The summer's breath came o'er them--and they died!

Softly it came to give luxuriance birth,
Call'd forth young nature in her festal pride,
But bore to them their summons from the earth!
Again shall blow that mild, delicious breeze,
And wake to life and light all flowers-but these.

No sculptured urn, nor verse thy virtues telling,
O lost and loveliest one! adorns thy grave;
But o'er that humble cypress-shaded dwelling
The dew-drops glisten and the wild-flowers wave-
Emblems more meet, in transient light and bloom,
For thee, who thus didst pass in brightness to the
tomb!

A TALE OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL.

[The Secret Tribunal, which attained such formidable power towards the close of the fourteenth century, is mentioned in history as an institution publicly known so early as in the year 1211. Its members, who were called Free Judges, were unknown to the people, and were bound by a tremendous oath, to deliver up their dearest friends and relatives, without exception, if they had committed any offence cognisable by the tribunal. They were also under an obligation to relate all they knew concerning the affair, to cite the accused, and, in case of his condemnation, to pursue and put him to death wherever he might be met with. The proceedings of this tribunal were carried on at night, and with the greatest mystery; and though it was usual to summon a culprit three times before sentence was passed, yet persons obnoxious to it were sometimes accused and condemned without any citation. After condemnation, it was almost impossible for any one to escape the vengeance of the Free Judges, for their commands set thousands of assassins in motion, who had sworn not to spare the life of their nearest relation, if required to sacrifice it, but to execute the decrees of the Order with the most devoted obedience, even should they consider the object of their pursuit as the most innocent of men. Almost all persons of rank and fortune sought admission into the society; there were Free Judges even amongst the magistrates of the imperial cities, and every prince had some of their Order in his council. When a member of this tribunal was not of himself strong enough to seize and put to death a criminal, he was not to lose sight of him until he met with a sufficient number of his comrades for the purpose, and these were obliged, upon his making certain signs, to lend him immediate assistance, without asking any questions. It was usual to hang up the person condemned, with a willow branch, to the first tree; but if circumstances obliged them to despatch him with a poniard, they left it in his body, that it might be known he had not been assassinated, but executed by a Free Judge. All the transactions of the Sages or Seers (as they called themselves) were enveloped in mystery, and it is even now unknown by what signs they revealed themselves to each other. At length their power became so extensive and redoubtable, that the

1 See the works of Baron Bock, and Professor Kramer.

Princes of the Empire found it necessary to unite their exertions for its suppression, in which they were at length successful.

The following account of this extraordinary association is given by Madame de Staël:-"Des juges mystérieux, inconnus l'un à l'autre, toujours masqués, et se rassemblant pendant la nuit, punissoient dans le silence, et gravoient seulement sur le poignard qu'ils enfoncoient dans le sein du coupable ce mot terrible: TRIBUNAL SECRET. Ils prévenoient le condamne, en faisant crier trois fois sous les fenêtres de sa maison, Malheur, Malheur, Malheur! Alors l'infortuné savoit que par-tout, dans l'étranger, dans son concitoyen, dans son parent même, il pouvoit trouver son meurtrier. La solitude, la foule, les villes, les campagnes, tout étoit rempli par la présence invisible de cette conscience armée qui poursuivoit les criminels. On concoit comment cette terrible institution pouvoit être nécessaire, dans un temps où chaque homme étoit fort contre tous, au lieu que tous doivent être forts contre chacun. Il falloit que la justice surprît le criminel avant qu'il pût s'en défendre; mais cette punition qui planoit dans les airs comme une ombre vengeresse, cette sentence mortelle qui pouvoit receler le sein même d'un ami, frappoit d'une invincible terreur.". L'Allemagne, vol. ii.]

