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VOLUME 11. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
P@ [ETKYa
“ Much yet remains unsung .”
SONG.
She died in beauty! like a rose
Blown from its parent stem;
She died in beauty ! like n pearl
Dropp'd from some diadem.
She died in beauty! like a lay
Along the moonlit lake;
She died in beauty ! like the song
Os birds amid the brake.
She died in beauty ! like the snow
On flowers dissolved away;
She died in beauty ! like a star
1,09 t on the brow of day.
Site lives in glory! like night's g< ms
Set round the silver moon;
She lives in glory! like the sun
Amid the blue of June !
[L [E © TT [E E)
THE BROTHERS*
BY SIR E. L. ni'LlVEr..
You must imagine, then, dear Gertrude,
said Trevylynn, a beautiful summer dav, and
by the same faculty, that none possess so
richly as yourself, for it is you who can kin
dle something of that divine spark even in
me, you must rebuild these shattered tow
ers in the pomp of old ; raise the gallery and
the hall; matt tlie battlement with wardeis,
and give the proud banners ofancestral chiv
alry to wave upon the walls. But above,
sloping half down the rock, you must fancy
the hanging gardens of Liebenstein, redolent
with flowers, and basking in the noon-dav
sun.
On the greenest turf, underneath an oak,
there sat three persons, in the bloom of
youth. Two of the three were brothers;
the third was an orphan girl, whom the Wd
of the opposite Tower of Sternfels had be
tpte&lhed to the protection of his brother, the
chief of Liebenstein. The castle itself and
the demeuse that belonged to it passed away
from tlie female line, and became the herit
age of Otho, the orphan’s cousin, anil the
younger of the two brothers now seated on
the turf.
“ And oh,” said the elder, whose name
was Warbeck, “ you have twined a chaplet
for my brother; have you not, dearest Leo
line, a simple flower for me ?”
The heauliful orphan—(for beautiful she
was, Gertrude, as the heroine of the tale you
hid me tell ought to he—should she not have
to the dreams of my fancy yout lustrous
hair, and your sweet smile, and your eyes of
blue, that are never, never silent ? Ah, par
don me, that in a former tale I denied the
heroine the beauty of your face, and remem
ber that, to atone for it, I endowed her with
the beauty of your mind) —the beautiful or
phan blushed to her temples, and culling
from the flowers in her lap, the freshest of
the roses, began weaving them into a wreath
lor Warbeck.
“ It would be better,” said tbe gay Otlio,
“ to moke my sober brother a chaplet of the
rue and cypress; the rose is much 100 bright
a flower for so serious a knight.”
Leoline held up her hand reprovinely.
“ Let him laugh, dearest cousin,” said
Warbeck, gazing passionately oti her chang
ing cheek; “ and then, Leoline, believe that
tile silent stream runs the deepest.”
At this moment they heard the voice of
the old chief, their father, calling aloud for
Leoline ; for ever, when he returned from
the chase, he wanted her gentle presence ;
and the hall was solitary to him if the light
sound of her step and the music of her voice
were not heard in welcome.
Leoline hastened to her guardian, and
the brothers were left alone.
Nothing could be more dissimilar than
the features arid the respective characters of
Otlio and Warbeck. Otho’s countenance
was flushed vvitli the brown hues of health ;
bis eyes were of the brightest hazel; his
dark hair wreathed in short curls round his
open and fearless brow ; the jest ever echo
ed on bis lips, and his step was bounding as
(the font of the hunter of the Alps. Bold
.and light was bis spirit; and if at times he
.betrayed the haughty insolence of youth, he
felt generously, and though not ever ready
to confess sorrow for a fault, lie was at least
ready to brave peril for a fiiend.
But Warbeck’s frame, though of equal
strength, was more slender in its propor
tions than that of his brother ; the fair long
hair, that characterized his northern race,
hung on either side of a countenance calm
and pale, and deeply impressed with thought,
even to sadness. His features, more ma
jestic and regular than Otho’s, rarely varied
in their expression. More resolute even
than Otho, he was less impetuous; more im
passioned, he was also less capricious.
The brothers remained silent after Leo
line had left them. Otho carelessly braced
.on his sword, that he had laid aside on the
grass; but Warbeck gathered up the flow
ers that had been touched by the soft hand
of Leoline, and placed them in his bosom.
