THE DAMNED SOULS.

BY W. G. J. BARKER, ESQ.

The Turks have a belief that in the craw of "the never-resting halcyon " -(yet kovan), the souls of the damned perpetually wander.

"On the Dardanelles, and especially on the Bosphorus, the passing and repassing of the little brown birds, the halcyons voyageurs,' or 'âmes damnées,' is incessant. They are never seen to pause in their course, and are rarely known to rest; but they bend their heads down, and pick up their food as they skim along the surface of the water in their everlasting flight."-COUNTESS GROSVENOR'S Yacht Voyage in the Mediterranean, vol. i. p. 278.

THEY have quitted human life,
Passion's never-ceasing strife,
Hope, and hate, and empty folly,
Joy, and grief, and melancholy,-
But they find no rest,

Though the flesh hath lost the hold
That it had on them of old :-

Why are they unblest?

Were they number'd with the great,
Envied sons of power and state,
Robed in garments brought afar,
Deck'd with gold of Istakar,

And the diamond's blaze?
Were they rank'd among the poor,
Suppliant at each wealthy door,

All their weary days?

There are both :--the hungry grave
Gathers sultaun, gathers slave;
Rich and poor alike fall low
Before Azrael's dreaded bow,
In its destined hour;

All must pass Al-Sirat's ridge,
And, escaped that dizzy bridge,

Bend to Monkir's power.

These were of each class and clime
From the very birth of Time,
Who perversely went astray,
Leaving Virtue's narrow way
For an evil path.

Upon earth they had their will;
Mourning now, they quaff their fill
Of the cup of wrath.

For they made a boast of sin-
Eblis reign'd their hearts within,
And his bidding foul they wrought,
To themselves with ruin fraught,

And a dire dismay;
Therefore, from communion thrust
With the spirits of the just,

Damned souls are they.

Hell is not confined to space :
It pervadeth every place

Banks of the Yore.

Throughout wide creation's bound
Where a guilty wretch is found,
In his heart contending;
"Tis remembrance of the past,
Join'd with sense of woe, to last
Ages never ending.

Neither do those lost ones dwell,
Always pent in dungeon cell
Of that sad and rueful pit
Where the fiends in torments sit ;—
They revisit earth:
Wandering with the wandering bird,
Still their wailings may be heard

Where they sinn’d with mirth.

Ne'er does the "yet kovan " rest,
Never does she build a nest;
On the wave she springs to life,
Rock'd amid its stormy strife,
On its breast she dies;
And with her, although unseen,
Writhing under tortures keen,
A doom'd spirit flies.

Oh! more dreadful such a lot,
Thus reviewing each loved spot,
Vex'd with agony undying,
Whence there is no hope of flying,
Than to lie fast bound

By an adamantine chain,
Fix'd for ever to remain

In hell's depth profound.

This the damned souls endure,
Smitten with a vengeance sure,
For the laws of Allah broken,
Guilt imagined, done, or spoken,
For the Prophet's word unprized,
For the Holy Faith despised ;-
Men of pious heart,
When the "yet kovan" flits by,
Fervent pray, with downcast eye,
They may be prepared to die,
And find a better part.

SKETCHES OF LEGENDARY CITIES AND TOWNS.

BY LOUISA STUART COSTELLO.

HEREFORD.

HEREFORD, though it has the character of being peculiarly dull,-an accusation generally brought against cathedral towns,-is so finely situated, so handsomely built, and its glorious church so magnificent, that I can scarcely agree that it deserves to be so designated :-at least, to a visitor, the place is full of interest; and the pleasure it can afford in its charming walks, and the sublime aspect of one of the most perfect specimens of early architecture in the kingdom, cannot fail to enlist a stranger in its cause.

The best view of the town is from a rising ground on the road to Ross, whence the majestic tower of the Cathedral and the spires of the other venerable places of worship appear to great advantage. It reminds me of Bourges, the position of the town being not unlike, although Hereford certainly has the advantage in some respects, standing higher, and in a more beautiful country. The golden vale of Hereford, through which runs its sparkling river, is in spring one mass of many-coloured flowers, which enamel the luxuriant meadows as far as the eye can reach; the hills are everywhere covered with coppice-woods, and waving corn-fields spread out their riches in gorgeous display. The hop-that most beautiful of all twining plants, the rival of the vine-here vies with Kent in richness, and throws its graceful garlands over wide tracts which they adorn, sharing the fame of the celebrated orchards, whose produce has illustrated the name of Herefordshire.

