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I’Oltli AVII >IA( KFJIKL.
\l i .VV hmrHw in fmo mslvr, rcceivul by tbo
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(HUP. \V. IMUINUIAM.
Miffti t, V if
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, SAITBDAV, JULY 23, £§3l.
POETRY.
Oil! NO, I NEVER SHALL FORGET.
A Ballad written hy Thomas 11. Bnyly, Lso
Oh! no I never shall forget,
When in our early years.
She smil’d and should I heave a sigh,
she’d calm my rising fears;
Iler name I ne’er can mention it.
It glows within my breast;
Her words I never shall forget,
Till in the grave I rest.
Her beauty’, was surpassed by none.
None with her form could vie;
Her virtue, Alt! the poor can tell,
And spirits in the sky:
She lov’d me—why was I bereav’d,
Os her, none can replace;
01*1 when shall 1 again behold,
That form, that smile, that face.
Like one unheeding all around,
I fancy she is nigh,
O! could I take her to my' arms, *
She’d drive away the eigh;
And yet that sigh a pleasure gives,
Tho’ short, within my breast,
Her words I never shall forget,
Till in tho grave I rest
THE SQIRE’S I'EVV.
A slanting ray of evening light
Shoots through the yellow pane,
It makes the faded crimson bright,
And gilds the fringe again;
The window’s gothic frame work falls,
In oblique shadows on tho walls.
And since tho trappings first were now.
How many a cloudless day,
To rob the velvet ol its hue,
Hath come and passed away!
How many a setting sun hath made,
This curious lattice work—of shade.
Crumbled beneath the hillock gretn,
The cunning hand must be,
That carved this fretted door I ween,
Acorn and fleur-dc-lis,
And now the worm hath done her part
In mimicking tho chisel’s art.
In days of yore as now wo call,
W hen tho first James was king,
The courtly knight from yonder hall.
Hither his train would bring;
All seated round in order due,
VVith broidered vest and buckled shoe,
On damask cushions sot in fringe,
All reverently they knel ,
Tray er book with brazen hasps and hinge,
In ancient English spelt,
Each holding in a lily hand,
Responsive at the priest’s command.
Now streaming down the vaulted aisle
The sunbeam long and lone,
Illumes the cha acters awhile,
Os the inscription stone,
And there in marble hard and cold,
Tho knight and all his train behold!
Out-s;retched together are expressed
Ho and iny lady lair,
With hands uplifted on the breast
In attitude of prayer,
Long visaged, clad in armour, he,
With ruffled arms and boddice, she.
Set forth in order as they died,
Tho numerous offspring bend,
Together kneeling side by side,
As if they did intend
For past omissions to atone,
t!y 6ayiug endless prayers in stone.
Those mellow days are past and dim,
Bui generations new,
In regular descent from him,
Still fill the stately pew,
And in the same successi in go
To occupy tho vaults below,
Vnd now tlie polished modern Bqire,
With all his train appear,
Who duly to tlie hall repair,
At season of tlie year,
And fill the seats with hello & beau,
AsT was so many years agjo,
I‘erchance all thoughtless as they tread
The hollow sounding floor,
Os that dark house of kindred dead..
Wh ioh shall, as heretofore,
In turn receive lo silent rest,
Another and another guest.
The plumed hearse, the servile train,
In all its wonted state,
Shall wind along the village lane,
n l stop bes ire tho gate,
Brought many a distant alloy through
-To join the final rendezvous.
And o hen this race is swept away,
Each in their narrow beds,
Slill shall tlie mellow evening ray,
Shine gaylv o'er their heads,
While other faces strange and new,
Shall occupy tlie Squire's Pew.
MInL'ELLANEOIH.
A MILITI A CAI’TAIN.
A captain of militia, in one of the up
river towns, was in the huhit of swearing
'by forty? He had like many other of
ficers who cominoud‘slab’ companies, a
trouhlesonie set of fellows to deal with.
One training day, wln-n the soldiers be
haved as usual, very disorderly, be drew
Ins sword, and furiously brandishing it in
the mr, exclaimed—-‘Fellow sogers, I
swear by forty, if you don't b< bate (tetter,
I'll put every devil of you under ‘rest!'
*1 wish you would give us a little rat'
said half it dozen voices, ‘for we’ re’en-a
inost tired to death..’
‘Ojrder! order 1 fellow sogers,’ roared
tire captain, with another tremendous
flourish of the sword. The word was no
sootier spoken, than they all come to
an order, bringing down tire breaches of
their guns with all violence, each upon
his neighotir’s toes—which thretv the
ranks into greater disorder than before.
‘Dress! dress!’ bawled the captain.
‘W e are dressed, most on us,’ replied a
fellow who was barefoot, and had on a
rimless Jiat.
