On the wonders of nature the stories of eld,
On the secrets of magic high converse ye held:
He sat by thy side, and he gazed on thy face,
He hail'd thee most worthy of Sigurd's embrace;
The wisest of women, the loveliest maid,
The bravest that ever in battle outrade:

And there, in the gloom of that mystic alcove,
Ye pledg'd to each other the firm oath of love.
Now spell-bound thou canst not his features descry,
Thy charms in the gloom do not meet his keen eye.

For Sigurd had hied to defend Giuka's crown,
He dwelt there with glory, he fought with renown;
At the court of good Giuka his warriors among
None bore him so gallant, so brave, and so strong.
Gudruna beheld him with eyes of desire,

The noblest of knights at the court of her sire.
She mix'd the love-potion with charm and with spell,
And all his frail oaths from his memory fell.
She conquer'd his faith by the treacherous snare;
He led to the altar Gudruna the fair:

And now with her brother unconscious he came,
Who dar'd the chaste hand of Brynhilda to claim.
But Gunnar the bold could not break through the spell;
The flame bicker'd high, on the ground as he fell:
And Sigurd the glorious, the mighty, must lend
His valour to gain the fair prize for his friend.
All night there he tarried, but ever between

The maid and the knight lay his sword bright and sheen.
The morrow he rode to the battle afar,

;

And changed the maid's couch for the turmoil of war.
His friend reaps the harvest his valour has won,
And claims the fair guerdon ere fall of the sun.
With pomp to the altar he leads the young bride,
She deems him the knight who had lain by her side
Forgotten the vows she had made in gay France,
Ere Odin cast o'er her the magical trance.
With gorgeous carousal, with dance and with song,
With wassail his liegemen the nuptials prolong;
He revels in rapture and bliss through the night,
And the swift hours are pass'd in the arms of delight:
But when the bright morning first dawn'd on their bed,
The bride rais'd with anguish her grief-stricken head;
For the thoughts of the past rose with force, and too late
She remember'd young Sigurd, and curs'd her sad fate.
Three days and three nights there in silence she lay,
To sullen despair and dark horror a prey.

She tasted no food, and to none she replied,

But spurn'd the sad bridegroom with hate from her side. Shall the words of young Sigurd now bid her rejoice? Does she hear his known accents, and start at his voice?

"Awake, fair Brynhilda, behold the bright ray! "The flowers in the forest are laughing and gay. "Full long hast thou slept on the bosom of woe ; "Awake, fair Brynhilda, and see the sun glow!"

She heard him with anguish, and raising her head She gaz'd on his features, then proudly she said:

"I choose not two husbands, and marvel that thou "Shouldst dare thus intrude in my chamber of woe. "Heaven witness, proud Sigurd, how firmly I loved! My fancy adored thee, my reason approved.

"Thou saw'st me in bloom of my glory and youth,

"And our hearts interchang'd the chaste promise of truth. "Mid the damsels of Hlyndale no maid was so fair, "So courted in bower, so dreaded in war.

"Like a Virgin of slaughter I rov'd o'er the sea,

My arm was victorious, my valour was free. By prowess, by Runic enchantment and song, "I raised up the weak, and I beat down the strong. "I held the young prince mid the hurly of war, "My arm wav'd around him the charm'd scimitar; "I saved him in battle, I crown'd him in hall, "Though Odin and fate had foredoom'd him to fall, "Hence Odin's dread curses were pour'd on my head; "He doom'd the undaunted Brynhilda to wed.

"But I vow'd the high vow which gods dare not gainsay, "That the bravest in warfare should bare me away: "And full well I knew, that thou, Sigurd, alone "Of mortals the boldest in battle hast shone, "I knew that none other the furnace could stem,

(So wrought was the spell, and so fierce was the flame) "Save Sigurd the glorious, the slayer of kings, "With the spoils of the Dragon, his gold and his rings. "Now thy treason has marr'd me, to Gunnar resign'd "By the force of the spell, when my reason was blind. "At my nuptials I loathed the embrace of his lust, "But I smother'd my hate, and conceal'd my disgust; "And sooner than forfeit the faith which I "At the altar to him, I will sink in my grave. gave "Like a brother thou slept'st in the gloom by my side, "And pure as the day-star was Gunnar's young bride. "Yet hence did Gudruna revile me, and say

In the arms of proud Sigurd despoiled I lay.

