1828.] Harold Harrung. 21 
power is dearer to thee than a woman’s constant love. When, first, for 
you she sacrifices all beside, ye vow eternal gratitude and love ; but the 
prize grows palling on the appetite ere long ; and then, for the merest 
trifle—nay, in the mere thirst of variety itself—ye leave her to pine 
without asigh. But this is weakness. Let others lament their lovers’ 
treachery: my part is to revenge. Go, then—I will aid thy flight: go 
to thy native land. Be again the leader of a robber-band—the boasted 
lord of the untamed elements. Thy friends, no doubt, will greet thee 
well, and marvel when they hear thy tale, and scoff at Druda’s weak- 
ness. Nay, perhaps, some maid, proud of her blue eyes and flaxen 
ringlets, will hail thy coming with ready smile—will scoff at the en- 
chantress, whose magic arts could not, for a few brief days, retain the 
heart she rules and moulds at will. Yet tremble, Harold !—for thou 
returnest not alone. In the battle—on the deep—at the festal meeting — 
in the bridal hour, if such shall come—lI will be near thee. Hence, then, 
wretched ingrate! Lo! with this wand I dissipate the illusions my 
senseless love had raised for thee.” She waved the figured staff that she 
held in her right hand; and, in a moment, forests, plains, and rivers 
faded from the eyes of the astonished hero. They stood upon the path- 
less fields of ice ; the bitter air benumbed his limbs; and, in the expec- 
tation that she had borne him there to perish, he turned towards her, to 
speak his defiance of the utmost her power could effect. 
She saw his intention, and interrupted him.—* No, Harold—no! To 
kill thee here were poor revenge! Begone to thy home, and her thou 
pinest for ; be again great and glorious as before ;—but, in thy hour of 
greatest bliss, expect my coming. Yet, ere thou goest, take with thee 
one gift—one token of Druda’s inextinguishable love !” She grasped his 
hand violently, and a mortal coldness thrilled through every vein.— 
« There!” she exclaimed, as she slowly loosed her hold,—“ it is done ! 
And now, for a season, fare thee well! But, remember, that no mortal 
may henceforth touch that frozen hand, and live. Stretch it not forth 
when thy friends in rapture come to greet thee ; when thy love hangs on 
_ the neck of her long lost one, twine it not in her soft flowing hair—for 
all shall die who feel its pressure—Harold of the frozen hand! once 
more farewell!” Once more she waved her wand; and, in a moment, 
the young hero stood again on the threshold of his long-abandoned 
home. 
’ When the friends of Harold Harrung learned his sudden reappearance, 
and came in throngs to welcome home their long-lost leader, they found 
a changed and moody man. His right hand ever buried in the folds of his 
mantle, his brow furrowed with an expression of settled grief, they saw 
that he no longer heard with envy the triumphs and conquests of his 
_ rivals, or felt disposed to embark in those daring enterprises by which 
he formerly eclipsed the fame of the boldest of his compeers. Alone in 
his desolate halls, to which he no longer bade his well-pleased guests, 
Haro d Harrung dwelt from day to day, till men began to deem him 
mad. Nothing less than distraction, they said, could make so brave a 
hero alike forget his glory and his love ; and they knew not what most to 
marvel at—his refusal to lead their expeditions, or his indifference to 
his betrothed bride, whom he had not visited, nor even inquired for, 
since his return. Others thought that the loss of his brave crew, who 
had all perished, as he told them, by shipwreck, preyed keenly on his 
heart, and made him unwilling any more to risk the lives. of gallant 
