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"On his lip there is a stain

Water will not wash away,

Wine does steep it all in vain.

What that stain? Say, brother, say.

Second voice." Falsehood there has fixed his mark,

First voice.

Deep engrimed with many a die,

Cunning keen, deception dark;
But his punishment is nigh.

"On his hand there is a spot,

Crimson as the break of day,

Waves of tears would stir it not.
What that spot? Say, brother, say.

Second voice." Murder's stamp is on it shewn,

In tints that neither fade nor fly, 'Tis stain'd with blood too near his own; But his punishment is nigh.

First voice.

"But his heart is sullied all,

Black as tempests' gloomy sway,

Or the night's eternal pall.

What that darkness? Brother, say.

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Second voice." It is passion snatched from hell,

First voice.

Avarice, ambition high,

Treachery, hatred, malice fell;

But his punishment is nigh.

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Second voice.“ By age ñor sickness, sport nor strife,
Nor by poison shall he die;

Heaven shall vengeful call his life

In angry tempests, fate is nigh.”

It was silence. Not a word of that boding unearthly song had been lost; and when it was over, all still listened in fearful expectation. At first the cheek of Edwin had turned pale as death, his lip quivered, and his eye closed. But now he recovered himself, and snatching up the cup of wine that stood untasted by his side, he raised it high in his hand."It is our custom abroad," said he, "to drink to our minstrels. Here is to the singers," and he emptied the cup. There were some that with a gay scoff followed his example. But his father looked grave, and many rose and left the table, retiring to meditate over so strange a circumstance.

Edwin drank deep, and laughed high; but nothing could restore the smiles that the song had banished; and as one by one stole away from the banquet, and quitted the hall, each felt that there was some

thing

thing wanting in his breast. Hope had raised expectation high, and each had fancied they should find in the heir of lord Hubert, all that the brightest imagination could dream of perfection. Was he handsome?-yes. Was he elegant?—he was so; but still all were disappointed. There was not in his countenance that frank and open glance, that free and generous smile, which had characterized Edwin as a boy; and with his manner, courteous as it was, there appeared blended both pride and suspicion, totally different from the hope that remembrance of his infant days had led them to entertain.

The banquet was ended, and Edwin too retired. But what were his feelings from the events of the day? what were his sensations on revisiting that land from which he had been so long absent? whatever they were, they deprived him of rest. The agitation of pleasure, of hope, might have had that effect. But Edwin, though

he

he wandered forth from the hall of his ancestors, while the clear moon illumined so many scenes familiar with his early days, did not turn his eyes upon the mementoes of infant pleasures and innocent delights; but with frowning brow, and eyes bent upon the ground, pursued his way in deep and seemingly bitter thought. He wandered on; his foot traced along the farthest depths of the valley; seemingly unconscious, he entered the chasm, that leads towards the lake; while the mournful wailing of the water spirit predicted the storm which was then rising on the wings of the wind. Gradually growing over the face of night, the dark throne of the tempest hid the moonlight from the world, and he found himself in utter darkness, standing between the frowning rocks and the overhanging wood. It was then that turning back he endeavoured to retrace his steps, a low distant sound caught his attention; it was the moaning of the blast. He looked forward on his way.

The

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The solitude seemed doubly solitary-the darkness doubly dark; and then the lightning burst forth from the jaws of night, and in its eager brightness at once disclosed the kindled scene 'around. What was it met his eye? The form of one too well, too fatally known, shone clear and distinct in the wide blaze of the sky."Avaunt! begone! false vision, down!" he cried, drawing his sword; "if not dead, die!" and making a violent effort to strike the phantom, all became darkness, and he sunk senseless to the ground.

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CHAPTER IV.

Sunshine dwelt upon the bosom of the lake. The sky was clear and bright; for the wind had wafted afar every cloud that had obscured its loveliness, and the boat which bore Flora on her way, gliding by rock and valley, bay and promontory, of the gay and diversified shore, flew swiftly

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