"Now Prince, shalt thou perish, if vengeance be due
"To love disappointed, though faithful and true!
"Though gallant thou rid'st to the battle afar,
"Though foremost thy steed in the red fields of war,
"Like the death-breathing blast of the pestilent night
My hate shall o'ertake thee, my fury shall smite!"

He left her desponding; then sadly she rose,
Like a lily all pale, from the couch of her woes:
Stream'd loosely the ringlets of jet o'er her breast,
And her eyes' ray was languid, with sorrow opprest;
Yet lovely she moved, like the silvery beam

Of the moon-light that kisses the slow-gliding stream.
She sought Gunnar's chamber, awhile by his side
Stood mournfully pensive, then sternly she cried :

"To thee have I pledg'd my firm oath as thy bride,
And, Gunnar, I hate thee! yet be it not said,
"That Budela's proud daughter her faith has betray'd.
"To thee (woe the hour!) by the vengeance of heaven
"The flower of my youth and my fealty was given.
"Nor mortal shall dare with the breath of frail love
"The heart of ill-fated Brynhilda to move.
"But never again shall I rest on thy bed,

"And ne'er on my breast shalt thou pillow thy head,
"Till slain by thy steel, in the night's silent hour,
"The treacherous Sigurd lies stiff in his gore:
"Till by treason he falls, who by treason has left
"Brynhilda of joy and of honour bereft."

Sad Gunnar, what strife thy fond bosom must rend!
First gaze on her beauty, then think of thy friend!
The slumber of midnight has sealed his bold eyes,
In the arms of Gudruna defenceless he lies.
'Tis done; in his blood the cold warrior is found,
But breathless his murderer lies on the ground.
Though gored and expiring, ere lifeless he fell,
Stout Sigurd's arm sent his assassin to hell.

Mid the night's baneful gloom, see the torches that glare! The mourners that give their wild locks to the air!

She has mounted the funeral pile with the slain,

With her slaves, with her women, a loud shrieking train.
The fairest, the noblest for honour and truth,

In the prime of her glory, the bloom of her youth.
The fire shall consume them, the living and dead,
And in one lofty mound their cold ashes be laid.

VERSES TO THE BROOK OF BORROWDALE,
IN CUMBERLAND.

ADIEU! ye rocks, and thou sweet vale,
Where winds the brook of Borrowdale :
With ling'ring steps and sorrowing heart,
From your sequester'd scenes I part.
Adieu! sweet Brook; with crystal tide,
Still o'er thy pebbled channel glide,
And slowly pour thy stream serene,
Through woody dells, and valleys green.

Let other waters rudely sweep
The cliffs abrupt of yonder steep :
From useless noise acquire a name,
And rise by violence to fame.
These to survey, with ideot stare,
Let Fashion's wond'ring sons repair;
Admire the torrents of Lodore,
So steep the fall,-so loud the roar;
And ring the nauseating chime,
Of cliffs and cataracts sublime.

Be thine, sweet Brook, an humbler fate;
Court not the honours that await
The rude, the violent, the proud,
And scorn the wonder of the crowd.
Ye Naiads! who delight to lave
Your lovely forms in this pure wave,
Long o'er its peaceful banks preside,
And guard its inoffensive tide;

Lest yon tall cliff, whose summit gray
E'en now o'erlooks its darken'd way,

Should headlong rush, with gath'ring force,
And violate its tranquil course;

Or, if so undeserved a fate

Should e'er my lovely Brook await,

With gentle hands its current lead,
Along the flow'ry fav'ring mead,

* Characterised by Dr. Drennan, who has inserted this and the next piece in his poems, as one "who would have taken his place among the very first poets of the age, had he not rather chosen to become its first philosopher."

A LINGERING struggle of misfortune past,
Here patient virtue found repose at last;
Unprais'd, unknow with cheerful steps she stray'd
Through life's bleak wilds and fortunes darkest shade;
Nor courted fame to lend one friendly ray,

To gild the dark'ning horrors of the way.

When fired with hope, or eager for applause,
The hero suffers in a public cause,

Unfelt, unheeded, falls misfortune's dart,

And fame's sweet echoes cheer the drooping heart.

The patriot's toils immortal laurels yield,

And death itself is envied in the field.

Her's was the humbler, yet severer fate,

To pine unnoticed in a private state;

Her's were the suff'rings which no laurels bring,
The gen'rous labours which no muses sing,
The cares that haunt the parent and the wife,
And the still sorrows of domestic life.