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and Shetland, free, quit, and without hindrance to the crown of Denmark and Norway; as they have been already some time heretofore. Moreover, in order that his Majesty and the members of his council may be the better assured of the truth of the above (as mentioned in the statement made by me for my defence, and briefly comprehended also in this,) I entreat his Majesty to be pleased to cause the letters of cession of the said islands of Örkney and Shetland to be prepared, with such rigid conditions as to his said Majesty and the councillors of the kingdom of Denmark may appear most binding and secure. And I in good faith promise that the said letters shall be sealed by the Queen, myself, and the council of the kingdom of Scotland, and signed by each of us with his own hand.

Whereupon I beseech his said Majesty to vouchsafe to me an answer, that I may be enabled to acquit myself of the promise made by me to the Queen of Scotland, and the council of her kingdom, at their own earnest request; and also that they may know what they may venture to hope for, in this their extreme trouble and necessity." At Malmoe, the 13th of January, 1568.*

* Attestations of the authenticity of the above copy.

"I received this instruction (the above memorial) at the castle of Malmoe, the 13th day of January, in the year 1568, from James Bothwel, Earl of Bothwel, Duke of the Orkney isles, husband of the Queen of Scotland, &c. and delivered it at Helsingburg to Mr. Peter Oxe, present Mr. Johan Friz, Chancellor, the 16th of January, whereupon I received from themselves the answer thereto at the Castle of Copenhagen, the 21st of the said month."t

During the illness, and by the command of M. de Leopold, Secretary of State, Private Secretary to his Majesty the King of Sweden and Norway, one of the eighteen members of the Swedish Academy, Commander of the order of the Polar Star, Conservator and Director-general of the library and collection of manuscripts of the royal castle of Drottningholm, I the undersigned do certify that the copy herewith is conformable to the manuscript reserved in the said library. Stockholm, 19th June, 1824.

JOHN AUG. HASSELSTROM,
Sub-librarian to the library of the
royal castle of Drottningholm.

I the undersigned public and sworn notary, resident at Stockholm, do certify that before me, and in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, Mr. John Aug. Hasselstrom, Sub-librarian to the library of the royal castle of Drottningholm, signed with his own hand the above attestation. In witness whereof I have signed the present certificate, and affixed my seal of office.

Done at Stockholm, this 28th June, 1824.

Witnesses,

G. Backman,

Officer in the Swedish Service.

F. L. Hogman.

GME, GOTTH. Gelinek,
Notary (Seal) Public.

This last declaration is by Mons. de DANTZAY, the French Ambassador mentioned in page 521.

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VALENTINE.-CANTO III.

O who can wonder, that hath felt the power
Of beauty to mysteriously attract

The young and old-the hermit from his bower-
The very beasts, that do not keep intact,
As Spenser tells, but to their sovereign cower-
O who can wonder that it should exact
An instant homage from the youth's warm eye,
And bind him to its chariot's sovereignty!
Strange were his feelings with that blue-eyed girl,
Though he might only look on her by stealth;
For the first moment he was in a whirl,

As one who stumbles upon hidden wealth,
And fears his joy-while every glossy curl
Around his face that glowed with ruddy health,
Trembled from his emotion--on his brow
The damps hung yet, he felt he knew not how.
Still parched his tongue, his lip still hot and dry,
Though it was neither pain he felt, nor fear,
At the meridian glances of that eye-

The maid's large eye of blue, while standing near,
Expecting him to speak-at length close by

To where he sat, she sat, and did appear
So gentle in her actions, and so kind,
That bolder he essayed to cool his mind

To self possession-half unconsciously

He stretched his hand, and touched his sunny brow, Played with a straggling lock, as if to try

Whether like mortal locks those bright curls flow; And this he did so hesitatingly

As if 'twere worship paid to nought below, But a religious rite, and that in nature

Nought perishable could bear so bright a feature.

Then pleased to find materiality

Alike his own, he first resolved to speak:

His eyes had spoken long-none else were by
To try his question, whether wise or weak;

And calling up his courage manfully,

He asked, with blush and many a halt and break, "If spirits of the sun were all as they,

Lovely, and gifted, with such witchery?

"And what the spells of power which they possessed?
And if they often visited the earth ?—”~
And then he downward looked, as if he guessed
He'd done too much in giving his words birth,
And to the woods he 'd fly-but he was pressed
To stay by inclination; while in mirth,
Out laughing at his speech, the maiden said :-
"In what strange nook, young hunter, were you bred?
"We from the sun?-how could the silly thought
Enter your brain?-as if you never saw,
Till now, a woman?—I do think we've caught
A wild boy of the forest-an outlaw,
Nursed by a wolf, in social life untaught;

You should have had a cloveu foot or claw,
Young stranger!" said she, jestingly-while he
Looked more abashed, as he had need to be.

She seeing it, smiled sweetly in his face,
And trusted she had not offended him;
And proffering him her hand with easy grace,
To ask forgiveness' pledge in sprightly whim,
He looked on it as 'twere a dubious case-

To take or not-it was a delicate limb-
No anchorite would refuse it, pure and white,
It shamed a silver moonbeam's lonely light.
He grasped it-grasped it too with a sensation
He never felt before-an unknown treasure
Seemed heaped up in his bosom to repletion,
Delight dealt out in overflowing measure,
And with it came a gentle agitation

That scarcely ruffled o'er the tide of pleasure-
He took, and spoke not; yet he pressed the hand
And held it-why, he could not understand.
'Twas not of forethought willed, it was a deed

Of Nature's prompting-how should he know why! She teaches not as we have learned to read,

Nor as we manners learn from company; 'Twas of those acts, she kindly, when there 's need, Puts us upon in the emergency,

And makes us her dictation straight obey,

As birds steer through the heavens-instinctively.
His hand was moist, and shook-though firmly knit
Was his young frame, it was the mind's effect,
Ever too strong for clay-his soul was smit

With strange emotion; he could scarce suspect
His sire had so deceived him; he had wit

Enough, with present knowledge, to correct
The erring picture which his father drew,
And to believe his hosts were earthly too.