‘Now, by forty,’ said the captain, ‘ that’s
one tanal lie, you aint above half dressed,
if that’s what you mean—but I mean
something else—l mean you should dress
in the military sense of tire word.’
‘How’s that captain,’ cried a half a do
zen voices.
‘How’s that ? you fools you,’ exclaimed
the captain,‘by forty, have you been so
long under my training and don’t know
thg meaning of dress dress 1 Forma strait
liu e ? 1 say—form a strait line.
The soldiers made sundry ineffectual
efforts to get in a right line, and the captain
began to despair of’ever straitening them,
when his military genius (that, which ev
er most distinguishes a great commander
in emergencies) suddenly suggested to
him the novel expedient of backing liis
men up against a neighbouring fence,
which fortunately happened to be strait.
‘Tension! fellow sogers,’ said he in a
stentorian voice, ‘Advance backwards!
Music, quick step!’
The soldier made a quick retrogade
movement, and came with their hacks
plump against the fence.
‘There? by forty,’ said tho captain,
‘now see if you can keep strait.’ llut he
had scarcely performed this successful
manoeuvre, and was about to resume the
manuel exercise, when the clouds began
to threaten rain ; and the soldiers, squin
ting at the aspect of the heavens com
menced deserting their ranks and moving
in all haste towards a neighbouring tav
ern.
‘Halt! halt!’ roared the captain—‘halt!
I say, feller sogers; where the devil are
you going to ?’
‘We’re going to get out of the rain.’
‘Out of the rain ! you cowards !IIalt! I
say or I’llstick the first man I can catch.
‘l’ll take care you shan’t catch me,’
shouted eacli one, as lie took to lies heels.
In h'ss than a minute, the whole compa
ny had deserted; and the cap*ain, whose
motions w'ere much retarded by his regi
mentals, had little chance of sticking
them, for the very sufficient reason that
he could not overtake them.
‘By forty!’said lie, after standing for
two or (liree minutes in speechless aston
ishment, ‘if this don’t heat all the military
movements I ever heerd ot! Just ns I’d
! got them into a strait line by anew ma
noeuvre —to desert inc thus ! But there’s
no tise in keeping the field alone; I may
as well go to the tavern too -1 So saying,
he sheathed his sword, and foollowed his
soldiers.— N. Y. Con.
From the German of Louisa Frtirhmatl,
THE KIPIfAUSER:
AN ANCIENT LEGEND.
Not distant from the wooded heights
in Thuringia, that are crowned by the ro
mantic Kiphauser, on which stood the fa
vorite castle of the great Emperor Freder
ic Barbarossa, lived a young knight na
med Conrad. He tvas poor but highly
esteemed for his bravery. An orphan
from his childhood, and bred to arms, his
heart, bereft of every tender tie, was devo
ted to chivalric honor. He lived for that
alone; and his companions in arms often
reproached him playfully—thatheliad no
taste for aught but a good sword, a good
horse, and glory; that to him, the clang
of arms was more grateful than the de
lights of love.
Conrad was inclined to think so him
self. In the coufse of time, however, Ills
breast was consumed by an ardent pas
sion, which he durst not acknowledge, as
the mistress of his heart was the richest
heiress in the country. She lived under
the protection of her mother, who was
deemed extremely haughty; her father
was dead, and had left her heiress to his
immense property'. Conrad was too ti
mid to oiler his love without a suitable for
tune as an accompaniment; he was also
much too proud to expose himself to the
risk of being rejected. But the tender
Ilildegard saw in him, not the"poor, but'
the amiable and noble knight; and the
Lady Adelheid, her mother, was also at
tached to him for his virtues, and received
him with pleasure at her castle, which he
visited more frequently than any* of the
maiden's other suitors.
One day he approached with a melan
choly countenance, and said —“Noble la
dy, and you, most lovely and amiable Hil
degard, I come to bid you farewell; my
cruel fate will not allow mo to remain any
longer in this paradise of nil my eartldy
wishes, The Landgrave bus called his
troops together, therefore to-morrow early
I must quit tins cherished spot.”
The cheeks of the beautiful Ilildegard
were alternately pale and r% and; hut her mo
ther said—
“ Sir knight, I will now disclose to yon
what I have long .ecrctly resolved—you
are loyal and brave; my daughter re
quires a protector, not riclii's, of which she
hr ulrcady an abundant i tossessioti. You
love her, and she feels not indifference to
wards you: I have therefore determined
to make you my son-in-law. Let*the
warriors assemble, but you remain here,
and take charge ol your wife’s property.”
The Lady Adelheid possessed a lofty
and generous mind; and siie enjoyed a
proud pleasure in preferring the poor youth I
for his intrinsic merit, to the many rich &
powerful suitors wlkj presented them
selves. But she was of an imperious tem
per, and could not brook -contradiction*
Conrad stood in speechless amazement.