The action disturbed Otho; he bit his lip,
•fld changed color; at length he said, with
3 forced laugh—
"lt must be confessed, brother, that you
carry your affection for our fair cousin fp ?
’This Isle is, in reality, founded an the beautiful irs
dj|ion which belongs to liiebcnstcirflsnd Pternfels.
& jFamUs JicfcKttmiJev : ©rtootctr to mteratuve, Efivicultuve, iWrctwuCcs, Education, JForeCsn anti domestic JrwteUlflcnce, Xt.
degree that even relationship seems scarce
ly to warrant.”
“ It is true,” said Warbeck, calmly, “ I
love her with a love surpassingthat of blood.”
“How,” said Otho, fiercely, “do you dare
to think of Leoline as a bride 1”
“ Dare!” repeated Warbeck, turning yet
paler then his wonted hue.
“ Yes, I have said the word ! Know ;
Warbeck, that I, too, love Leoline ; I, too,
claim her ns my bride ; and never, while I
can wield a sword, never, while I wear the
spurs of knighthood, will I render my claim
to a living rival. Even,” he added, (sink
ing his voice,) “though that rival be my bro
ther 1”
Wat beck answered not; his very soul
seemed stunned ; he gazed long and wist
fully on his brother, and then, turning bis
face away, ascended the lock without utter
ing a single word.
This silence startled Otho. Accustomed
to vent every emotion of his own, lie could
not comprehend the forbearance of his bro
ther; lie knew bis high and brave nature
too well to imagine that it arose from fear.
Might it not be contempt, or might he not.
at this moment, intend to seek their father;
and, the first to proclaim bis love for the or
phan, advance, also, the privilege of the el
der-horn. As these suspicions flashed across
him, the haughty Otho strode to bis broth
er’s side, and laying his hand on his arm
said—
“ Whither goest thou? and dost thou con
sent to surrender Leoline ]”
“ Does she love thee, Otho ?” answered
Warbeck, breaking silence at last, and his
voice spoke so deep an anguish, that it ar
rested the passions of Otho, even at their
height.
“ It is thou wlio art now silent,” continu
ed Warbeck ; “ speak, doth she love thee,
and lias her lip confessed it.”
“ I have believed that she loved me,” falt
ered Otho ; “ but she is of maiden bearing,
and her lip, at least, lias never told it.”
“ Enough,” said Warbeck, “release your
bold.”
” Stay,” said Otiio, iiis suspicions return
ing ; “ stay —yet one word ; dost thou seek
my father ? He ever honored thee more
than me; wilt thou own to him thy love, and
insist on thy right of birth 1 By my soul,
and my hope of heaven, do it, and one of us
two must fall!”
“ Poor boy,” answered Warbeck, bitter
ly, “ how little thou canst read the heart of
one who loves truly. Thinkest thou I would
wed her if she loved thee ? Thinkest thou
I could, even to be blest myself, give her
one moment’s pain? Out on the thought—
away !”
“ Then, wilt not tliou seek our father ?”
said Otho, abashed.
“ Our father ! lias our father the keeping
of Leoline’s affection?” answered Warbeck;
and shaking off his brother’s grasp, he sought
the way to the castle.
As lie entered the hall, the voice of Leo
line thrilled upon him ; she was singing to
the old chief one of the simple ballads of the
time, that the warrior and the hunter loved
to hear. He paused lest he should break
the spell, (a spell stronger than a sorcerer’s
to him.) and gazing upon Leoline’s beauti
ful form, bis heart sank within him. His
brother and himself had each that day. as
they sat in the gardens, given her a flower;
his flower was the freshest and the rarest;
Iris he saw not—but she wore bis brother’s
it. her bosom !
The chief, lulled by tbe music, and wea
ried with the toils of the chase, sank into
sleep as the song ended, and Warbeck, com
ing forward, motioned to Leoline to follow
him. He passed into a retired and solitary
walk, and when they were a little distance
from the castle, Warbeck turned round, and
taking Leoline’s hand gently, said—
“ Let us rest here for one moment, dear
est cousin ; I have much on my heart to say
to thee.”
