Sweet, virginal thoughts--not such as poor Margaret, in the intense anguish of her soul, poured forth at the shrine of the Mater Dolorosa! Still, by close adherence to form, even though the situations are changed, Longfellow provokes comparison--in this instance not wisely, for Margaret's prayer might wring tears from a heart of stone. If, however, we go on in this way, looking alternately towards Goethe and Longfellow, we shall never reach the poem. Therefore we return the _Faust_ to its proper place on our book-shelves, solemnly vowing not to allude, to it again in the course of the present article, or to repeat the name of Goethe, under the penalty of reviewing--which, according to our scrupulous notions, implies reading--even at this late period of time, Lord John Russell's tragedy of _Don Carlos_. The story of _The Golden Legend_ is not very intelligible, and has received by far too little consideration from the author. Whether it be taken or not from the venerable tome printed by our typographical Father Caxton, we cannot say; because we are unable, from its scarcity, to lay our hands upon the old book bearing that name. As Mr Longfellow gives it to us, it would appear that a certain Prince Henry of Hoheneck, on the Rhine--not a very young gentleman, but one who has attained nearly the middle period of existence--is afflicted with some disease, nearly corresponding to that doubtful malady the vapours. He does not know what is the matter with him; and, what is worse, none of the doctors, either allopathic or homoeopathic, whom he has consulted, can enlighten him on the subject. He describes his symptoms thus:-- "It has no name. A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, As in a kiln, burns in my veins, Sending up vapours to the head; My head has become a dull lagoon, Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains; I am accounted as one who is dead, _And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon_." A very melancholious view, indeed, for a patient! Under these circumstances, Lucifer, who, it seems, is always ready for a job, drops in under the disguise of a quack physician, and proceeds, with considerable skill, to take his diagnosis. Prince Henry tells him that he has consulted the doctors of Salerno, and that their reply to the statement of his case is as follows:-- "Not to be cured, yet not incurable! The only remedy that remains Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins, Who of her own free will shall die, And give her life as the price of yours."