NIGHT veil'd the mountains of the vine, And storms had roused the foaming Rhine, And, mingling with the pinewood's roar, Its billows hoarsely chafed the shore, While glen and cavern, to their moans Gave answer with a thousand tones: Then, as the voice of storms appall'd The peasant of the Odenwald,1 Shuddering he deem'd, that, far on high, "Twas the wild huntsman rushing by, Riding the blast with phantom speed, With cry of hound and tramp of steed, While his fierce train, as on they flew, Their horns in savage chorus blew, Till rock, and tower, and convent round, Rang to the shrill unearthly sound.

Vain dreams! far other footsteps traced The forest paths, in secret haste; Far other sounds were on the night, Though lost amidst the tempest's might, That fill'd the echoing earth and sky With its own awful harmony. There stood a lone and ruin'd fane, Far in the Odenwald's domain, Midst wood and rock, a deep recess Of still and shadowy loneliness. Long grass its pavement had o'ergrown, The wild-flower waved o'er the altar stone, The night-wind rock'd the tottering pile, As it swept along the roofless aisle,

1 The Odenwald, a forest district near the Rhine, adjoining the territories of Darmstadt.

For the forest boughs and the stormy sky Were all that minster's canopy.

Many a broken image lay
In the mossy mantle of decay,

And partial light the moonbeams darted
O'er trophies of the long-departed;
For there the chiefs of other days,

The mighty, slumber'd, with their praise:
'Twas long since aught but the dews of heaven
A tribute to their bier had given,

Long since a sound but the moaning blast
Above their voiceless home had pass'd.
-So slept the proud, and with them all
The records of their fame and fall;
Helmet and shield, and sculptured crest,
Adorn'd the dwelling of their rest,
And emblems of the Holy Land
Were carved by some forgotten hand.

But the helm was broke, the shield defaced,
And the crest through weeds might scarce be traced;
And the scatter'd leaves of the northern pine
Half hid the palm of Palestine.

So slept the glorious--lowly laid,
As the peasant in his native shade;
Some hermit's tale, some shepherd's rhyme,
All that high deeds could win from time!

What footsteps move, with measured tread,
Amid those chambers of the dead?
What silent, shadowy beings glide
Low tombs and mouldering shrines beside,
Peopling the wild and solemn scene
With forms well suited to its mien?
Wanderer, away! let none intrude
On their mysterious solitude!

Lo! these are they, that awful band,
The secret Watchers of the land,
They that, unknown and uncontroll❜d,
Their dark and dread tribunal hold.
They meet not in the monarch's dome,
They meet not in the chieftain's home;
But where, unbounded o'er their heads,
All heaven magnificently spreads,
And from its depths of cloudless blue
The eternal stars their deeds may view!
Where'er the flowers of the mountain sod
By roving foot are seldom trod;
Where'er the pathless forest waves,
Or the ivy clothes forsaken graves;
Where'er wild legends mark a spot,
By mortals shunn'd, but unforgot,
There, circled by the shades of night,
They judge of crimes that shrink from light;

And guilt, that deems its secret known
To'the One unslumbering eye alone,
Yet hears their name with a sudden start,
As an icy touch had chill'd its heart,
For the shadow of th' avenger's hand
Rests dark and heavy on the land.

There rose a voice from the ruin's gloom, And woke the echoes of the tomb,

As if the noble hearts beneath

Sent forth deep answers to its breath.

"When the midnight stars are burning, And the dead to earth returning; When the spirits of the blest Rise upon the good man's rest; When each whisper of the gale Bids the cheek of guilt turn pale; In the shadow of the hour That o'er the soul hath deepest power, Why thus meet we, but to call For judgment on the criminal? Why, but the doom of guilt to seal, And point th' avenger's holy steel? A fearful oath has bound our souls, A fearful power our arm controls ! There is an ear awake on high E'en to thought's whispers ere they die; There is an eye whose beam pervades All depths, all deserts, and all shades: That ear hath heard our awful vow, That searching eye is on us now! Let him whose heart is unprofaned,

Whose hand no blameless blood hath stain'd→
Let him, whose thoughts no record keep
Of crimes in silence buried deep,
Here, in the face of heaven, accuse
The guilty whom its wrath pursues !"