“ And what is there,” answered Leoline,
as they sat on a mossy bank, with the broad
Rhine glancing below, “ what is there that
my kind Warbeck would ask of me ? All!
would it might be some favor, something in
poor Leoline’s power to grant; for ever
from my birth you have been to me most
tender, most kind. You, I have often heard
them say, taught my first steps to walk; you
formed my infant lips into language ; and,
in after years, when my wild cousin was far
away in the forests at the chase, you would
brave his gav jest, and remain at home, lest
Leoline should he weary in the solitude.—
Ah, would 1 could repay you!”
Warbeck turned away his cheek; his
heart was very full, and it was some mo
mentsbefore he summoned courage to reply.
“ My fair cousin,” said he, “those were
happy days; but they were the days of child
hood. New cares and new thoughts have
now come on us. But lam still thy friend,
Leoline, and still thou wilt confide in me ihy
young sorrows and thy young hopes, os thou
ever didst. Wilt thou not, Leoline ?”
“ Canst thou ask me ?” said Leoline; and
Warbeck, gazing on her face, saw, that,
though her eyes were full of tears, they yet
looked steadily upon his ; and he knew that
she loved him only as a sister.
He sighed, and paused again ere he re
sumed. “ Enough,” said he ; “ now to my
tßsjc. Once on a time, dear cousin, there
lived among these piouqtains a certain chief
who had hyo sop*, and ap orphan like thy
self dwelt also in his halls. And the elder
sip —bpt bq matter, let us not waste words
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 13, 1843.
on him / the younger son, then, loved tie
orphan dearly—more dearly than cousins
love ; and, fearful of refusal, lie prayed the
elder one to urge his suit to the orphan.—
Leoline, mv tale is done. Canst tlioi not
love Otlio as be loves thee ?”
And now, lifting his eyes to Leoline, he
saw that she trembled violently, and her
cheek was covered with blushes.
“ Say,” continued be, mastering himself,
“ is not that flower (his present) a token
that be is chiefly in thy thoughts ?”
“Ah, Warbeck! do not deem me un
grateful. that I wear not yours also: but—”
“ Hush!” said Warbeck, hastily, “ I am
but as thy brother—is not Otho more ? He
is young, brave, and beautiful. God grant
that lie may deserve thee, if thou givest him
so rich a gift as thy affections.”
“ 1 saw less of Otlio in my childhood,”
said Leoline,evasively; “therefore, his kind
ness of late years seemed stranger to mo
than thine.”
“And thou wilt not then reject him?—
Tliou wilt lie his bride ?”
“ And thy sister,” answered Leoline.
“ Bless thee, mine own dear cousin ; one
brother’s kiss, then, and farewell! Otho
shall thank thee for himself.”
He kissed her forehead calmly, and turn
ing away, plunged into the thicket; then,
nor till then, he gave vent to such emotions
as, had Leoline seen them, Otho’s suit had
been lost for ever; for passionately, deeply
as in her fond and innocent heart she loved
Otlio, the happiness of Warbeck was not less
dear to hear.
When tbe young knight had recovered
his self-possession, he went in search ofOtho.
He found him alone in the wood, leaning
with folded arms against a tree, and gazing
moodily on the ground. Wat beck’s noble
heart was touched at his brother’s dejection.
“ Cheert bee, Otlio,” said he; “I bring
thee no bad tidings; I have seen Leoline—
l have conversed with her—nay, start not—
she loves thee ! she is thine !”
“ Generous—generous Warbeck !” ex
claimed Otho ; and he threw himself on his
brother’s neck. “ No, no,” said he, “ this
must not he ; thou hast the elder claim. I
resign her to thee. Forgive me my way
wardness, brother, forgive me !”
“ Think of the past no more,” said War
beck ; “ the love of Leoline is an excuse for
greater offences than thine; and now, be
kind to her; her nature is soft and keen, I
know her well, for I have studied her faint
est wish. Thou art hasty and quick of ire ;
but remember, that a word wounds where
love is deep. For my sake, as for hers,
think more of her happiness than thine own;
now seek her—she waits to hear from tliy
lips the tale that sounded cold upon mine.”
With that he left bis brother, and, once
more re-entering the castle, he went into
the hall of his ancestors. His father still
slept; he put his hand on his grey hair, and
blessed him ; then stealing up to his cham
ber, be braced on his helm and armor, and
thrice kissing the hilt of his sword, said, with
a flushed cheek—
“ Henceforth be thou my bride !” Then
passing from the castle, he 6ped by the most
solitary paths down the rock, gained the
Rhino, and hailing one of tbe numerous fish
ermen of the river, won the opposite shore;
and alone, but not sad, for his high heart
supported him, and Leoline at least was
happy, he hastened to Frankfort.
