Their clasp was on the empty air: A funeral pall-her long black hair; Fell over her: herself the tomb
If aer own youth, and breath, and bloom.
Alas! that man should ever win
So sweet a shrine to shame and sin
As woman's heart!—and deeper wo
For her fond weakness, not to know
That yielding all but breaks the chain
That never reunites again!
It was a dark and tempest night-
No pleasant moon, no blest starlight;
But meteors glancing o'er the way,
Only to dazzle and betray.
And who is she that, 'mid the storm,
Wraps her slight mantle round her form?
Her hair is wet with rain and sleet,
And blood is on her small snow feet.
She has been forced a way to make
Through prickly weed and thorned brake,
Up rousing from its coil the snake;
And stirring from their damp abode
The slimy worm and loathsome toad :
And shuddered as she heard the gale
Shriek like an evil spirit's wail;
When followed, like a curse, the crash
Of the pines in the lightning flash :—
A place of evil and of fear-
Oh! what can JULIAN'S love do here?
On, on the pale girl went. At last
The gloomy forest depths are past,
And she has reached the wizard'sen,
Accursed by God and shunned by nen.
And never had a ban been laid
Upon a more unwholesome shade.
There grew dank elders, and the yew
Its thick sepulchral shadow threw;
And brooded there each bird most foul
The gloomy bat and sullen owl.
But IDA entered in the cell,
Where dwelt the wizard of the dell.
Her heart lay dead, her life-blood froze
To look upon the shape which rose
To bar her entrance. On that face
Was scarcely left a single trace
Of human likeness: the parched skin
Showed each discolored bone within;
And, but for the most evil stare
Of the wild eyes' unearthly glare,
It was a corpse, you would have said,
From which life's freshness long had fled.
Yet IDA knelt her down and prayed
To inat dark sorcerer for his aid.
He heard her prayer with withering look;
Then from unholy herbs he took
A drug, and said it would recover
The lost heart of her faithless lover.
She trembled as she turned to see
His demon sneer's malignity;
And every step was winged with dread,
To hear the curse howled as she fled.
It is the purple twilight hour,
And JULIAN is in IDA's bower.
He has brought gold, as gold could bless
His work of utter desolateness!
He has brought gems, as if Despair
Had any pride in being fair!
But IDA only wept, and wreathed
Her white arms round his neck; then breathed
Those passionate complaints that ring
A woman's heart, yet never bring
Redress. She called upon each tree
To witness her lone constancy!
She called upon the silent boughs,
The temple of her JULIAN'S vows
Of happiness too dearly bought!
Then wept again. At length she thought
Upon the forest sorcerer's gift-
The last, lone hope that love had left!
She took the cup, and kissed the brim,
Mixed the dark spell, and gave it him
To nledge his once dear IDA's name!
He drank . Instantly the lame
Ran through his veins; one fiery throb
Of bitter pain-one gasping sob
Of agony-the cold death-sweat
s on his face-his teeth are set-
His bursting eyes are glazed and still;
The drug has done its work of ill.
Alas! for her who watched each breath,
The cup her love had mixed bore-death.
LORENZO !-when next morning came.
For the first time I heard thy name!
LORENZO !-how each ear-pulse drank
The more than music of that tone!
LORENZO!-how I sighed that name,
As breathing it, made it mine own!
I sought the gallery: I was wont
To pass the noontide there, and trace
Some statuc's shape of loveliness-
Some saint, some nymph, or muse's face.
There, in my rapture, I could throw
My pencil in its hues aside,
And, as the vision passed me, pour
My song of passion, joy, and pride.
And he was there,-LORENZO there!
How soon the morning passed away,
With finding beauties in each thing
Neither had seen before that day!
Spirit of Love! soon thy rose-plumes wear
The weight and the sully of canker and care;
Falsehood is round thee; Hope leads thee on,
Till every hue from thy pinion is gone.
But the bright moment is all thine own,
The one ere thy visible presence is known;
When, like the wind of the south, thy power,
Sunning the heavens, sweetening the flower,
Is felt but not seen. Thou art sweet and calm
As the sleep of a child, as the dew full of balm.
