A TALE OF ROMANCE.
The darkness that hung upon Willumberg's walls
Had long been remembered with awe and dismay;
For years not a sunbeam had played in its halls,
And it seemed as shut out from the regions of day.
Though the valleys were brightened by many a beam,
Yet none could the woods of that castle illume;
And the lightning which flashed on the neighboring stream
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom!
"Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse!"
Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of the Cave;—
"It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse,
"Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave!"
And who was the bright star of chivalry then?
Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age?
For Reuben was first in the combat of men,
Though Youth had scarce written his name on her page.
For Willumberg's daughter his young heart had beat,
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn,
When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet,
It walks o'er the flowers of the mountain and lawn.
Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever?
Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of the Cave,
That darkness should cover that castle forever,
Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave!
To the wizard she flew, saying, "Tell me, oh, tell?
Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my eyes?"
"Yes, yes—when a spirit shall toll the great bell
Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise!"
Twice, thrice he repeated "Your Reuben shall rise!"
And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain;
And wiped, while she listened, the tears from her eyes.
And hoped she might yet see her hero again.
That hero could smite at the terrors of death,
When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose;
To the Oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath,
In the depth of the billows soon found his repose.—