But as I hastened onwards from the hill,
And thought the city to have gained,
The lovely shadow kept receding still,
And nothing palpable remained

Save some few straggling columns cold and bare—
A youthful Arab and his sire-

Their flocks beyond-a palm-tree here and thereAll desolate-and this was Tyre

And this was Tyre-the city of the brave
And free, the shrine of wealth and power,
The sovereign mistress of the land and wave;
Who bade the very mountains lower
Their heads in homage to her rising pride,
And deck her haught aspiring brow-
Huge bed of busy life, whose troubled tide
Had ceased for aye to ebb and flow.

And this the plain of Tyre-whose every sod
Was fraught with tales of glory past:
The dust of empires under foot I trod-
The wreck of ages-like the last
Expiring struggle when the spirit's fled-

The star that's fallen from the sky—
The ripple by a bursting bubble spread-
The shadow that has flitted by.

The tottering throne has shaken off its kings;

No longer are the sails unfurled

That bade bright Commerce, borne on eagle's wings, In wonder wrap the world.

*

*

*

No longer flows the eddying stream of life,

*

No longer is the torrent stemmed,
That rolled each billow, boiling with the strife
Of Man, to some ambitious end.

"Twas here Ezekiel's warning voice was heard, 'Twas hence he bade the faithful fly,

While wrath divine ran down his snowy beard,

And indignation in his eye

From heaven flashed-" Thou'rt curst," he cried, "Thou'rt curst

Of God and man, presumptuous Tyre !"-
And then the wild prophetic vengeance burst
All palpitating from his lyre.

And straightway Ruin reared her giant form,
With Desolation close behind,

Dread Havoc's roar was heard amid the storm,
And Vengeance whispered in the wind:
Up sprung the roused lion from his lair,
The missioned eagle knew no rest,

Till on the ruins of uprooted Tyre
Her Maker's judgment stood confest.

In spite of man, the vengeance of the Lord,
Unscared by me he winged his way.

It was not Fancy drew his raven wing,
Flapping in hideous mockery

Of man, as though 'twould say, "A desert King
Am I, and yonder is my prey-

Learn, creature vile of animated clay,

And tremble when I bid thee know

That here by right divine I hold my sway,

For God above has willed it so."

φ. ι. β.

THE LEGEND OF RODENSTEIN.

[FROM THE GERMAN.]

AFTER about a six hours' journey from Darmstadt the traveller in the Odenwald finds himself close to the airy and rose-crowned walls of the ruined fortress of Rodenstein. This castle is situated on a rising ground, surrounded on three sides by still more commanding eminences, and on the fourth by a vast tract of forest. Through the valley formed by the height on which the castle is situated the Eberbach flows, and either bank of the ravine is studded with small and scattered cottages, forming the village of Eberbach, which thus receives its name from the torrent at its base.

The story of the wandering spectre of Rodenstein, or the Land-Spirit of the Odenwald, is well known hereabout. From times of yore up to the present age, whenever war or peace takes place in Germany, he has been heard and seen to ride forth between the castles of Rodenstein and Schnellerts with horses and chariots, horsemen and dogs, accompanied with terrific sounds, as of a chase, in the air.

The castle of Rodenstein has now almost entirely perished; only a few parts of the walls remain, and some dungeons, where the spirit is supposed to reside. As to the castle of Schnellerts, whither this restless ghost shapes his course whenever he leaves Rodenstein, it lies between the villages of Bellestein and Ober-Keinsbad, about two hours' journey from Ro

denstein. Of this fortress scarcely anything remains, yet the form of the dungeons, as a learned antiquary assures us, is still clear from the ruins. By whom it was built, or who inhabited it at any time, we can find no mention; no family having ever borne the name of Schnellerts.

In the stirring times of the Middle Ages, before Rodenstein was reduced to its present condition, there dwelt there a Knight, noble in disposition, and handsome in person, who addicted himself solely to war and the chase, and became a great object of terror to the neighbouring cities. No fair girl had yet been able to divert his thoughts from these two engrossing pursuits to the charms of love. At last the Palatine gave notice of a tournament to be held at Heidelburg, and sent invitations to all the heroes of the Rhine, Nechar, and Maine to these knightly pastimes. Among these appeared Rodenstein. He was mounted on a spirited horse, gaily decked with gold trappings; he himself was adorned with shining weapons, helmet, and crest, marks of a noble family that had been distinguished by a long ancestry. In the tournament itself he dismounted every one opposed to him, and received the meed of valour from the white hand of the fairest of the maidens assembled there. Hardly had Rodenstein beheld her beauteous countenance than love for the first time found a place in his warlike soul. He communicated the state of his affections to her as they sat at the banquet together: and she, enchanted both by his beauty and valour, gave him in return her hand and-her heart.

Long time they lived happily together in the ancient castle, and Rodenstein by Marian's side seemed to have forgotten his fierce marauding and hunting expeditions, when he was at once suddenly engaged in a contest with the inhabitants of the forest behind his fortress. His wife endeavoured to restrain him from the field by her love; she entreated him to remain by the love he bore to his child, which was yet unborn, but in vain. Rodenstein had become weary of domestic happiness, and almost of his wife. He departed from the castle with his dependants, regardless of her tears and entreaties; and when she fell on her knees before him to prevent his progress, he thrust her rudely back, and departed. She was soon brought to bed of a son, and died in child-birth. In the meantime her husband was in the field, engaged in skirmishes with the enemy in the neighbourhood of Schnellerts by night, when he saw approaching him from the direction of the forest a pale spectral form. It was that of his wife, with her ill-fated babe in her bosom. His hair grew stiff with fear, and a fearful shivering crept over his whole frame, as the apparition began to sing thus in low but intelligible tones:

Thy marriage profaning,

Thine oath thou hast broken,
Thy wife thou hast murdered,
And our true love's token.

Thou shalt herald the wars
With trumpet and drum,
And foretell to the kingdom

When oppression shall come.