the youthful catkin's down.
Oh! seeing these, a blessing all unknown,
Foreshadowing of joy, revived my heart;
The trees embracing, on my knees I fell
O God! I cried, grant all may be fulfilled!
Oh! may we, to our Fatherland restored,
When dwelling in our Litwa's native fields,
Again revive to life; may leaves of hope
Again o'erdeck with green our destiny.
Let us return! consent! I rule the Order;
I will bid open. But what need commands?
For were this door a thousand times more hard
Than steel, I'd beat it down--I'd pluck it up;
And thee, O my beloved, to our valley,
There will I lead thee, raise thee with my hand.
Or go we further still? Litwa has deserts;
There lie deep shades in woods of Bialowiez,
Where never rings the clang of foreign swords,
Nor sounds the haughty victor's signal-word--
No, nor the groanings of our vanquished brothers.
There, in the midst of silent, pastoral joy,
And in thine arms, and on thy bosom, let me
Forget that there are nations in the world;
Or any worlds; we for ourselves will live--
Return, oh! speak, consent!"
Aldona spoke not;
And Konrad, silent, waited yet reply:
Meanwhile the blood-red dawn shone forth in heaven.

"O God! Aldona, morning is before us,
And men will wake: the guard arrest us here.
Aldona!"--called he, trembling with despair.
No voice was his; beseeching with his eyes,
He lifted to the tower his clasped hands,
Fell on his knees, and pity to entreat,
Embraced and kissed the walls of that cold tower.

THE RECLUSE.

"No, no! the time is past," her sad voice spoke;
"But be thou tranquil, Heaven will give me strength,
The Lord will shield me from that heaviest stroke.
When here I came, I on the threshold swore
Never to leave this tower, but for the grave.
I wrestled with myself, and thou, my love,
Thou, even thou, against the Lord wouldst aid me.
Wouldst give back to the world a wretched phantom?
Oh think! oh think! if madly I should give
Myself to be persuaded, leave this cave
And fall with rapture into thine embrace;
But thou wouldst know not, neither welcome me,
Avert thine eyes, and ask, with horror struck,
'What, is this fearful spectre fair Aldona?'
And thou wouldst seek in this extinguished eye,
And in this visage her--the thought is death!
No, never let the poor recluse's woe
Offend the beauty of the bright Aldona!

"Myself, I will confess, forgive me, love!
Oft as the moon with brighter lustre gleams,
Hea