The town was all gayety and life, arms
clanged at every corner, the sounds of mar
tial music, tbe wave of banners, the glitter
ing of plumed casques, the neighing of war
steeds, all united to stir the blood and in
flame the sense. St. Bertrand had lifted
the sacred cross along the shores of the
Rhine, and the streets of Frankfort witness
ed with what success !
On that same day Warbeck assumed the
sacred badge, and was enlisted among the
knights of the Emperor Conrad.
We must suppose sometime to have elaps
ed, and Otho and Leoline were not yet wed
ded ; for in the first fervor of his gratitude
to Iris brother, Otlio had proclaimed to his
father and to Leoline the conquest Warbeck
had obtained over himself; and Leoline,
touched to the heart, would not consent that
the wedding should take place immediate
ly. “ Let him, at least,” said she, “ riot be
insulted by a premature festivity, nt.d give
him time, among the lofty beauties lie will
gaze upon in a far country, to forget, Otlio,
that lie once loved her who is the beloved of
thee.”
The old chief applauded this delicacy ;
and even Otho, in tbe first flush of his feel
ings toward his brother, did not venture to
oppose it. They settled, then that the mar
riage should take place at the end of a year.
Months rolled away, and an absent and
moody gloom settled upon Otho’s brow.—
In bis excursions with his gay companions
among the neighboring towns, he beard of
nothing but the glory of the crusaders, of tbe
homage paid to the heroes of the Cross by
the courts they visited, of the adventure of
their life, and the exciting spirit that anima
ted their war. In fact, neither minstrel nor
priest suffered the theme to grow cold; and
the fame of those who had gone forth to the
holy strife gave at once emulation and dis
content to the youths who had remained be
hind.
“ And my brother enjoys {bje arflppt and
glorious life,” 6aid the impatient Otho;
“ while I. whose arm is as strong, and whose
heart is as bold, languish here listening to
the dull tales of a hoary sire and the silly
songs of on orphan girl.” His heart smote
him at tlie last sentence, but lie had already
begun to weary of the gentle love of Leo
line. Perhaps when he had no longer to
gain a triumph over a rival, the excitement
palled, or perhaps his proud spirit secretly
chafed at being conquered by his brother in
generosity, even when outshining him in the
success of love.
But poor Leoline, once taught that she
was to consider Otho her betrothed, surren
dered her heart entirely to his control. His
wild spirit, his dark beauty, bis daring valor,
won while they awed her; and in the fitful
ness of his nature were those perpetual
springs of hope and fear, that are the foun
tains of ever-agitated love. She saw with
increasing grief the change that was grow
ing over Otho’s mind ; nor did she divine the
cause. “Surely I have not offended him,”
thought she.
Among the companions of Ollio was one
who possessed a singular sway over him.—
He was a knight of that mysterious order of
the Temple, which exercised at one time so
great a command over the minds of men.
A severe and dangerous wound in a brawl
with an English knight bad confined the
Templar at Frankfort, and prevented his
joining the crusade. During his slow re
covery lie bud formed an intimacy with
Otho, and, taking up his residence at the ens
ile of Lielienstein, hsd been struck with the
beauty of Leoline. Prevented by Ids oalli
from marriage, he allowed himself a double
license in love, and doubted not, could he
disengage the young knight from bis be
trothed, that she would sdd anew conquest
to the many he had already achieved. Art
fully, therefore, he painted to Otho the va
rious attractions of the Holy Cause; and,
above all, he failed not to describe, with
glowing colors, the beauties, who, in the
goigeous East, distinguished with a prodi
gal favor the warriors of the Cross. Dow
ries, unknown in the more sterile mountains
of the Rhine, accompanied the hand of these
beauteous maidens, and a prince’s daughter
was not deemed, lie said, too lofiy a marri
age for the heroes who might win kingdoms
for themselves.
“ To me,” said the Templar, “such hopes
are eternally denied. But you, were you
no* already betrothed, what fortunes might
await you!”