IJe felt a severe struggle in his bosom be
tween love and honor. The joy which
sparled in his eyes at the first part of the
Lady Adelheid’s speech soon disappear
ed, like the early glow- of the morning, and j
was converted into deep sorrow.
“Oh, noble lady,” said he, throwing j
himself at her feet, w hat can equal such j
rare generosity?—You have granted me
the wish to which 1 dared not aspire, yet
without which, 1 feel that existence would '
have been a burden to me. But you at '
the same time, require of me what 1 can
not grant. Honor and my country call
upon me to take tip arms! I have hither- ,
to lived in the service of my country; shall i
i now, when it is in danger, refuse the as
sistance of my arm? Oh, let me depart!”
continued lie, casting on Flildegard a
mingled look of affection and grief; “and,
should Heaver, allow me to return, then
let the sacred reward of love be mine!”
Had there been time for reflection, La
dy Adelheid would have agreed in the
sentiments of the youth; but, at the mo
ment, she attended only to the impulse of
here pride, which was sensibly wounded
by the hold refusal of the knight. She
therefore turned from him, with a haugh
ty air, and—“ Well, then, my honor-lov
ing knight, since you suppose me less ac
quainted with its laws than yourself, wc
w ill leav e it to fate, when and where you
may meet my daughter again.”
!B!ie took liildegard by the hand, to lead
her into another apartment; but the
knight held her hack in despair, and sei
zing her hand which he pressed with ar
dor Io his breast, as lie said, “Oh God!
must these be the last words I hear at my
departure?” liildegard gently withdrew
her hand, and left the room with her in
censed mother; hut she cast on Inin a look
full of sorrow and affection, as though she
would say—“Go, my beloved, I will soon '
reconcile my mother, who is now so un
justly irritated.”
This look was the only consolation be
received; for on going to tire castle the
following day, to entreat pardon and a
milder farewell, he was denied admit
tance.
lie went to the war, but with a deeply
wounded heart. Before his departure,
however, be spoke with a friend who was
to remain behind, a distant relation of the
Lady Adelheid, who had lately arrived
from a foreign country, and was living un
der her roof. “Knight Kuno,” said he,
“he careful that my love is preserved for
me till I return.”
On his promise Conrad departed. Blit
on the last night, as he was riding by the
old ruins of the Kiphauser mountains, he
fancied that.he distinctly saw on the bat
tlements, a beautiful blue flower surroun
ded by a brilliant light, which sparkled
like a star in the darkness of the firma
ment. He felt a secret pleasure at the
sight; to his mind the splendor of the
blue flower bore a similitude to the last
look from the lovely eye of liildegard,
which had relieved his heart from a weight
of sorrow. He carried with him, into
tho tumult of battle, the sweet remem
brance of both.
War raged for a time; Conrad fought
i bravely, and at the conclusion of peace
I was loaded w ith honors. But when he
returned to the spot of Ids affections, his
friend informed him that he had found it
impossible to reconcile the mother—that
she had taken an oatli that Conrad should
never see her daughter again till she was
united to another—and that the ladies had
at length disappeared from tli j country no
S one knew whither.
Conrad would instantly have set out to
; seek his beloved Ilddegar in every corner
I of the earth; but the cruel oath of her nio
i ther threw him into despair. He wan
i dered to the abandoned spot where his
liildegard had dwelt, and found some
consolation in seeing at least the place li
gnin where she had once lived and brea
thed; hut his grief was renewed by the
reflection that she was no longer there.
Returning home in the gloom of night,
and passing under the Kiphauser, he li
gnin saw the wonderful flower, surround
ed by the brilliant light. Again, though
unable to account for it, a secret pleasure
I stole over his heart.
Oh the following morning he related
•lie circumstance to his friend. “It is ve
ry astonishing, said Kuno, “i have fre
qy nt y hi on riding under the Kiplim ser
at night, without ever observing any tiling
oft’rckind. ft is said that great treas
ures are buried in the castle; that im
mense heaps of gold have been seen
there.”
Kuno was not richer than Conrad; and
the very thought of the treasures buried
there, filled him with delight. Conrud
| stood absorbed in thought.
