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I) IS ATI 1 S DOINGS.

Ha ! who lies there with blood-streaming wound ?The young hunter his courser hath dashed to the

ground!With that sad groan fled his last breath—Thy human game is won, O Death !

On, on his gay companions speed,

They heard not his fall, they saw not his steed

Beside his master groaning lie,

Lingering out life in agony !

Hose cloudless the hunter's moon that night,As the horse and his rider together lay ;

On the blood-stained stones fell her pale light,

That trembled at the crimson hue,

Now blended with the evening dew,While paler than that pale moon-rayThe hunter youth, at morn so gay,

Stretched his cold limbs, forgetful quite

Of the merry chase and the banquet night!

Silence reigned round that lonely place,

Far, far away were the sons of the chase ;

Amid the hall in noisy glee

At feast and tipsy revelry.