In the season of blossoms, the apple and pear-trees in this county present a wilderness of bloom; and, when these are matured, the rich aspect of their crimson and gold fruit makes the stranger imagine that he has strayed into the jewelled region where Aladdin sought his lamp. No wonder that Merlin the bard was enamoured of his unrivalled apple-trees, and laments the destruction of his orchard by an enemy in the most moving strains; for the inexpressible beauty of these valuable and ornamental groves is greater than any other can present the orange itself, in spite of its perfumed flowers, sacred to wedded love, and its fruit of sunny glow amidst its shining metallic leaves, is scarcely so attractive.

What riches are in these extensive and lovely orchards !-whether the apples be the golden pippen, the redstreak, the red, white, and yellow musk, the foxwhelp, or dymock-red, or those called the ten commandments, that furnish the "juice divine," whose praises are sung by Philips in inflated measures, and by the Norman poet, Basselin, in strains worthy of Anacreon. No wonder that the exquisite liquor produced by this immortal fruit, famous from all time, should, as the poet of cyder exclaims, be loved by "the peasants blithe," who

“Will quaff, and whistle, as their tinkling team

They drive, and sing of Fusca's radiant eyes,
Pleased with the medley draught."

Nor is the perry, furnished by the luscious pears of this county, less to be boasted-whether produced from the squash, the oldfield, the

huff-cap, the barland, the sack and the red pear,-parents of most of the champagne enjoyed as genuine in England.

To the tyrant Henry the Eighth, or rather to Harris his fruiterer, England chiefly owes the riches of her orchards; and in the time of Charles the First, to Lord Scudamore of Holm Lacy,-that fine old seat in the neighbourhood of Hereford, this county is indebted for becoming, as Evelyn says, " in a manner, one entire orchard.”

Greater is the wealth its trees yield than if the whole ground were strewn with such gems as were once found by a peasant of one of the villages, who turned up with his spade a coronet adorned with diamonds. The astonished swain, scarcely crediting his senses, and dreading too strict inquiry in his immediate neighbourhood, repaired to Gloucester, where he offered the glittering treasure to a goldsmith, who, well aware of its value, immediately gave the sum of thirty-one pounds for it, sending away the finder intoxicated with his good luck. The goldsmith hastened with his prize to London, where he readily secured his gain by getting from a jeweller two hundred and fifty pounds; nor was it long before it was again disposed of, producing a profit to the last seller of fifteen hundred guineas. It is unknown to whom that jewelled crown belonged; perchance to the gallant, the good, and unfortunate Ethelbert, who might have worn it when he set forth in bridal array to woo the fair daughter of Offa of Mercia, and the cruel Queen Quendreda. Full of hope and love, did the young and pious prince journey towards the towers of Sutton-Walls, and gaily did he enter the portals, which seemed

66 'Bursting from their hinges to receive him ;”

-cheerfully did he return the greetings of his royal host and hostess, unmindful of the scowl which followed his steps as the Lady Macbeth of Mercia muttered words like these::

"The raven itself is hoarse

That croaks the fatal entrance of this king
Under my battlements."

Lovely looked the innocent girl whose beauty had lured the prince to her father's halls, a prototype of Margaret de Valois, while her hateful mother was planning a massacre, and the sweetest notes of the harp had been awakened to speak the welcome of the honoured guest. Even to the door of his sleeping-chamber was the unsuspicious Ethelbert attended with friendly care; and when he closed his eyes, it was to dream of his future bride, whose smiles had shone on him throughout the happiest of his days.

Where was the great and good Ethelbert the next morning? When did he return to his capital blooming and happy as he left it? How shall those questions be answered?-alas! a mutilated corpse was cast into an obscure grave in a wood near Sutton-Walls; and, after a time, a gorgeous funeral procession took its mournful way towards Hereford, supposed to conduct the remains of the young King of the East Angles to his last home,-the sorrowing monarch Offa having the sad task of announcing to his subjects the sudden death of their chief, his intended son-in-law. Splendid was the tomb erected by the remorse of Offa over his body, which he afterwards caused to be secretly carried to the church and placed beneath the pile of sculptured

stone; and it was then that miracles began to prove how pure was he who slept beneath.

More and more did Offa tremble at the deed his own ambition and his wife's persuasion had urged him to; and, in expiation, he showered heaps of gold upon the spot where Ethelbert was laid, until in process of time, the magnificent Cathedral of Hereford rose in commemoration of his deed of blood and his repentance. For centuries did the pious from all lands repair to the shrine of Ethelbert, and long was his tomb held in veneration, and the feet of his statue-clothed "in his habit as he lived,”—kissed with devout zeal by pilgrims innumerable. But a period came when shrines, and altars, and sculptured fanes were defaced and trampled on, and in the universal wreck, the statue of King Ethelbert disappeared.