“Kuno,” said he, after a pause, “alien
| I reflect upon it; it would appear to me
[ that some happiness a waits me at the Kip
h mser. 1 r-nv *n!*vr so many extraordi-
Y 05i» .[•■Ol’Os -5 1»
nary events vriiicli happened to me ill. ra
in my childhood; for, from mv earliest
yeais.tlie venerable old ca-tk of tin* cinp« *
ror was my favorite resort. I played
there, and stole into it whenever 1 could
getaway from those who had tiie cure of
me. You know that I was brought up
by the Knight Benno, having lost rev pat
ents in my infancy; his castle 1 es 0;i the
other side of the mountain, close under
the Kiphauser. 1 often Unversed tlm
beech forest, which extended us fur as Ku
tlt ulnirg, ami entered with delight the an
cient gates and arches to ramble about the
vast courts and balls'. 1 lilt inexpressi
ble pleasure alien I was there'. Ail the
■ rightful tab s which had Ist;a told me of
treasures watched by flumes of sulphur,
and al out the ghost of tiro gr;at emperor
Frederic Burbarossa, which frequently
paid a visit to its favorite abode, hut al
ways in a terrific form, to the bold adven
turer who dared to enter the castle; all this
d;d not deter me,; on tire contrary, it in
spired me with a pleasing trepidation. I
used to see the treasures, when it happen
ed that 1 lingered there till nightfall,when
the mysteries of the invisible, world audits
inhabitants commence; but 1 saw no ter
rific flumes; 1 saw, indeed, the spirit of
the hero, Frederic, but l was attracted to
wards him by an irresistible impulse; I
always left the gold untouelfbd; but ! was
never tired of looking at him, and observ
ing his venerable majtfSiic figure, and no
ble serious features. Sometimes he strod
on the battlements chid in armor; at oth
ers he was sitting at an oaken table in one
of the halls. Once I niw lent ploy al.
chess by himself. 1 always kept at a dis
tance, and looked at lum m silent wonder
and respect. As he accidentally let full
one of the chess-men, ! sprang forward,
took it up, and gave it the emperor. It
seemed to please the noble spirit that I
showed no fear, but was happy to serve
him. 11c smiled on me, and said in a low
voice, ‘Keep it, and take it home with
you; you will m time become a brave w ar
rior!’—Overwhelmed with delight, 1 took
it with me, and when 1 reached home I
found it was of pure gold.
“The pfefession of arms kept me afler
j wards at a distance from this my favorite
j spot. When I returned, my love for the
; beautiful liildegard occupied me. But
this wonderful flower reminds me of all
I enjoyed there in my childhood.”
Conrad was so lost in the enthusiasm
oi his ideas at the pleasing recollections
winch were passing in his inind, that he
j observed not the gloomy silence into which
j Kuno had sunk during the conversation.
I They separated. The whole day the
j Kiphauser stood before the heated imagi
! nation of Conrad; and as night aj.proach
; ed he hastened thither, when, behold! for
the third lime he perceived the blue flow
er surrounded by the sparkling light. He
mounted the wall, and walked calmly up
to if. The nearer he -approached, the
more brilliant it appeared-, and the flower
seemed of such a beautiful soft heavenly
j blue, that he felt himself inspired by a
confidence that all would yet Ik- well, and
j that the affections of Ins beloved IJildc
i gard were not entirely lost to him.
As, wrapt in pleasing meditation, he
j was looking down on the illuminated
earth, he beheld a golden key lying near
the flower. lie took it up. “Alas! this
is the key to the treasures!” said he, sor
rowfully; “my wishes are certainly not di
rected towards them.” Ilowervcr, oat of
respect to the wonderful power which
seemed to reign on the spot he took the
key.
“Cuno,” said he, when he returned to
his friend, “ltere is the key to the treasure
of the Kiphauser; 1 will not reject this
sign which is given me; come with me,
you shall share the good fortune which
the supernatural powers destine for me.”
—“Or the snitter ret nr an!" said Kuno, in
a peculiar and expressive toms “Come,”
said Conrad, without paying attention to
the words of his companion; “come, you
shall watch while 1 descend into the
\ vault.”
Kuno agreed. In the evening they
both set out; the air was heavy, the deep
red of the setting sun cast a fiery glow
through the forest.*—They reached the
narrow wooded valley called the Strath,
which lies petvvcon the Kiphauser and the
Brandbcrg. Steep rocks surrounded them
on all sides; the old oak and beech trees
heavy and terrific; an invisible fiendish
power seemed to reign in this lonely val
ley.
Conrad wandered silently onwards, his
eyes lient down to the earth. “Halt!”
sai<lKt:;'o, & suddenly stood still. ‘Here,
Conrad, we must fight for life or death.”
Conrad thought lie must have been
dreamig when lie heard this summons,
lie turned round and saw Kuno stand
| with rage sparkling in his eyes, and his
| eyes, and his countenance distorted by
| passion; lie almost fancied be saw a de
mon stand before him, so terrific wasKu
j no’s appearance. “How?” cried Con*
j rad, “are you mud? this to me, your
: friend?”
j Kuno looked at him with a hitter dis
! daiiiful smile. “I am» to keep watch,”
1 said he, “whilst the favoured one is to
i take possession of the treason ! Who are
you, then, wretched favorite of Fortune,
: ihat site should shower her gilts upon you,
i which she* denies to the more worthy?
| That the spirit of the eristic should hav e
feboreu you In .r to its treasure, I could