'Twas hush'd-that voice of thrilling sound! And a dead silence reign'd around. Then stood forth one, whose dim-seen form Tower'd like a phantom in the storm; Gathering his mantle, as a cloud, With its dark folds his face to shroud, Through pillar'd arches on he pass'd, With stately step, and paused at last, Where, on the altar's mouldering stone, The fitful moonbeam brightly shone; Then on the fearful stillness broke Low, solemn tones, as thus he spoke :

"Before that eye whose glance pervades All depths, all deserts, and all shades;

Heard by that ear awake on high
E'en to thought's whispers ere they die-
With all a mortal's awe I stand,

Yet with pure heart and stainless hand.
To heaven I lift that hand, and call
For judgment on the criminal;

The earth is dyed with bloodshed's hues--
It cries for vengeance. I accuse!"

"Name thou the guilty! say for whom Thou claim'st th' inevitable doom!

"Albert of Lindheim-to the skies
The voice of blood against him cries;
A brother's blood-his hand is dyed
With the deep stain of fratricide.
One hour, one moment, hath reveal'd
What years in darkness had conceal'd,
But all in vain-the gulf of time
Refused to close upon his crime;

And guilt that slept on flowers shall know
The earthquake was but hush'd below!
-Here, where amidst the noble dead,
Awed by their fame, he dare not tread;
Where, left by him to dark decay,
Their trophies moulder fast away,
Around us and beneath us lie
The relics of his ancestry-

The chiefs of Lindheim's ancient race,
Each in his last low dwelling-place.
But one is absent-o'er his grave
The palmy shades of Syria wave;
Far distant from his native Rhine,
He died unmourn'd, in Palestine !
The Pilgrim sought the Holy Land,
To perish by a brother's hand!
Peace to his soul! though o'er his bed
No dirge be pour'd, no tear be shed,
Though all he loved his name forget,
They live who shall avenge him yet!"

"Accuser! how to thee alone Became the fearful secret known?"

"There is an hour when vain remorse First wakes in her eternal force; When pardon may not be retrieved, When conscience will not be deceived. He that beheld the victim bleed, Beheld, and aided in the deedWhen earthly fears had lost their power Reveal'd the tale in such an hour, Unfolding, with his latest breath, All that gave keener pangs to death."

"By Him, th' All-seeing and Unseen, Who is for ever, and hath been, And by th' Atoner's cross adored, And by th' avenger's holy sword, By truth eternal and divine, Accuser wilt thou swear to thine?"

"The cross upon my heart is prest, I hold the dagger to my breast; If false the tale whose truth I swear, Be mine the murderer's doom to bear!"

Then sternly rose the dread reply-"His days are number'd-he must die! There is no shadow of the night So deep as to conceal his flight; Earth doth not hold so lone a waste But there his footsteps shall be traced; Devotion hath no shrine so blest That there in safety he may rest. Where'er he treads, let Vengeance there Around him spread her secret snare! In the busy haunts of men, In the still and shadowy glen, When the social board is crown'd, When the wine-cup sparkles round; When his couch of sleep is prest, And a dream his spirit's guest; When his bosom knows no fear, Let the dagger still be near, Till, sudden as the lightning's dart, Silent and swift it reach his heart! One warning voice, one fearful word, Ere morn beneath his towers be heard, Then vainly may the guilty fly, Unseen, unaided,-he must die! Let those he loves prepare his tomb, Let friendship lure him to his doom! Perish his deeds, his name, his race, Without a record or a trace! Away! be watchful, swift, and free, To wreak th' invisible's decree. "Tis pass'd-th' avenger claims his prey: On to the chase of death-away!"

And all was still. The sweeping blast
Caught not a whisper as it pass'd;
The shadowy forms were seen no more,
The tombs deserted as before;

And the wide forest waved immense
In dark and lone magnificence.