Fear has not darkened thee; Hope has not made
The blossoms expand, it but opens to fade.
Nothing is known of those wearing fears
Which will shadow the light of thy after years.
Then art thou bliss :-but once throw by
The veil which shrouds thy divinity;
Stand confessed,-and thy quiet is fled!
Wild flashes of rapture may come instead,
But pain will be with them. What may restore
The gentle happiness known before?
I owned not to myself I loved,—
No word of love LORENZO breathed;
But I lived in a magic ring,
Of every pleasant flower wreathed.
A brighter blue was on the sky,
A sweeter breath in music's sigh;
The orange shrubs all seemed to bear
Fruit more rich, and buds more fair.
There was a glory on the noon,
A beauty in the crescent moon,
A lulling stillness in the night,
A feeling in the pale starlight.
There was a charmed note on the wind,
A spell in Poetry's deep store-
Heart-uttered words, passionate thoughts,
Which I had never marked before.
'Twas as my heart's full happiness
Poured over all its own excess.
One night there was a gorgeous feast
For maskers in COUNT LEON's hall;
And all of gallant, fair, and young,
Were bidden to the festival.
I went, garbed as a hmdoo girl;
Upon each arm an amulet,
And by my side a little lute
Of sandal wood with gold beset.
And shall I own that I was proud
To hear, amid the gazing crowd,
A murmur of delight, when first
My mask and veil I threw aside?
For well my conscious cheek betrayed Whose eye was gazing on me too! And never yet had praise been dear, As on that evening, to mine ear, LORENZO! I was proud to be Worshipped and flattered but for thee!
PLAIFUL and wild as the fire-flies light,
This moment hidden, and next moment bright,
Like the foam on the dark-green sea,
Is the spell that is laid on my lover by me.
Were your sigh as sweet as the sumbal's sigh
When the wind of the evening is nigh;
Were your smile like that glorious light,
Seen when the stars gem the deep midnight;
Were that sigh and that smile for ever the same-
They were shadows, not fuel, to love's dulled flame
Love once formed an amulet,
With pearls, and a rainbow, and rose-leaves set.
The pearls were pure as pearls could be,
And white as maiden purity;
The rose had the beauty and breath of soul,
And the rainbow-changes crowned the whole.
Frown on your lover one little while,
Dearer will be the light of your smile;
Let your blush, laugh, and sigh ever mingle together, Like the bloom, sun, and clouds of the sweet spring
Love never must sleep in security,
Or most calm and cold will his waking be.
And as that light strain died away, Again I swept the breathing strings: But now the notes I waked were sad
As those the pining wood-dove sings.
SHE has lighted her lamp, and crowned it with flowers,
The sweetest that breathed of the summer hours;
Red and white roses linked in a band,
Like a maiden's blush, or a maiden's hand;
Jasmines-some like silvery spray,
Some like gold in the morning ray;
Fragrant stars,-and favorites they,
When Indian girls on a festival day,
Braid their dark tresses: and over all weaves
The rosy-bower of lotus leaves-
Canopy suiting the lamp-lighted bark,
Love's own flowers, and Love's own ark.
She watched the sky, the sunset grew dim;
She raised to CAMDEO her evening hymn.
The scent of the night-flowers came on the air;
And then, like a bird escaped from the snare,
She flew to the river-(no moon was bright,
But the stars and the fire-flies gave her their light);
She stood beneath the mangoes' shade,
Half delighted and half afraid;
She trimmed the lamp, and breathed on each bloom,
(Oh, that breath was sweeter than all their perfume!)
Threw spices and oil on the spire of flame,
Called thrice on her absent lover's name ;
And every pulse throbbed as she gave
Her little boat to the Ganges wave.
There are a thousand fanciful things
Lnked round the young heart's imaginings.
Ir its first love-dream, a leaf, or a flower
Is gifted then with a spell and a power;
A shade is an omen, a dream is a sign,
From which the maiden can well divine
Passion's whole history. Those only can
Who have loved as young hearts can love so well,
How the pulses will beat, and the cheek will be died,
When they have some love-augury tried
Oh, it is not for those whose feelings are cold,
Withered by care, or blunted by gold;
Whose brows have darkened with many years,
To feel again youth's hopes and fears-
What they might blush now to confess,
Yet what made their spring-day's happiness!