It is only within a few months, owing to the indefatigable zeal and good taste of the present Dean of Hereford, under whose auspices the beautiful Cathedral is rising like a phoenix from its ashes, that, closed up in a wall amidst a heap of delicate columns, which have long been concealed by rude buildings and thick plaster, the effigy of the murdered king was found, almost entire, beneath the altar where pious honours were formerly paid him. The statue is now placed on a pedestal, the pillars restored, and the whole charming group brought to light in all its simple grace, adding a gem to the many treasures which daily appear since the clearing away of loads of rubbish, which the bad taste of modern times had suffered to accumulate, and disfigure the exquisite architecture of one of the finest ecclesiastical buildings in Europe.

There are no remains of the once strong walls of Hereford, which encompassed it on three sides, the fourth being defended by the river Wye, which now flows pleasantly beneath its beautiful public walk, where stood the Castle, a powerful structure, whose very site can with difficulty be traced. The six gates, too, are gone: the Wyebridge-gate, the Friar's-gate, the Eigne-gate, the Wide Marsh-gate, Bishop's-gate, and St. Owen's-gate. Not one of the "fifteen embattled towers" which extended along the walls for " a goodly mile," and which Leland says were "" right well maintained by the burgesses of the town," now remains: a fragment of wall and a few doorways belonging to some shabby cottages, alone show that a strong building once existed near the spot, where the citizens now promenade at their leisure, and enjoy the views from the delightful public walk called the Castle Green, at the entrance of which is a board placed with the request that "Ladies will not wear pattens on the gravel walks." What scholar of the College, unwitting of the altered manners of the age since our grandmothers stalked along in such uncomfortable conveniences, drew up this appeal in the intervals of his studies, does not appear, but it is worthy of Domine Sampson himself. It would be indeed most "cruel and ungrateful" for any hoof to deform these agreeable walks

For sauntering age, and whispering lovers made."

In the centre of a fine lawn of great extent, where was once perhaps the tournament-yard in the days when Edward the Second's cruel Isabella kept state at Hereford Castle, is now a pillar erected to the memory of the glorious achievements of Nelson: though still un

* The Eigne is a small river,

finished, it appeared to me singularly elegant; but, in a conversation I entered into with

"Old Adam's likeness set to dress this garden,"

I found my taste at once condemned,—the rural critic lamenting that, instead of the classically shaped urn which surmounts the column, the figure of the hero" in full armour, with his sword by his side,” had not been placed there.

As such monuments are intended to speak to the hearts and memories of the people, perhaps he was right in some degree.

The elms are of great size which are planted in majestic rows along the walks, and a fine broad terrace, always dry, surrounds the whole space. This promenade is certainly a successful rival to the Quarry at Shrewsbury, which it excels, in being less exposed to damp, owing to its superior height above the river, and because of its terrace, which commands a much more extensive view. The trees are of the same age, and equally luxuriant; but, from being thinner, do not cast so heavy a shade, or occasion so much closeness as the majestic avenue of the Quarry leading down to the Severn, whose fault is its over-growth.

The castle-keep was of peculiar strength, having "in the outer wall ten semicircular towers, and one great tower within." It was found of great service during the wars with the Welsh, and also in those civil contentions which long desolated England.

Here, the haughty Earl of Leicester, who, after the battle of Lewes, had usurped all the authority of the state, kept the king, Henry the Third, and his gallant son Edward, in reality prisoners, though they possessed the semblance of liberty; and from these towers, doubtless, young Edward watched for the signal of Mortimer, which, displayed on Tillington Hill, was to warn him that his friends were ready to receive him, if he ventured on flight. Edward accordingly looked anxiously towards the mountains, and when he saw a cavalier mounted on a white horse waving his bonnet as he rode along, he knew the time was come. He had obtained permission of Leicester to exercise himself in a meadow called Widemarsh, on the north side of the town; and having fatigued his guard by his feats of horsemanship, he suddenly urged his steed to the utmost, and rode off with the rapidity of light, crying out to his keepers that, having enjoyed their society long enough, he was now going to change it for another scene. The astonished menat-arms instantly spurred after their charge, but they were soon aware that the Cliffords and Mortimers were on their path, and that pursuit was in vain. On Dinmore Hill, conspicuous from the terrace of the public walk, he was received by his friends with banners displayed, and conveyed in safety to Wigmore Castle.

Edward, when king, did not forgive the unfortunate Welsh prince, Llywelyn, his connexion with the revolted Leicester, and cruelly did he exact the forfeit of his conduct. The town of Hereford saw frightful punishments inflicted on the gallant Welshmen who fought for the independence of their country, which, once entirely subdued, the defences of the Castle were allowed by degrees to decay, being no longer of importance.

The ill-starred favourite of Edward the Second, the younger Spencer, perished in Hereford before the eyes of the cruel queen, who had no mercy on her weak husband. Here was raised by her order, a gallows fifty feet high, on which the beautiful minion of royalty met