["se feel" (stanza I). "se" is no Dutch word and the verb "feel" (voelen) is not reflexive in Dutch. In stanzas III and VI "mill" appears in the place of "will." This is most likely a misprint, since "_w_ in Dutch is a particularly tenacious sound" and is not replaced by _m_, as is sometimes the case in German. "Brokenbrooks" is a coined word. The author is indebted for the above information to Professor Wm. H. Carpenter, of Columbia University, and to Arnold Katz, the Dutch vice-consul at Philadelphia.] HRIM THOR, OR THE WINTER KING. A Lapland Ballad. I shall not soon tire of copying ballads from the "Tales of Terror." They are the legitimate offspring of genius. We are conducted by a versatile guide, sometimes into the vale of tears, and sometimes into the hall of mirth. But let him lead us where he will, we cheerfully follow and always find ourselves with a sensible and tuneful companion. I am half inclined to suspect that Mr. Lewis himself is the concealed author. We know how he brilliantly travestied his own ballad, Alonzo the Brave, and it is probable that in this collection he is alter et idem. [The poem follows.] _Port Folio_, II-195, June 26, 1802, Phila. [M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Terror_, 1799, Kelso. Cf. p. 18.] GRIM, KING OF THE GHOSTS, OR THE DANCE OF DEATH. _Port Folio_, II-199, June 26, 1802, Phila. [M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Terror_. Cf. p. 18.] ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED ONLY SON. Translated from a Danish Inscription. By T. CAMPBELL, Esq. _Port Folio_, II-352, Nov. 1802, Phila. WRITTEN IN GERMANY, IN AUTUMN, 1801. Hail, deadly Autumn, and thy fading leaf, I love thee, drear and gloomy as thou art; Not joyful Spring, like thee can soften grief, Nor gaudy Summer soothe the aching heart; But in thy cheerless, solitary bower, Beneath the varied shade, I love to lie, When dusky Evening's melancholy hour With boding clouds obscures the low'ring sky, And tuneless birds and fading flowers appear In grief to hang their heads, and mourn the parting year. 'Tis not the gloomy sky, the parting year, 'Tis not the Winter's dreary reign I mourn, But absent friends--and _one_ than life more dear, And joys departed, never to return! O gentle Hope, that 'mid Siberia's snows, Can cheer the wretched exile's lingering year, And where the sun on curs'd Oppression glows, Can check the sigh, and wipe the falling tear, Thy gentle care--thy succour I implore; O raise thy heavenly voice, and bid me weep no more.