ZAIDE watched her flower-built vessel glide,
Mirrored beneath on the deep-blue tide;
Lovely and lonely, scented and bright,
Like Hope's own baik, all bloom and light.
There's not one breath of wind on the air,
The heavens are cloudless, the waters are fair,
No dew is falling: yet wo to that shade!
The maiden is weeping-her lamp has decayed.
Hak to the ring of the cin eter!
It tells that the soldier returns from afar.
Down from the mountains the warriors come:
Hark to the thunder-roll of the drum!-
To the startling voice of the trumpet's call!-
To the cymbal's clash!-to the atabal!
The banners of crimson float in the sun,
The warfare is ended, the witle is won.
The mother hath taken the child from her breast,
And raised it to look on its father's crest.
The pathway is lined, as the bands pass along,
With maidens, who meet them with flowers and song
And ZAIDE hath forgotten in AzIм's arms
All her so false lamp's falser alarms.
This looks not a bridal,-the singers are mute, Still is the mandore, and breathless the lute; Yet there the bride sits. Her dark hair is bound, And the robe of her marriage floats white on the ground. Oh! where is the lover, the bridegroom?-oh! where t Look under yon black pall-the bridegroom is there! Yet the guests are all bidden, the feast is the same, And the bria plights her troth amid smoke and mid flame!
They have raised the death-pyre of sweet-scented wood,
And sprinkled it o'er with the sacred flood
Of the Ganges. The priests are assembled:-their song
Sinks deep on the ear as they bear her along,
That bride of the dead. Ay, is not this love?--
That one pure, wild feeling all others above:
Vowed to the living, and kept to the tomb!-
The same in its blight as it was in its bloom.
With no tear in her eye, and no change in her smile
Young ZAIDE had come nigh to the funeral pile.
The bells of the dancing-girls ceased from their sound,
Silent they stood by that holiest mound.
From a crowd like the sea-waves there came not a breath
When the maiden stood by the place of death!
One moment was given-the last she might spare!
To the mother, who stood in her weeping there.
She took the jewels that shone on her hand;
She took from her dark hair its flowery band,
And scattered them round. At once they raise
The hymn of rejoicing and love in her praise.
A prayer is muttered, a blessing said,-
Her torch is raised!-she is by the dead.
She has fired the pile ! At once there came
A mingled rush of smoke and of flame:
The wind swept it off. They saw the bride,
Laid by her AZIM, side by side.
The breeze had spread the long curls of her hair:
Like a banner of fire they played on the air.
The smoke and the flame gathered round as before,
Then cleared; but the bride was seen no more.
I heard the words of praise, but not
The one voice that I paused to hear;
And other sounds to me were like
A tale poured in a sleeper's ear.
Where was LORENZO ?-He had stood
Spell-bound; but when I closed the lay,
As if the charm ceased with the song,
He darted hurriedly away.
I masqued again, and wandered on
Through many a gay and gorgeous room
What with sweet waters, sweeter flower,
The air was heavy with perfume,
The harp was echoing the lute,
Soft voices answered to the flute,
And, like rills in the noontide clear,
Beneath the flame-hung gondolier,
stone mirrors peopled with the shades
Oi stately youths and radiant maids;
And on the ear in whispers came
Those winged words of soul and flame,
Breathed in the dark-eyed beauty's ear
By some young love-touched cavalier;
Or mixed at times some sound more gay,
Of dance, or laugh, or roundelay.
O, it is sickness at the heart
To bear in revelry its part,
And yet feel bursting:-not one thing
Which has part in its suffering,-
The laugh as glad, the step as light,
The song as sweet, the glance as bright;
As the laugh, step, and glance, and song,
Did to young happiness belong.
I turned me from the crowd, and reached
A spot which seemed unsought by all-
An alcove filled with shrubs and flowers,
But lighted by the distant hall,
With one or two fair statues placed,
Like deities of the sweet shrine.
