512 



The German Stuiknl, Xo. XXX f. 



' Ladv,' said he, 

 ' Leave nrc my will. I don't deserve to live, 

 And vi\f\\ to [len^h, latlior llian be false.' 

 ■flie lady Bobli'd aloud, and clung aroinid him. 



" While this was passing, Danayn returu'd 

 Fiom his excursion. He Iiad found and 



punish'd 

 The mmdeiers of his nephew; both had fallen 

 )?eneath his hand, and he was hastening home 

 To join his wife and friend at Maloime. 

 And, as he pass'd this forest, near the well 

 A shriek of woe assail'd liini, and he tiirn'd 

 His liorse, to seek the cause, — when, lo! he 



saw, 

 Stretclrd in his blood, Sir Geron, bleeding 



still ; 

 And by him kneel'd alone, in speechless 



anguish, 

 Wringing her hands, the lady. Danayn, 

 Instf ad of asking questions, from \\w horse 

 .Spriuig, and proceeded to assist his friend. 



" Geron refuses to accept relief, — 



He will not live, — and to his t'riend accuses 



Himself most bitterly,' — hides nothing from 



him, 

 But his wife's weakness, — takps upon himself 

 The load of all the ^Uilt, — and, when he thus 

 Had ended his confession, he held out 

 His hand, and said, ' Now then forgive me, 



brother. 

 If you are able. But, O let me die. 

 And do not hate my memory : for repentance 

 Did come before the deed. My faithlessness 

 Was only in my heart. Be my heart's blood 

 'J'he fit atonement.' 



Noble Danayn 

 Felt at this moment all the loftiness 

 Of bis fiiend's virtue, more than he had ever; 

 So wholly bare lay Gerou's heart and soul 

 Clear as his own before him; and he asked 



him 

 MnA pressingly yet to forgive himself, — 

 Conjures him by their holy friendship still 

 lo live,— and swears to him, that more than 



ever 

 He now esteems and loves him. Overcome 

 By such affection, Gcion then consents 

 For his dear friend to live, accepts his care, 

 And on a bier is carried to a castle, 

 Where dwelt a good old knight, a friend of 



Danayn, 

 Whose dangiiter, beauteous in the next 



degree 

 To the fair dame of Maloane, was mnch 



skilled 

 In healmg wounds. She knew, and secretly 

 She lov'd, .Sit Geron ; and her gentle care 

 In a few weeks restor'd hiiu. 



But the wound, 

 W'hich this adventure of the well had given 

 To the fair dame of Maloane, was fatal. 

 To bear such sudden deep-felt rending pangs 

 Her soft heart was too weak. In heavy woe 

 She lay the whole long night, as in a fire ; 

 Next day the fury of the fever broke 

 In wildness loose; and grew with such 



rapidity 



[July 1, 

 On the third 



That there was loon no hope. 



day 

 She died ; and Geron's uamc was her last 



word.' 



Here aged Branor pans'd. With earnest look 

 Silent he seanii'd the ladies, and the kni'^hls, 

 Who sat around ; and from the damsels' eyes 

 Still tears were trickling down their glowing 



cheeks, 

 And" the knights' looks were downcast, 



Guiniver, 

 The queen, who during the narration often 

 Grew pale as death, then red as fire again, 

 To cover her confusion, sighing, said, 

 " 'Tis a most melanchnly story." — " What 

 Became at last of Geron ?'' asked Sir 



Lancelot. 

 " After this story," said the aged Branor, 

 "I have nothing more to tell." 



Then royal Arthur 

 Rose from the table, and the rest arose ; 

 And Arthur said to Branor, ''Worthy knight, 

 There's an apai tment ready in the castle 

 For you to-night, and for as many days 

 As it may phase you to remain with us," 

 *' Sir king," replied the old man, "God give 



you health 

 And fauie; but I have made a solemn vow 

 To pass no night at courts on any errand.'' 



The knights look'd at each other silently; 

 While Branor bow'd respectfidly to Arthur 

 And lo the queen, — resum'd his dress of 



armure. 

 Mounted his horse, and by the starlight rode 

 Back to his forest. 



To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. 



SIR, 



PRESUMING tipoii Ihe universally 

 known liberality which keeps your 

 pages open to tiie public, 1 have been in- 

 duced to trouble you on a subject in which 

 most of my countrymen are, or ought to 

 be, interested, — our ancient national 

 music. 



It bad lone; been a subject of vexation 

 with us, that no regular system |iad been 

 promulgated, whereby the characteristic 

 melodies of our country might be brought 

 into general practice. The use of the 

 pipe was necessarily confined to a few 

 individuals, who studied it as a profession, 

 whose knowledge of it.s principles and its 

 history was handed from father lo son, as 

 an hereditary birthright, wiiilst they ac- 

 (jnired a knowledge of the luusic, so pecu- 

 liarly its own, by the most intense study. 

 Thus these piobaireaclid, so intimately 

 connected with the iiistory of the people, 

 with their battles, their joys, and sorrows, 

 have been brought down, through a series 

 of years of troubles and proscriptions, to 

 the present day. The heart stirring ga- 

 thering of the men to the coiidict, the 



joyous 