By such discourses the ambition of Otho
was perpetually aroused; they served to
deepen his discontent at his present obscu
rity, and to convert to distaste the only so
lace it afforded in the innocence and affec
tion of Leoline.
One night, a minstrel sought shelter from
tbe storm in the halls of Liebenstein. His
visit was welcomed by the chief, and lie re
paid the hospitality he had received by the
exercise of his art. He sang of the chase,
and the gaunt hound started from the hearth.
He sang of love, and Otho, forgetting his
restless dreams, approached to Leoline, and
laid himself at her feet. Louder, then, and
louder rose the strain. The minstrel sang
of war; he painted the feats of the crusa
ders ; he plunged into the thickest of the
battle ; the steed neighed ; the trump sound
ed, and jroti might have heard the ringing of
the steel. But when lie came to signalize
the names of the boldest knights, high among
the loftiest sounded the name of Sir War
beck of Liebenstein. Thrice had lie saved
the imperial banner; two charges slain be
neath him, he had covered their bodies with
the fiercest of the foe. Gentle in the tent
and terrible in tbe fray, the minstrel should
forget his craft ere the Rhine should forget
its hero. The chief started from his seat.
Leoline clasped the minstrel’s hand.
“ Speak, you have seen him, he lives, he
is honored ?”
“I, myself, am hut just from Palestine,
brave chief and noble maiden. I saw the
gallant Knight of Liebenstein nt the right
hand of tbe imperial Conrad. And he, la
dye, was the only knight whom admiration
shone upon without envy, its shadow. Who
then,” continued the minstrel, once more
striking his harp, “ *vbo then would remain
inglorious iti the hall? Shall not the hau
liers of his sires reproach him as they wave;
and shall not every voice from Palestine
strike shame into his soul ?”
“Right,” cried Otho, suddenly,and fling
ing himself at the feet of his father. “ Thou
liearest what my brother lias done, and thine
aged eyes weep tears of joy. Shall I only
dishonor thine old age with a rusted sword?
No! grant me like my brother to go forth
with the heroes of the Cross!”
” Noble youth,” cried the harper, “there
in speaks the soul of Sir Warbeck ; hear
him, Sir Knight; hear the noble youth.”
“'The voice of Heaven cries aloud in his
voice,” said the Templar, solemnly.
“My soii.l cannot chide thine ardor,” said
the old chief, raising him with trembling
hands; “ but Leoline, thy betrothed !”
Pale as a statue, with cars that doubted
their sense as they drank in the cruel words
of her lover, stood the orphan. She did not
speak, she scarcely breathed ; she sank into
her seat, and gazed upon the ground, till, at
the speech of the chief, both maiden pride
and maiden tenderness restoied her consci
ousness, and she said—
“l, uncle ! shall I bid Otho stay, when
his wishes bid him depart!”
!‘ He will rptum to thee, noble ladye, cov
ered with gloiy,” said the harper : but Otho
said no more. The touching voice of Leo
line went to bis soul : he resumed his seat
jn silence ; and Leoline, going up to him,
whispered gently, “ Act as though I were
notand left the hall to commune with her
heart and to weep alone.
“ 1 can wed her before I go,” said Otho,
suddenly, ns be sat that night in the Tem
plar’s chamber.
“ Why, that is true ! and leave thy bride
in the first week—a hard trial.”
“ Better than incur the chance of never
calling her mine. Dear, kind, beloved Leo
line !’*
“ Assuredly she deserves all from thee:
arid, indeed, it is no small sacrifice, at thy
years and with thy mien, to renounce for
ever all interest among the noble maidens
thou wilt visit. All, from the galleries of
Constantinople what eyes, learning that
though art Otho the bridegroom, will turn
away, caring for :l>ee no more. A bride
groom without a bride ! Nay, man, much
as tbe Cross wants wnrrinpi, I am enough
thy friend to tell thee, it thou weddesf, stay
peaceably at home, and forget in the chase
the labors of war, from which thou wouldst
strip ihe ambition of love,”
“ 1 would I knew wliat were best,” said
Otlio, irresolutely. “My brother—hn, shall
he for ever outshine me ! but Leoline, how
will she grieve—she who left him for me!”
“ Was that thy fault ?'* said the Templar,
gayly. •* It may many times chance to thee
again to be preferred to another. Troth, it
is a sin that the conscience may walk light
ly enough under. But sleep unit, Otho;
my eyes grow heavy.”