That human art should ever frame
Such shapes so utterly divine!
A deep sigh breathed,-I knew the tone;
My cheek blushed warm, my heart beat high,
One moment more I too was known,
I shrank before LORENZO's eye.
He leant beside a pedestal,
The glorious brow, of Parian stone,
Of the Antinous, by his side,
Was not more noble than his own!
They were alike: he had the same
Thick-clustering curls the Roman wore-
The fixed and melancholy eye-
The smile which passed like lightning o'er
The curved lip. We did not speak,
But the heart breathed upon each cheek,
We looked round with those wondering looks,
Which seek some object for their gaze,
As if each other's glance was like
The too much light of morning's rays.
I saw a youth beside me kneel;
I heard my name in music steal;
I felt my hand trembling in his ;-
Another moment, and his kiss
Had burnt upon it; when, like thought,
So swift it passed, my hand was thrown
Away, as if in sudden pain.
LORENZO like a dream had flown!
We did not meet again :--he seemed
To shun each spot where I might be:
And, it was said, another claimed
The heart-more than the world to me!
I loved him as young Genius loves,
When its own wild and radiant heaven
Of starry thought burns with the light,
The love, the life, by passion given.
I loved him, too, as woman loves-
Reckless of sorrow, sin, or scorn:
Life had no evil destiny
That, with him, I could not have borne! ' had been nursed in palaces;
Yet earth had not a spot so drear, That I should not have thought a home, In paradise, had he been near! How sweet it would have been to dwell, Apart from all, in some green dell Of sunny beauty, leaves, and flowers; And nestling buds to sing the hours! Our home, beneath some chestnut's shade, But of the woven branches made; Our vesper hymn, the low, lone wail The rose hears from the nightingale; And waked at morning by the call Of musie from a waterfall. But not alone in dreams like this, Breathed in the very hope of bliss, I loved: my love had been the same In hushed despair, in open shame.
I would have rather been a slave,
In tears, in bondage, by his side,
Than shared in all, if wanting him,
This world had power to give beside!
My heart was withered,-and my heart
Had ever been the world to me:
And love had been the first fond dream,
Whose life was in reality.
I had sprung from my solitude
Like a young bird upon the wing
To meet the arrow; so I met
My poisoned shaft of suffering.
And as that bird with drooping crest
And broken wing, will seek his nest,
But seek in vain; so vain I sought
My pleasant home of song and thought. There was one spell upon my brain, Upon my pencil, on my strain; But one face to my colors came; My chords replied but to one nameLORENZO!-all seemed vowed to thee, To passion, and to misery!
I had no interest in the things
That once had been like life, or light; No tale was pleasant to mine ear,
No song so sweet, no picture bright.
I was wild with my great distress.
My lone, my utter hopelessness!
I would sit hours by the side
Of some clear rill, and mark it glide,
Bearing my tears along, till night
Came with dark hours; and soft starlight
Watch o'er its shadowy beauty keeping,
Till I grew calm:-then I would take
The lute, which had all day been sleeping
Upon a cypress tree, and wake
The echoes of the midnight air
With words that love wrung from despair.
FAREWELL!-we shall not meet again
As we are parting now!
I must my beating heart restrain-
Must veil my burning brow!
O, I must coldly learn to hide
One thought all else above-
Must call upon my woman's pride
To hide my woman's love!
Check dreams I never may avow;
Be free, be careless, cold as thou!
O! those are tears of bitterness,
Wrung from the breaking heart,
When two, blest in their tenderness,
Must learn to live-apart!
But what are they to that long sigh,
That cold and fixed despair,
That weight of wasting agony
It must be mine to bear?
Methinks I should not thus repine,
If I had but one vow of thine.
I could forgive inconstancy
To be one moment loved by thee!
With me the hope of life is gone
The sun of joy is set;
One wish my soul still dwells upon→
The wish it could forget.
I would forget that look, that tone,
My heart hath all too dearly known.
But who could ever yet efface
From memory love's enduring trace?
All may revolt, all may complain-
But who is there may break the chain 1
Farewell!-I shall not be to thee
More than a passing thought;
But every time and place will be
With thy remembrance fraught!
