balls throw the veil of gentle sleep-Come, thou balm of life-come, soul invigorating god, and o'er my senses wave thy leaden pinions; with poppy wreath entwine my brows, and let me own thy spell, thou semblance of annihilating death. I will not fright thee from my pillow, gentle god, but sooth thee into fond compliance. -Why shouldst thou fly the wretched slave of love? If it were guilty thus to love, thou then might'st start away, and leave me to the sting of goading conscience. But love is not allied to horrors, 'tis tenderness and heaven-bred sympathy; then wherefore should not sleep and love agree ? Then bound with rosy fetters seek my couch, and in their dear embrace entrance my soul, and give it up to transient happiness!

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The massy signet weighs

upon mine eye-lids-my prayer is heard, and Chatelar now seeks his pallet, and yields his careworn frame into the arms of peace.

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Sleep hath been kind; for five revolving hours I've drank of comfort's balmy cup, and all has been annihilation! I feel the renovating draught, new vigor nerves my soul, and I can combat still with dark despair. Now steals the dawn upon night's sable garb, and

fainter shows the moon her silver'd hue upon the undulating bosom of the briny deep.

I will unto the deck, and, as the morning dawns, catch the first tint of distant land that breaks upon the misty horizon.-Yes, I will hail dear Scotland's shore, and think of thee, my queen!

appear the ruddy streaks of day; how cool the passing breeze; and, oh! how welcome is the land of love, that breaks in azure majesty upon my eager sight.-Methinks I now behold the goddess of yon shore rising resplendent as the beam of day, and banishing with heavenly smiles each sublunary ill that might attend her prostrate subjects. Dear land, I welcome thee again; blessed queen, once more I come to pay thee homage, and expire !-Yes, Mary's my theme, and thus I trace my love and misery :—

M-ark these poor lines, an angel's here display'd,
A-s lustrous as the star of cloudless eve;
R-ich in each beauty, and by virtue 'rayed
I-n truth and still form'd only to deceive,
E-nticing my true heart to make it grieve.

Absorbed in thought, with eyes still bent upon the shore, have I some tedious hours thus spent in watchful expectation. Now cheerfully the mariners prepare to make the port, and then I

tread the land of happiness; the winds seem eageily to back my cause, and fills the spreading sails, while the sharp stern cuts through the briny waves, and, as the vessel rides upon the deep, scatters around a myriad of gems which glitter in the blazing beams of day. Thus it is with Chatelar: love is the port I seek; hope is the sea whereon my heart is launched; fancy still wafts me on, and scatters round me visions of delight as transitory as these glist'ning bubbles which burst as soon as formed upon my pensive sight.

FRAGMENT XX.

I

HAVE seen my lovely queen, and on my knees implored her gracious pardon.Merciful heaven! with what sweetness did she accord forgiveness, and once more bless me with her favour. -Yes, I have passed whole days in gazing on her; I haye been so overpowered with bliss, that all has been forgotten but my queen, and I now catch a solitary moment to give my passion vent.

Oh, matchless love! dread power! whose influence I adore, and yet contemplate but with fear, extend thy fostering influence to him who is most fervent of thy slaves ;-pour down on my devoted head one pitying ray, that so the prospect of an existence rendered dark and cheerless, may be illumined with thy renovating smile. Yes, let thy invigorating beam infuse into my jarring soul the balm of heavenly comfort; give me yet more of love, and let me die for nought but Mary!

Gordon still loves, and Arran lives in hope; each claims alike the beauteous goddess, impelled by that same power which holds o'er my poor soul despotic sway. Yet, still lives Mary mistress of her fate, unbound by every tie but will; and till that will enchains her to another, Chatelar may cherish hope.What is impossible to fate, and why may not love accomplish? Monarchs have bent before his shrine-queens by his power have been enslaved; for love knows no title but preeminence of affection and of truth, and who is more ennobled than his votary-his Chatelar?- -Why should I war against my only bliss on this side of futurity? -Heaven formed me as I am, the creature of affection, and I but bow to its decree in living but for love.-Upon the tablet of my heart is graven Mary, and death can alone efface it.

L-OVE, though divided, marks my ev'ry line,
O-n that I live, more constant than the dove;
V-ows unto him I pay, whose pow'r divine
E-nds as it first began-nought else but love.

I am no sensualist; I have not brutalized my mind, nor contaminated the pure ray of my divinity. I love with truth, with ardour, and with tenderest affection, from whence have arisen all those extacies that constitute the heaven of lov