What torrent now with dashing foam Roars loud before them so "Fear not, my love," the Stolberg said, "This stream full well I know." The gallant roan makes head, his feet Approve the flood with care, Then dashes, neighing, through, as if A tiny brook it were. Now come they to the castle wet, Yet wrapt in heavenly bliss; Let them describe who such have felt, The intensity of this. Now, sate they at the early meal; The cup careered about ... But entering soon--"Up noble Count! The Mansfield!" cried a scout. The bride and sister fearfully Their hair in sorrow tore; The Count already had to horse, And his full armour wore. Forth went he out to meet the strife. And called to Mansfield loud, "In vain your anger is, for she My wife is, wed and vow'd. And am I not of noble stem, Whose fame is bruited wide, Who princes to our nation gave, E'en in the heathen tide?" With lance in rest, upon him springs That uncle bad and old, His people follow--but the knight Awaits him calm and bold. And draws his sword. As Mansfield nears, His fury stoppage found-- He lays about, and cleaves his scull, And smites him to the ground. The rest disperse, and Stolberg hastes Into the house again, And him throughout the long sweet night Her gentle arms enchain. * * * * * A FEARFUL PROSPECT. (_From the "Noctes" of Blackwood._) _Shepherd_.--I look to the mountains, Mr. North, and stern they staun' in a glorious gloom, for the sun is strugglin' wi' a thunder-cloud, and facing him a faint but fast-brightenin' rainbow. The ancient spirit o' Scotland comes on me frae the sky; and the sowl within me reswears in silence the oath o' the Covenant. There they are--the Covenanters a' gather'd thegither, no in fear and tremblin', but wi' Bibles in their bosoms, and swords by their sides, in a glen deep as the sea, and still as death, but for the soun' o' a stream and the cry o' an eagle. "Let us sing, to the praise and glory o' God, the hundred psalm," quoth a loud clear voice, though it be the voice o' an auld man; and up to Heaven hands he his strang wither'd hauns, and in the gracious wunds o' heaven are flying abroad his gray hairs', or say rather, white as the silver or the snaw. _North_.--Oh, for Wilkie! _Shepherd_.--The eagle and the stream are silent, and the heavens and the earth are brocht close thegither by that triumphin' psalm. Ay, the clouds cease their sailing and lie still; the mountains bow their heads; and the crags, do they not seem to listen, as in that remote place the hour o' the delighted day is filled with a holy hymn to the Lord God o' Israel! _North_.--My dear Shepherd! _Shepherd_.--Oh! if there should be sittin' there--even in that congregation on which, like God's own eye, looketh down the meridian sun, now shinin' in the blue region--an Apostate! _North_.--The thought is terrible.