Comrades, pace keep!

Nay, do not weep-
No, do not weep!

March on, - pace keep,

Pace keep pace keep— pace keep — pace keep!

III.

Soldier! an arm or leg you'll sell

To win a cross, not often wore: Mine, in those wars, I fought for well,

When we drove all the kings before. We drank - I told of battle plains

You paid, and deem'd the story cheap; The glory now alone remains!

Comrades, pace keep!

Pace keep pace keep―pace keep — pace keep!

IV.

Robert, from my own village fair, -
Return thee, child, and tend thy fold,
Stay, view those shady gardens there,
More April flowers our Cantons hold!
Oft in our woods with dew still wet

Pace keep-pace keep-pace keep-pace keep!

V.

Who yonder sobs and looks so hard?
Ah! 'tis the drummer's widow poor;
In Russia - in the rearward guard –
All day and night her boy I bore,
Else father, wife, and child, away
Had stay'd beneath the snow to sleep;
She's going for my soul to pray.
Comrades, pace keep!

Zounds! but my pip's gone out apace;
Hah, no! · not yet· come on, all's right.
We're now within the allotted space;

There! with no bandage hide my sight!
My friends I would not tire with pain;
Above all, do not draw too low;

And may God lead you home again!

There, comrades, go!

Pace keep pace keep — pace keep — pace keep.

15

THE PHANTOM PORTRAIT.

BY S. T. COLERIDGE.

A STRANGER came recommended to a merchant's house at Lubeck. He was hospitably received, but, the house being full, he was lodged at night in an apartment handsomely furnished, but not often used. There was nothing that struck him particularly in the room when left alone, till he happened to cast his eyes on a picture, which immediately arrested his attention. It was a single head; but there was something so uncommon, so frightful and unearthly, in its expression, though by no means ugly, that he found himself irresistibly attracted to look at it. In fact, he could not tear himself from the fascination of this portrait, till his imagination was filled by it, and his rest broken. He retired to bed, dreamed, and awoke from time to time with the head glaring on him. In the morning, his host saw by his looks that he slept ill, and inquired the cause, which was told. The master of the house was much vexed, and said that the picture ought to have been removed, that it was an oversight, and that

it always was removed when the chamber was used. The picture, he said, was indeed terrible to every one; but it was so fine, and had come into the family in so curious a way, that he could not make up his mind to part with it, or destroy it. The story of it was this:-"My father," said he," was at Hamburgh on business, and, whilst dining at a coffee-house, he observed a young man of a remarkable appearance enter, seat himself alone in a corner, and commence a solitary meal. His countenance bespoke the extreme of mental distress, and every now and then he turned his head quickly round, as if he had heard something, then shudder, grow pale, and go on with his meal after an effort as before. My father saw this same man at the same place for two or three successive days, and at length became so much interested about him, that he spoke to him. The address was not repulsed, and the stranger seemed to find some comfort in the tone of sympathy and kindness which my father used. He was an Italian, well informed, poor but not destitute, and living economically upon the profits of his art as a painter. Their intimacy increased; and at length the Italian, seeing my father's involuntary emotion at his convulsive turnings and shudderings, which continued as formerly, interrupting their conversation from time to time, told him his story. He was a native of Rome, and had lived in some familiarity with, and been much patronized by a young nobleman; but upon some slight occasion

they had fallen out, and his patron, besides using many reproachful expressions, had struck him. The painter brooded over the disgrace of the blow. He could not challenge the nobleman on account of his rank; he therefore watched for an opportunity and assassinated him. Of course he fled from his country, and finally had reached Hamburgh. He had not, however, passed many weeks from the night of the murder, before, one day, in the crowded street, he heard his name called by a voice familiar to him: he turned short round, and saw the face of his victim looking at him with a fixed eye. From that moment he had no peace; at all hours, in all places, and amidst all companies, however engaged he might be, he heard the voice, and could never help looking round; and, whenever he so looked round, he always encountered the same face staring close upon him. At last, in a mood of desperation, he had fixed himself face to face, and eye to eye, and deliberately drawn the phantom visage as it glared upon him; and this was the picture so drawn. The Italian said he had struggled long, but life was a burden which he could no longer bear; and he was resolved, when he had made money enough to return to Rome, to surrender himself to justice, and expiate his crime on the scaf fold. He gave the finished picture to my father, in return for the kindness which he had shown to him."