Farewell! we have not often met-
We may not meet again?
But on my heart the seal is set,
Love never sets in vain!
Fruitless as constancy may be,
No chance, no change, may turn from thes
One who has loved thee wildly, well-
But whose first love-vow breathed-farewell?
And lays which only told of love
In all its varied sorrowing,
The echoes of the broken heart,
Were all the songs I now could sing. Legends of olden times in Greece,
When not a flower but had its tale; When spirits haunted each green oak; When voices spoke in every gale; When not a star shone in the sky Without its own love history. Amid its many songs was one
That suited well with my sick mind. I sang it when the breath of flowers Came sweet upon the midnight wind.
LEADES AND CYDIPPE.
She sat her in her twilight bewer,
A temple formed of leaf and flower;
Rose and myrtle framed the roof,
To a shower of April proof;
And primroses, pale gems of spring,
Lay on the green turf glistening,
Close by the violet, whose breath
Is so sweet in a dewy wreath.
And O, that myrtle! how green it grew!
With flowers as white as the pearls of dew
That shone beside: and the glorious rose
Lay like a beauty in warm repose,
Blushing in slumber. The air was bright
With the spirit and glow of its crimson light.
CYDIPPE had turned from her columned hall,
Where the queen of the feast, she was worshipped by all:
Where the vases were burning with spices and flowers,
And the odorous waters were playing in showers;
And lamps were blazing-those lamps of perfume
Which shed such a charm of light over the bloom
Of woman, when Pleasure a spell has thrown
Over one night hour and made it her own.
And the ruby wine-cup shone with a ray,
As the gems of the East had there melted away;
And the bards were singing those songs of fire,
That bright eyes and the goblet so well inspire;
While she, the glory and pride of the hour,
Sat silent and sad in her secret bower!
There is a grief that wastes the heart,
Like mildew on a tulip's dies,-
When hope, deferred but to depart,
Loses its smiles, but keeps its sighs:
When love's bark, with its anchor gone,
Clings to a straw, and still trusts on.
O, more than all!-methinks that love
Should pray that it might ever be
Beside the burning shrine which had
Its young heart's fond idolatry.
O, absence is the night of love!
Lovers are very children then!
Fancying ten thousand feverish shapes,
Until their light returns again.
A look, a word, is then recalled,
And thought upon until it wears
What is, perhaps, a very shade,
The tone and aspect of our fears.
And this is what was withering now
The radiance of CYDIPPE's brow.
She watched until her cheek grew pale;
The green wave bore no bounding sail:
Her sight grew dim; 'mid the blue air
No snowy dove came floating there,
The dear scroll hid beneath his wing,
With plume and soft eye glistening,
To seek again, in leafy doine,
The nest of its accustomed home!
Still far away, o'er land and seas.
Lingered the faithless LEADES.
She thought on the spring days when she had been
Lonely and lovely, a maiden queen :
When passion to her was a storm at sea,
Heard 'inid the green land's tranquillity.
But a stately warrier come from afar;
He bore on his boson the glorious scar
So worshipped by woman-the death-seal of wa
And the maiden's heart was an easy prize,
When valor and faith were her sacrifice.
Methinks, might that sweet season last,
In which our first love-dream is past,
Ere doubts and cares, and jealous pain,
Are flaws in the heart's diamond-chain:-
Men might forget to think on heaven,
And yet have the sweet sin forgiven.
But ere the marriage-feast was spread,
LEADES said that he must brook
To part awhile from that best light,
Those eyes which fixed his every look
Just press again his native shore,
And then he would that shore resign
For her dear sake, who was to him
His household god!-his spirit's shrine.
He came not! Then the heart's decay
Wasted her silently away :-
A sweet fount, which the mid-day su
Has all too hotly looked upon!
It is most sad to watch the fall
Of autumn leaves !-but worst of all
It is to watch the flower of spring
Faded in its fresh blossoming!
To see the once so clear blue orb
Its summer light and warmth forget;
Darkening beneath its tearful lid,
Like a rain-beaten violet!