In Lindheim's towers the feast had closed
The song was hush'd, the bard reposed;
Sleep settled on the weary guest,
And the castle's lord retired to rest.

To rest! The captive doom'd to die
May slumber, when his hour is nigh;
The seaman, when the billows foam,
Rock'd on the mast, may dream of home;
The warrior, on the battle's eve,
May win from care a short reprieve:
But earth and heaven alike deny
Their peace to guilt's o'erwearied eye;
And night, that brings to grief a calm,
To toil a pause, to pain a balm,
Hath spells terrific in her course,
Dread sounds and shadows, for remorse-
Voices, that long from earth had fled,
And steps and echoes from the dead;
And many a dream whose forms arise
Like a darker world's realities !
Call them not vain illusions-born,
But for the wise and brave to scorn!
Heaven, that the penal doom defers,
Hath yet its thousand ministers,
To scourge the heart, unseen, unknown,
In shade, in silence, and alone,
Concentrating in one brief hour
Ages of retribution's power!

-If thou wouldst know the lot of those,
Whose souls are dark with guilty woes,
Ah! seek them not where pleasure's throng
Are listening to the voice of song;
Seek them not where the banquet glows,
And the red vineyard's nectar flows:
There, mirth may flush the hollow cheek,
The eye of feverish joy may speak,
And smiles, the ready mask of pride,
The canker-worm within may hide.
Heed not those signs! they but delude;
Follow, and mark their solitude!

The song is hush'd, the feast is done,
And Lindheim's lord remains alone-
Alone in silence and unrest,

With the dread secret of his breast;
Alone with anguish and with fear,
-There needs not an avenger here!
Behold him!--Why that sudden start?
Thou hear'st the beating of thy heart!
Thou hear'st the night-wind's hollow sigh,
Thou hear'st the rustling tapestry!
No sound but these may near thee be;
Sleep! all things earthly sleep-but thee.

No! there are murmurs on the air, And a voice is heard that cries-"Despair!" And he who trembles fain would deem 'Twas the whisper of a waking dream.

Was it but this? Again, 'tis there:
Again is heard-"Despair! Despair!"
"Tis past-its tones have slowly died

In echoes on the mountain side;
Heard but by him, they rose, they fell.
He knew their fearful meaning well,
And shrinking from the midnight gloom,
As from the shadow of the tomb,
Yet shuddering, turn'd in pale dismay,
When broke the dawn's first kindling ray,
And sought, amidst the forest wild,
Some shade where sunbeam never smiled.

Yes! hide thee, guilt! The laughing morn Wakes in a heaven of splendour born! The storms that shook the mountain crest Have sought their viewless world of rest. High from his cliffs, with ardent gaze, Soars the young eagle in the blaze, Exulting, as he wings his way, To revel in the fount of day; And brightly past his banks of vine, In glory, flows the monarch Rhine; And joyous peals the vintage song His wild luxuriant shores along, As peasant bands, from rock and dell, Their strains of choral transport swell; And cliffs of bold fantastic forms, Aspiring to the realm of storms, And woods around, and waves below, Catch the red Orient's deepening glow, That lends each tower, and convent spire, A tinge of its ethereal fire.

Swell high the song of festal hours!
Deck ye the shrine with living flowers!
Let music o'er the waters breathe!
Let beauty twine the bridal wreath !
While she, whose blue eye laughs in light,
Whose cheek with love's own hue is bright,
The fair-hair'd maid of Lindheim's hall,
Wakes to her nuptial festival.

Oh! who hath seen, in dreams that soar
To worlds the soul would fain explore,
When, for her own blest country pining,
Its beauty o'er her thought is shining,
Some form of heaven, whose cloudless eye
Was all one beam of ecstasy !
Whose glorious brow no traces wore
Of guilt, or sorrow known before !
Whose smile, undimm'd by aught of earth,
A sunbeam of immortal birth,
Spoke of bright realms, far distant lying,
Where love and joy are both undying!