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what are you about to do? For heaven's sake desist from the abominable deed." Erasmus, recognising his wife in the phantom-like form, threw the paper and pen away from him. Lightnings darted out of Giulietta's eyes-her countenance was hideously distorted her form a flame of fire. Away from me, imps of Satan! In the name of the just God, away from me, thou serpent! hell glows in thee!" Thus cried Erasmus, thrusting Giulietta away with a powerful arm, for she still held him in her loathsome embrace. Hideous howlings and shrieks were now heard, and a noise resembling the fluttering of a raven's wings, while Giulietta and Dapertutto vanished in an offensive vapour, which seemed to issue from the walls, extinguishing the lights.

At length the ruddy rays of morning shot through the windows, and Spikher repaired to his wife's apartment. He found her gentle and composed; the little Rasmus, too, was cheerful, and seated upon his mother's bed; the wife offered her hand to her exhausted husband, saying, “I am now acquainted with all the evil that befel you in Italy, and I pity you from my heart. The power of the enemy is great, and as he is addicted to every possible crime, so he is a great thief, and could not withstand the desire of cheating you out of your beautiful reflection."

"Do but look in the glass yonder, my dear." Spikher obeyed her with a pitiable look, and trembling at every joint. The glass was blank and clear-no Erasmus Spikher looked from out it. "This time," continued his wife, "it is fortunate that the glass does not reflect your image, for you look very silly, dear Erasmus. However, you are aware that a man without a reflection must be an object of ridicule, and cannot be a reputable man of family, inspiring his wife and children with respect. Little Rasmus laughs at you already, and will soon paint you a beard and mustachios with coal, because you cannot perceive it ;therefore wander about the world a little longer, and try opportunely to win back your reflection from the devil; when you have recovered it you shall be heartily welcome to me. Kiss me (Spikher did it) and now, a pleasant journey. Send Rasmus a new pair of trowsers now and then, for he slides about a good deal upon his knees, and wears out a great many. And when you come to Nuremburg, add a pretty toy and a spice cake, like a loving father!-Farewell, dear Erasmus."

The wife turned round and composed herself to sleep. Spikher took up the little Rasmus in his arms, and pressed him to his bosom, but as the boy screamed a good deal, he set him down again, and went out to wander to and fro in the wide world.

He afterwards met with a certain Peter Schlemihl, who had sold his shadow; they agreed to travel in company, so that Erasmus Spikher might cast the necessary shadow, and Peter Schlemihl give the requisite reflection; however, it came to nothing.

W. S. S.

A MOORISH MELODY.

A PARODY.

I.

SPEAK of gold, and gems, and fire-fly rays,
And flowers, and forms of light;

Of pity's tears, and passion's blaze,
And beauty's smiles more bright ;---
Of moonlight seas, and rainbow dreams,
Morn-dews, and sunny skies;

Of angel plumes, and golden gleams,
Rose lips, and azure eyes ;---

II.

Young hearts, young hopes, young thoughts, young brows,
Love's radiance, sorrow's spell,

Of barks and blossoms, veils and vows,

And music's syren shell ;--

Of memory's chain, and glory's fires,
Green Erin, and her wrongs;

Of warrior bards, and patriot sires,
Wreaths, swords, and lutes, and songs.

III.

Of pollution speak in delicate phrase,
Hide the serpent's sting with flowers ;
Let heaven itself in thy gossamer lays
Seem one of Mahomet's bowers;-
Make woman a creature of lips and eyes,
The Pagan's soul-less toy---
Then, link a tune to these gilded lies,
And in thy MELODY joy!

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

AIR.-"Blue Bells of Scotland."

1

'OH where, lassie, where, would'st thou rest thy weary head?' "Beneath the springing daisies let me make my lonely bed; For no pain cometh there,

And the sun shineth fair

Upon the turf where I shall soon be slumbering with the dead."

2

'Oh why, lassie, why, in the morning of thy days
Seek'st thou the still repose of death, unbroken by the rays
Of the sun's cheering light?

Thus chilled by sorrow's blight,

Art thou so early dead to love-insensible to praise ?'

3

"Oh no, maiden, no---had I wisely turned mine ear
Away from love's enchanting voice---so sweet, but insincere,
Still my heart, blithe and free,

Might rejoice in all I see,

And youthful spirits like thine own, would make existence dear.

4

"Away, far away, he who sought my hand has roved;

His vows of pure unchanging truth, have vain and faithless proved; Well, alas! may my heart

Its deepening gloom impart

To scenes which once looked gay when I was happy and beloved."

J. F. T.

A FAREWELL TO THE HARP.

FAREWELL Sweet companion in sorrow and pleasure;
From thy numbers awhile fate has doomed me to part;
And I feel as the mourner deprived of his treasure,
The all that to life could attach his fond heart.

For the world has entwined a dark wreath for my brow,
I must join the vain crowd in its phrenzied career;
And the thoughts that have softened and sadden me now,
Must too soon be exchanged for sensations less dear.

Though no sunshine of fame light the gloom of thy slumbers,
Though thy master regret thy wild music alone,—

When his penance complete-he returns to thy numbers,
Hope whispers he'll find thee ennobled in tone.

And should our weak lays but create in the breast

Where sincerity glows a kind wish or a thought; Then thy tenderest chords have not vainly been pressed, Nor the guerdon denied I so earnestly sought.