O Nature, that hath made us what we are,
How matchless is thy power, which thus reveals
To us, like inspiration, things which care
Or study vainly with its toil assails!
We hear no voice, no dial points to where,
No book to how-yet oft when reason fails,
And thought is baffled, we are led aright—
Thy intuition bringing us the light.

Now tripping on toward that pleasant seat,

Like rosy morn came down the sister maid:

Her black hair danced around her brow, each plait
Appearing as on pearl a jetty braid;

Her eyes gave light around her, and innate

With health her cheek-but dark as when skies fade

On summer eves and blush into the night,

Mellow, voluptuous, soft, a luxury to sight.
Her luscious lips waved in an artless smile,
A smile of joyous innocence-her form
Was made so just, that it might will beguile

A Raphael's soul with heavenly beauty warm,
For the perfection of the ideal style,

Dreamed of in sinless climes that know no storm; Her full round bosom panting from her race,

She quickly reached a welcome resting place,

And flung down, like Pomona, her ripe fruit,
Looking more rich for having been her care;
And then she bid the simple youth recruit

His appetite from her delicious fare-
Could he refuse? He gazed upon her mute,
Then on her sister, till the beauteous pair
Urged him, by smiles and chiding, not to be
So coy, but eat, and look less bashfully.
They saw him in the world and life unskilled,
And therefore spared they less the guileless jest ;
They sat beside him, and his hands they filled
With clusters which they ripest deemed and best;
But sight alone a craving wish instilled,

To banquet with a keen and quenchless zest On beauty, and no other want he knew

His eyes fed ravenous but to feed anew.

Then might be told (though words could tell but faint) How blush succeeded blush, and thought on thought Crowded upon him, ignorant what meant

The joy of his young love by art untaught—

If love be not a term too strong to paint

The impress, much like the first woman brought To Adam's bosom, when he woke and found

He was no more lone tenant of the ground.

He got more bold, though with simplicity
Meeting his case; but still the maidens knew
He was a novice in the ways we see

The bold coarse worldling to the sex pursue ;
He spoke and acted with timidity,

Fearful to give offence; and to them grew
More pleasing for his character thus strange,
So little seen within the social range.
But I must draw my tale to its conclusion,

Though loth to quit a subject such as this.
Verse-makers love to live in sweet delusion
Of life's primeval purity, and bliss

Of nature's excellence-a dear allusion!

They love to dwell in purer scenes, I wis,
Than the world's stage can shew-no marvel, then,
They seek their themes apart from towns and men.
O youth, love, beauty! ye are linked together
In life's best hour, worth all it hath besides;
Though short the season of your summer weather,
It is the poet's heaven, where he presides,
Until time whirl you from him like a feather;

Then, as with friend, who in the dust abides,
He vainly bids you back to him once more,
And lives long years your absence to deplore.
Now the day shadows darkened on the ground,

And the sun sank in heaven, for eve was nigh,
But her fair star too strong his brightness found,
To ope in the sky's crest her shining eye;
A soothing melancholy reigned around;
And Valentine arose reluctantly

To seek his home-he nought had felt before
But gladness, travelling to his wild cave's door

His steps lagged heavily along his track,

His mind was wildered, and his head a maze;
He often stopped an instant and looked back,
As manhood wistful looks on youth's past days;
He could not speak the cause, nor tell what lack
Did so affect him-weary o'er the ways
He'd lightly trod before, at last he came

Safe to his home with burthened heart and frame.
Time rolled along, yet he told not his sire,

By fear or shame, or unknown cause withheld;
Again he felt an uncontrolled desire

To see the fair-mysteriously impelled.

Again he went, it boots not to enquire

How oft, or tell the converse that they held,
At length his absence and his troubled air

Clear showed he was oppressed by pain or care-
Or secret grief. The father loved the son

Dearer than his own life, the which he prized
But lightly, since its hour of love was done:

He drew the mystery from him, nor advised
The youth to nurse his passion nor to shun:
He saw his ardent wish unrealized,
To keep his son from woman, that the tie
of filial love was servered endlessly.

Yet 'twas but following nature-his son's love
Might chance be more propitious than his own;
He sighed, his old heart quickened, but above

All self he thought upon his child alone;
Fortune might wait him in the world, and prove
More kind than to his sire it e'er had done-
It was a cutting thing to part, but grief
Was his life's heritage, and life was brief.
And then an unseen tear he wiped, and took
Of gold and gave his truant Valentine,
Which he with foresight just had in a nook

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Of his lone dwelling hid with kind design :"Go forth, my son," he said, "thou wilt not brook Thy sire's lone life now, he must thee resignGo forth into the world, and happier be Than he who gives thee thus to destiny. "Beauty and woman were thy father's bane, As they have been to worthier men than he; Beauty and women may be a rich gain

(As they to myriads have) even to theeThe father's ill may, turned to good, remain For thee his son-yes, Valentine, for thee! Farewell! go live with men, and be as they, To me they're of the past eternity.

"And thou wilt find the world is green and young, Profuse in promises, in prospects gay,

As though amid its scenes no scorpions stung,
Nor hell blasts withered happiness away;
As if time lagged, nor hissed detraction's tongue,
Nor lucre held its base idolatry-

Yet, go-my prayers shall follow thee, and tell
To heaven the love I bear thee-go-farewell!"

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