I cannot bring to utter woe

Your proved fidelity."—

The bold good Man his labour sped At nature's pure command;

For you we both would die."

"Nay, nay, I come with semblance feign'd

And cheek embrown'd by art; Yet, being inwardly unstain'd,

With courage will depart."

While, in a hollow nook,

She moulds her sight-eluding den Above a murmuring brook.

His task accomplish'd to his mind, The twain ere break of day

A poor Man's counsel take;

The Holy Virgin gives to me

A thought for your dear sake: Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace, And soon shall you be led Forth to a safe abiding-place, Where never foot doth tread."

PART II.

THE dwelling of this faithful pair
In a straggling village stood,—
For One who breathed unquiet air
A dangerous neighbourhood;
But wide around lay forest ground
With thickets rough and blind;
And pine-trees made a heavy shade
Impervious to the wind.

And there, sequester'd from the sight,
Was spread a treacherous swamp,
On which the noonday Sun shed light
As from a lonely lamp;

And midway in th' unsafe morass
A single Island rose

Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass
Adorn'd, and shady boughs.

The Woodman knew for such the craft
This Russian vassal plied-

That never fowler's gun, nor shaft
Of archer, there was tried:
A sanctuary seem'd the spot

From all intrusion free;

And there he plann'd an artful Cot

For perfect secrecy.

With earnest pains uncheck'd by dread Of Power's far-stretching hand,

4 The meaning probably is, " Whither would you flee, if you could?"

Their solitary way;

Few words they speak, nor dare to slack

Their pace from mile to mile,

Till they have cross'd the quaking marsh, And reach'd the lonely Isle.

The Sun above the pine-trees show'd
A bright and cheerful face;
And Ina look'd for her abode,

The promised hiding-place:

She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled; No threshold could be seen,

Nor roof, nor window; -all seem'd wild As it had ever been.

Advancing, you might guess an hour,
The front with such nice care
Is mask'd, "if house it be 5 or bower,"
But in they enter'd are:

As shaggy as were wall and roof
With branches intertwined,
So smooth was all within, air-proof,
And delicately lined:

And hearth was there, and maple dish, And cups in seemly rows,

And couch,- all ready to a wish

For nurture or repose;

And Heaven doth to her virtue grant
That here she may abide

In solitude, with every want
By cautious love supplied.

No queen, before a shouting crowd,
Led on in bridal state,

E'er struggled with a heart so proud,
Entering her palace gate;
Rejoiced to bid the world farewell,
No saintly anchoress
E'er took possession of her cell
With deeper thankfulness.

5 Some obscurity here, perhaps; but the word if is construed with guess, and is equivalent to whether; the sense thus being, "you might guess an hour whether it be a house," &c.

In phrase that now with echoes soft
Haunted her lonely cell;
She saw th' hereditary bowers,
She heard th' ancestral stream;
The Kremlin and its haughty towers
Forgotten like a dream!

PART IV.

The fainting creature took the marsh,
And toward the Island fled,

While plovers scream'd with tumult harsh
Above his antler'd head:

This, Ina saw; and, pale with fear,

Shrunk to her citadel;

The desperate deer rush'd on, and near The tangled covert fell.

Across the marsh, the game in view,
The Hunter follow'd fast,

Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew
A death-proclaiming blast;
Then, resting on her upright mind,
Came forth the Maid: "In me
Behold," she said, "a stricken Hind
Pursued by destiny!

From your deportment, Sir, I deem
That you have worn a sword,
And will not hold in light esteem
A suffering woman's word:
There is my covert, there perchance
I might have lain conceal'd,
My fortunes hid, my countenance
Not even to you reveal'd.

Tears might be shed, and I might pray,
Crouching and terrified,
That what has been unveil'd to-day,
You would in mystery hide;
But I will not defile with dust

The knee that bends to adore
The God in Heaven: attend, be just;
This ask I, and no more.

I speak not of the Winter's cold,
For Summer's heat exchanged,

While I have lodged in this rough hold, From social life estranged;

Nor yet of trouble and alarms:

High Heaven is my defence;
And every season has soft arms
For injured Innocence.

From Moscow to the Wilderness
It was my choice to come,
Lest virtue should be harbourless,
And honour want a home;
And happy were I, if the Czar

Retain his lawless will,

To end life here like this poor deer,
Or a lamb on a green hill."

"Are you the Maid," the Stranger cried,
"From Gallic parents sprung,
Whose vanishing was rumour'd wide,
Sad theme for every tongue?
Who foil'd an Emperor's eager quest?
You, Lady, forced to wear
These rude habiliments, and rest
Your head in this dark lair!"

But wonder, pity, soon were quell'd;
And in her face and mien

The soul's pure brightness he beheld
Without a veil between:

He loved, he hoped, -a holy flame

Kindled 'mid rapturous tears; The passion of a moment came As on the wings of years.

"Such bounty is no gift of chance,"
Exclaim'd he; "righteous Heaven,

| Preparing your deliverance,
To me the charge hath given.
The Czar full oft in words and deeds
Is stormy and self-will'd;

But, when the Lady Catherine 7 pleads,
His violence is still'd.

"Leave open to my wish the course,

And I to her will go;

From that humane and heavenly source, Good, only good, can flow."

Faint sanction given, the Cavalier

Was eager to depart,

Though question follow'd question, dear To the Maiden's filial heart.

Light was his step,-his hopes, more light, Kept pace with his desires;

7 This was the famous lady then bearing that name as the acknowledged wife of Peter the Great.

"I saw a crag, a lofty stone

As ever tempest beat;

Out of its head an Oak had grown,

A Broom out of its feet.

The time was March, a cheerful noon,

Disasters, do the best we can, Will reach both great and small; And he is oft the wisest man, Who is not wise at all.

This Oak, a giant and a sage, His neighbour thus address'd:

Spread here his careless blossoms, here Attain'd a good old age.

Even such as his may be my lot.
What cause have I to haunt
My heart with terrors? Am I not
In truth a favour'd plant?

On me such bounty Summer pours,
That I am cover'd o'er with flowers;
And, when the Frost is in the sky,
My branches are so fresh and gay
That you might look at me and say,
This Plant can never die.

The butterfly, all green and gold, To me hath often flown,