bords. Un jour, le même as-gens de cour."—Sismondi. Rêpubliques Italiennes, sassin qui lui ravit son époux la trouva digne de le vol. iii.

"

suivre. L'île de Nisida fut témoin des adieux de Brutus et de Porcie."-Madame de Staël-Corinne.

Note 6, page 147, col. 2.

Thence on the beach descends a female form.

Note 4, page 146, col. 2. "The Carmine (at Naples) calls to mind the Denouncing vengeance on the matricide. bloody catastrophe of those royal youths, Conradin The sight of that coast, and those shores where and Frederick of Austria, butchered before its door. the crime had been perpetrated, filled Nero with Whenever I traversed that square, my heart yearncontinual horrors; besides, there were some who ed at the idea of their premature fate, and at the imagined they heard horrid shrieks and cries from deep distress of Conradin's mother, who, landing Agrippina's tomb, and a mournful sound of trum- on the beach with her son's ransom, found only a pets from the neighbouring cliffs and hills. Nero, lifeless trunk to redeem from the fangs of his bartherefore, flying from such tragical scenes, with-barous conqueror."-Swinburne's Travels in the drew to Naples.-See Ancient Universal History. Two Sicilies.

The Sceptic.

A POEM.

"LEUR raison, qu'ils prennent pour guide, nep -And shall the spirit on whose ardent gaze, présente à leur esprit que des conjectures et des embarras; les absurdités où ils tombent en niant la Religion deviennent plus insoutenables que les vérités dont la hauteur les étonne; et pour ne vouloir pas croire des mystères incompréhensibles, ils suivent l'une après l'autre d'incompréhensibles erreurs."-Bossuet, Oraisons Funèbres.

WHEN the young Eagle, with exulting eye, Has learned to dare the splendour of the sky, And leave the Alps beneath him in his course, To bathe his crest in morn's empyreal source, Will his free wing, from that majestic height, Descend to follow some wild meteor's light, Which far below, with evanescent fire,

Shines to delude, and dazzles to expire?

The dayspring from on high hath poured its blaze,
Turn from that pure effulgence, to the beam
Of earth-born light, that sheds a treacherous gleam,
Luring the wanderer from the star of faith,
To the deep valley of the shades of death?
What bright exchange, what treasure shall be
given,

For the high birth-right of its hope in Heaven?
If lost the gem which empires could not buy,
What yet remains?—a dark eternity!

Is earth still Eden!--might a seraph guest,
Still, 'midst its chosen bowers delighted rest?
Is all so cloudless and so calm below,

We seek no fairer scenes than life can show?
That the cold Sceptic in his pride elate,
Rejects the promise of a brighter state,

No! still through clouds he wins his upward way, And leaves the rock, no tempest shall displace, And proudly claims his heritage of day!

To rear his dwelling on the quicksand's base?

Votary of doubt! then join the festal throng,
Bask in the sunbeam, listen to the song,
Spread the rich board, and fill the wine-cup high,
And bind the wreath ere yet the roses die!
'Tis well, thine eye is yet undimmed by time,
And thy heart bounds, exulting in its prime;
Smile then unmoved at Wisdom's warning voice,
And, in the glory of thy strength, rejoice!

If some bright hour on rapture's wing hath flown, Find more than anguish in the thought 't is gone! Go! to a voice such magic influence give, Thou canst not lose its melody, and live; And make an eye the lode-star of thy soul, And let a glance the springs of thought control; Gaze on a mortal form with fond delight, Till the fair vision mingles with thy sight; There seek thy blessings, there repose thy trust, Lean on the willow, idolize the dust! Then, when thy treasure best repays thy care, Think on that dread "for ever"—and despair! The soul's pure flame the breath of storms must fan, And oh! no strange, unwonted storm there needs, And pain and sorrow claim their nursling-Man! To wreck at once thy fragile ark of reeds. Earth's noblest sons the bitter cup have shared-Watch well its course-explore with anxious eye Pround child of reason! how art thou prepared? | Each little cloud that floats along the skyWhen years, with silent might, thy frame have bow- Is the blue canopy serenely fair?

But life hath sterner tasks; e'en youth's brief hours
Survive the beauty of their loveliest flowers;
The founts of joy, where pilgrims rest from toil,
Are few and distant on the desert soil;

ed,

And o'er thy spirit cast thy wintry cloud,
Will Memory sooth thee on thy bed of pain,
With the bright images of pleasure's train?
Yes! as the sight of some far distant shore,

Yet may the thunderbolt unseen be there,

And the bark sink, when peace and sunshine sleep
On the smooth bosom of the waveless deep!
Yes! ere a sound, a sign announce thy fate,
May the blow fall which makes thee desolate!

Whose well-known scenes his foot shall tread no Not always Heaven's destroying angel shrouds

more,

Would cheer the seaman, by the eddying wave
Drawn, vainly struggling, to th' unfathomed grave!
Shall Hope, the faithful cherub, hear thy call,
She, who like heaven's own sunbeam, smiles for all?
Will she speak comfort?-Thou hast shorn her
plume,

That might have raised thee far above the tomb,
And hushed the only voice whose angel tone
Soothes when all melodies of joy are flown!

For she was born beyond the stars to soar,
And kindling at the source of life, adore;
Thou couldst not, mortal! rivet to the earth
Her eye, whose beam is of celestial birth;
She dwells with those who leave her pinion free,
And sheds the dews of heaven on all but thee.
Yet few there are, so lonely, so bereft,
But some true heart, that beats to theirs, is left,
And, haply, one whose strong affection's power
Unchanged may triumph through misfortune's
hour,

Still with fond care supports thy languid head,
And keeps unwearied vigils by thy bed.

But thou! whose thoughts have no blest home!
above,

Captive of earth! and canst thou dare to love?
To nurse such feelings as delight to rest,
Within that hallowed shrine-a parent's breast,
To fix each hope, concentrate every tie,
On one frail idol,-destined but to die,
Yet mock the faith that points to worlds of light,
Where severed souls, made perfect, re-unite?
Then tremble! cling to every passing joy,
Twined with the life a moment may destroy!
If there be sorrow in a parting tear,
Still let "for ever" vibrate on thine ear!

His awful form in tempests and in clouds;
He fills the summer-air with latent power,
He hides his venom in the scented flower,
He steals upon thee, in the Zephyr's breath,
And festal garlands veil the shafts of death?

Where art thou then, who thus didst rashly cast
Thine all upon the mercy of the blast,
And vainly hope the tree of life to find
Rooted in sands that flit before the wind?
Is not that earth thy spirit loved so well,
It wished not in a brighter sphere to dwell,
Become a desert now, a vale of gloom,
O'ershadowed with the midnight of the tomb?
Where shalt thou turn ?-it is not thine to raise,
To yon pure heaven thy calm confiding gaze,
No gleam reflected from that realm of rest
Steals on the darkness of thy troubled breast,
Not for thine eye shall faith divinely shed
Her glory round the image of the dead;
And if, when slumber's lonely couch is prest,
The form departed be thy spirit's guest,
It bears no light from purer worlds to this;
The future lends not e'en a dream of bliss.

But who shall dare the Gate of Life to close,
Or say, thus far the stream of mercy flows?
That fount unsealed, whose boundless waves em-
brace

Each distant isle and visit every race,
Pours from the Throne of God its current free,
Nor yet denies th' immortal draught to thee.
Oh! while the doom impends, not yet decreed,
While yet th' Atoner hath not ceased to plead,
While still, suspended by a single hair,
The sharp bright sword hangs quivering in the air,
Bow down thy heart to Him, who will not break
The bruised reed; e'en yet, awake, awake!