1816.

C.

PERE LA CHAISE.

'Tis sweet amid the sun's declining rays
To muse upon the mount of Pere la Chaise ;
To mark those gay abodes and gilded domes,
Flame in the gorgeous sky like Geniis homes.
Then from the living city's distant hum

To turn a while to that where all is dumb;
Yet lovely in its silence and repose,

A place of refuge from our many woes;
A scene where blight and beauty closely blend,
And pleasure-grounds of graves afar extend.
Upon the cheek of death the wild-flower blooms,
And mingle marshalled ranks of trees and tombs;
Whence many a lengthening shadow darkly lours
Like dreary spectres of departed hours ;—
And the low sighing of the evening gale,

Through bough and blossom which the pale shrines veil
With garlands woven by some pious hand,

Seems like soft whispers from the spirits' land.

There glimmers through the shade of ghost-like trees

The tomb of Abelard and Eloise ;

The very air around their sacred urn,

Glows with the "thoughts that breathe and words that burn."

To live, when marble moulders o'er the grave,
And, worn by Time's all-silent ceaseless wave,
The fond memorials traced by friendship's hand,
Shall fade away like records writ in sand.

Oft through that wide and calm sepulchral grove,
At dewy eve I've felt it bliss to rove;

For oh! its sacred solitude might seem

A scene for lovers' walk or poet's dream;

Where fenced with odorous shrubs and gay parterre,
A bower of beauty bloomed each sepulchre ;
Yet oft the heart would ask if this were meet,
And feel, but scarcely blame the baby cheat,
Of garlanding with wreaths of brightest bloom,
The dreary marble's monumental gloom.
Till the soothed spirit half could deem it sweet
To lay its cares within that still retreat;—
And the long, last repose seemed less forlorn
Where the glad warblers wake at eve and morn,
The shady boughs and whispering leaves among,
Their vesper-hymn and earliest matin song.

J. M.

SPECIMENS OF THE GERMAN NOVELISTS.

As it is our intention to enter somewhat at large upon the subject of German popular fictitious literature in our next number, by which time Mr. Gillieo's translations will, in all probability, have been published; we shall content ourselves, for the present, with merely quoting two sketches from Mr. Roscoe's volumes, one of which seems to have suggested to Mr. Irving the idea of Rip Vanwinkle, and the other to have been the origin of the Hollow Hood, a tale printed orginally in Mr. Leigh Hunt's Indicator.

PETER KLAUS, THE GOATHERD.

In the village of Sittendorf, at the foot of a mountain, lived Peter Klaus, the goatherd, who was in the habit of pasturing his flock upon the Kyffhausen hills. Towards evening he generally let them browze upon a green plot not far off, surrounded with an old ruined wall, from which he could take a muster of his whole flock.

For some days past he had observed that one of his prettiest goats, soon after its arrival at this spot, usually disappeared, nor joined the fold again until late in the evening. He watched her again and again, and at last found that she slipped through a gap in the old wall, whither he followed her. It led into a passage, which widened as he went into a cavern; and here he saw the goat employed in picking up the oats that fell through some crevices in the place above. He looked up, shook his ears at this odd shower of corn, but could discover nothing. Where the deuce could it come from? At length he heard over his head the neighing and trampling of horses; he listened; and concluded that the oats must have fallen through the manger when they were fed. The poor goatherd was sadly puzzled what to think of these horses in this uninhabited part of the mountain, but so it was, for the groom making his appearance, without saying a word beckoned him to follow him. Peter obeyed, and followed him up some steps, which brought him into an open court-yard surrounded by old walls. At the side of this was a still more spacious cavern, surrounded by rocky heights, which only admitted a kind of twilight through the overhanging trees and shrubs. He went on, and came to a smooth shaven green, where he saw twelve ancient knights, none of whom spoke a word, engaged in playing at nine-pins. His guide now beckoned to Peter, in silence, to pick up the nine-pins, and went his way. Trembling every joint, Peter did not venture to disobey, and at times he cast a stolen glance at the players, whose long beards and slashed doublets were not at all in the present fashion. By degrees his looks grew bolder; he took particular notice of everything round him; among other things observing a tankard near him filled with wine, whose odour was excellent, he took a good draught. It seemed to inspire him with life; and whenever he began to feel tired with running, he applied with fresh ardour to the tankard, which always renewed his strength. But finally it quite overpowered him, and he fell asleep.

He

When he next opened his eyes he found himself on the grass plot again, in the old spot where he was in the habit of feeding his goats. He rubbed his eyes, he looked round, but could see neither dog nor flock; he was surprised at the long rank grass that grew about him, and at trees and shrubs which he had never before seen. shook his head and walked a little farther, looking for the old sheep paths, and the hillocks and roads, where he used daily to drive his flock; but he could find no traces of them left. Yet he saw the village just before him; it was the same Sittendorf; and, scratching his head, he hastened at a quick pace down the hill to inquire after his flock.

All the people whom he met going into the place were strangers to him, were differently dressed, and even spoke in a different style to his old neighbours. When he asked about his goats, they only stared at him, and fixed their eyes upon his chin. He put his hand unconsciously to his mouth, and, to his great surprise, found that he had got a beard, at least a foot long. He now began to think that both he and all the world about him were in a dream; and yet he knew the mountain for that of the