The next day Otlio sought Leoline, and
proposed to her that their wedding should
precede his parting, but so embarrassed was
lie, so divided between two wishes, that Le
ob’ne, offended, hurt, stung by bis coldness,
refused the proposal at once ; she left him
lest lieslioald see her weep, and then—then
she repented even of her just pride !
But Otlio, striving to appease his consci
ence with the belief that hers now was the
sole fault, busied himself in preparations for
his departure. Anxious to outshine his bro
ther, lie departed not as Wsrheck, alone and
unattended, but levying all the horse, men,
and money that his domain of Sternfels—
which lie had not yet tenanted—would af
ford, he repaired to Frankfort at the head of
the glittering troop.
The Templar, affecting a relapse, tarried
behind, and promised to join him at that
Constantinople of which he had so loudly
boasted. Meanwhile he devoted his whole
powers of pleasing to console the unhappy
oiplinn. The force of her simple love was,
however, stronger than all his arts. In vain
lie insinuated doubts ofOtho; she refased
to hear them : in vain he poured, with the
softest accents, into her ear the witchery of
flattery and song: she turned heedlessly a
way ; and only pained by tbe courtesies that
had so little resemblance to Otho, she shut
herself up in her chamber, and pined in sol
itude for her forsaker.
The Templar now resolved to attempt
darker arts to obtain power over her, when
fortunately be was summoned suddenly a
way by a mission from the Grand Master,
of so high import, that it could not be resist
ed by a passion stronger in his breast than
love—the passion of ambition. He left the
castle to its solitude; and Otho peopling it
no more with bis gay companions, no soli
tude could be more unfrequently disturbed.
Meanwhile though, ever and anon, the
fame of Warbeck reached their ears, it
came unaccompaned with that of Otlio; of
him they heard no tidings : and thus the love
of the tender orphan was kept alive by the
perpetual restlessness of fear. At length
the old chief died, and Leoline was left ut
terly alone.
One evening as she sat with her maidens
in the hall, the ringing ofa steed’s hoofs was
heard in the outer court ; a horn sounded,
the heavy gates were unbarred, and a knight
of a stately mien and covered with the red
mantle of the Cross entered the ball; he
stopped for one moment at the entrance, as
if overpowered in his emotions; in the next
lie had clasped Leoline to his breast!
“ Dost thou not recognize thy cousin
Warbeck 1” He doffed his casque, and she
saw that majestic brow which, unlikeOtlio’s,
never changed or been clouded in its
aspect to her.
“ The war is suspended for tbe present,”
said he ; “ I learned my father’s death, and
1 have returned home to hang up my ban
ner in the hall and spend my days in peace.”
Time and the life of camps had worked
their change upon Warbeck’s face ; the fair
hair, deepened in its shade, was worn from
the temples, and disclosed one scar that ra
ther aided tlie beauty ofa countenance that
had always something high and martial in its
character; but the calm it once wore had
settled down into sadness; he conveistd
more rarely than before, and though he
smiled not less often, or less kindly, the smile
had more of thought, and the kindness had
forgot its passion. He had apparently con
quered a love that was so early crossed, but
not that fidelity of remembrance which made
Leoline dearer to him than all otheis, and
foibade him to replace the images he had
graven upon his soul.
Tbe orphan’s lips trembled vvitli the name
of Otho, but a certain recollection stifled e
ven her anxiety, Wuibeck hastened to
forstall her questions.
“Otho was well,” lie said, “and sojourn
ing a* Constantinople; he had lingered there
so long that the ciusade had terminated
without his aid; doqbt!e?s now he would
j number 7.
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
speedily return —a month, a week, nay, a
day, might restore him to her side.”
Leoline was inexpressibly consoled, yet
something seemed untold. Why, so eager
for the strife of the sacred Tomb, bad iter
thus tarried at Constantinople? She Won
dered, she wearied conjecture, but she did
not dare to search farther.
The generous Warbeck concealed from
lier that Otho led a life of the most reckless
and indolent dissipation; wasting his wealth
in the pleasures of the Greek court, and on
ly occupying his ambition with the wild
schemes of founding a principality in those
foreign climes, which the enterprises of the
Norman adventurers had rendered so allur
ing to the knightly bandits of the age.
The cousins resumed their old friendship,
and Warbeck believed that it was friend
ship alone. They walked again among the
gardens in which their childhood had stray
ed ; they sat again on the green turf where
on they bad woven flowers; they looked
down on the eternal mirror of the Rhine ;
ah, could it have reflected the same una
wakened freslniessoftheirlife’searlyspring!
The grave and contemplative mind of
Warbeck had not been so contented with
the honors of war, but that it had sought al
so those calmer sources of emotion which
were yet found among the sages of the East.
He hail drunk at the fountain of wisdom of
those distant climes, and had acquired the
habits of meditation which were indulged
by those wiser tribes from which the crusa
ders brought back to the North the knowl
edge that was destined to enlighten their
posterity. Warbeck, therefore, had little
in common with the ruder chiefs around ;
he summoned them not to his board, or et
tended at their noisy wassails. Often late
at night in yon shattered tower, his lonely
lamp shone still over the mighty stream,
and his only relief to loneliness was the pre
sence and the song of his soft cousin.’
Months rolled on, when suddenly a vague
and feat ful rurnor reached the castle of Lie
benstcin. Otho was returning home to the
neighboring tower of Sternfels; but not a
lone. He brought back with him a Greek
bride of surprising beauty, and dowered
with almost regal wealth. Leoline was the
first to discredit the rumor—Leoline was
soon the only one who disbelieved.
Bright in the summer noon flashed the ar
ray of horsemen; far op the steep ascent
wound the gorgeous cavalcade ; the lonely
towers of Lielienstein heard the echo of
many a laugh and peal of merriment. Otho
bore home his bride to the hall of Sternfels.
The night there was a great banquet in
Otbo’s castle ; the lights shone from every
casement, and music swelled loud and cease
lessly within.
By the side of Otho, glittering with the
prodigal jewels of the East, sat the Greek.
Her dark locks, her flashing eye, the false
colors of her complexion, dazzled the eyes
of her guests. On her left hand aat the
Templar.
“ By the holy rood,” quoth the Templar,
gayly, though he crossed himselfas he spoke,
“ we shall scare the owls to-night on those
grim towers of Liebenstein. Thy grave
brother, Sir Otho, will have mnch to do to
comfort his cousin when she sees what a
gallant life she would have led with thee.”
“ Poor damsel!” said the Greek, with af
fected pity, “ doubtless she will now be re
conciled to the rejected one. I hear he is a
knight of a comely mien.”
“ Peace !” said Otho, sternly, and quaff
ing a large goblet of wine.
The Greek bit her lip, and glanced mean
ingly at the Templar, who returned the
glance.
“ Naught but a beauty such as thine can
win my pardon,” said Otho, turning to his
bride, and gazing passionately in her face.
The Greek smiled.
Well sped the feast, the laugh deepened,
the wine circled, when Otlio’s eye rested on
a guest at the bottom of the board, whose
figure was mantled from head to foot, and
whose face was covered with a dark veil.
“ Beslirew me,” said he, aloud; “ but
this is scarce courteous at our reVe); will
the stranger vouchsafe to unmask TANARUS”
These words turned all eyes to the figure,
and they who sat next it perceived that it
ticmbled violently; at length it rose, and
walking slowly, but with grace. In the fair
Greek.it laid beside her a wreath of flowers.
“ It is a simple gift,ladye,” said the stran
ger, in a voice of such sweetness, that the
rudest guest was touched by it. “ But it is
all I can offer, and the bride of Otho should
not be without a gift at my hands. May ye
both he happy!”
With these words, the stranger turned
and passed from the hall silent as a shadow.
“Bring back the stranger!” cried the
Greek, recovering her stirptise. Twenty
guests sprang up to obey her mandate.
“No, no!” said Otho, waving his hand
impatiently ; ’* Touch her not, heed her not
at your peril.”
The Greek bent over the flowers to con
ceal her anger, and from among them drop
ped the broken half of a ring. Otho recog
nized it at once; it was the half of that ring
w hich lie hail broken with his betrothed. —
Alas, lie required not such a sign to convince
him that that figure, so full of ineffable grace,
that touching voice, that simple action so
tender in its sentiment, that gift, that bless
ing, came only, from the forsaken and for
giving I.coline!
But Warbeck, alone in his solitary tow
er, paced to and fro with agitated steps.-