To watch the banner-rose of health
Pass from the cheek!-to mark how plain
Upon the wan and sunken brow,
Become the wanderings of each vein!
The shadowy hand so thin, so pale!
The languid step!-the drooping head'
The long wreaths of neglected hair!
The lip whence red and smile are fled!
And having watched thus, day by day,
Light, life, and color, pass away!
To see, at length, the glassy eye
Fix dull in dread mortality;
Mark the last ray, catch the last breath,
Till the grave sets its sign of death!
This was CYDIPPE's fate!-They laid
The maiden underneath the shade
Of a green cypress,-and that hour
The tree was withered, and stood bare
The spring brought leaves to other trees,
But never other leaf grew there!
It stood, 'mid others flourishing,
A blighted, solitary thing.
The summer sun shone on that tree
When shot a vessel o'er the sea-
When sprang a warrior from the prow-
LEADES! by the stately brow.
Forgotten toil, forgotten care,
All his warm heart has had to bear.
That heart is full! He hears the sigh
That breathed "Farewell!" so tenderly.
If even then it was most sweet,
What will it be that now they meet?
Alas! alas! Hope's fair deceit !
He spurred o'er land, has cut the wave,
To look but on CYDIPPE's grave.
It has blossomed in beauty, that lone tree,
LEADES' kiss restored its bloom;
For wild he kissed the withered stem-
It grew upon CYDIPPE's tomb!
And there he dwelt. The hottest ray,
Still dew upon the branches lay
Like constant tears. The winter came;
But still the green tree stood the same.
And it was said at evening's close,
A sound of whispered music rose;
That 'twas the trace of viewless feet
Made the flowers more than flowers sweet.
At length LEADES died. That day,
Bark and green foliage past away
From the lone tree,-again a thing
Of wonder and of perishing!
ONE evening I had roamed beside
The winding of the Arno's tide;
The sky was flooded with moonlight:
Below the waters azure bright,
Palazzos with their marble halls,
Green gardens, silver waterfalls,
And orange groves and citron shades,
And cavaliers and dark-eyed maids;
Sweet voices singing, echoes sent
From many a rich-toned instrument.
I could not bear this loveliness!
It was on such a night as this
That love had lighted up my dream
Of long despair and short-lived bliss.
I sought the city; wandering on,
Unconscious where my steps might be:
My heart was deep in other thoughts;
All places were alike to me :-
At length I stopped beneath the walls
Of San Mark's old cathedral halls.
I entered;—and, beneath the roof,
Ten thousand wax-lights burnt on high,
And incense on the censers fumed
As for some great solemnity.
The white-robed choristers were singing,
Their cheerful peals the bells were ringing:
Then deep-voiced music floated round,
As the far arches sent forth sound-
The stately organ:-and fair bands
Of young girls strewed, with lavish hands,
Violets o'er the mosaic floor;
And sang while scattering the sweet store.
I turned me to a distant aisle
Where but a feeble glimmering came
(elf in darkness) of the smile
Sent from the tapers' perfumed flame
And colored as each pictured pane
Shed o'er the blaze its crimson stain :-
While, from the window o'er my head,
A dim and sickly gleam was shed
From the young moon,-enough to show
That tomb and tablet lay below.
I leant upon one monument,
'Twas sacred to unhappy love:
On it were carved a blighted pine-
A broken ring-a wounded love.
And two or three brief words told all
Her history who lay beneath :
"The flowers-at morn her bridal flowers,—
Formed, e'er the eve, her funeral wreath."
I could but envy her. I thought,
How sweet it must be thus to die!
Your last looks watched-your last sigh caught,
As life or heaven were in that sigh!
Passing in loveliness and light;
Your heart as pure,-your cheek as bright
As the spring-rose, whose petals shut
By sun unscorched, by shower unwet;
Leaving behind a memory
Shrined in love's fond eternity.
But I was wakened from this dream
By a burst of light-a gush of song-
A welcome, as the stately doors
Poured in a gay and gorgeous throng.
I could see all from where I stood.
And first I looked upon the bride;
She was a pale and lovely girl;
Bai, O Gol! who was by her side?—
LORENZO!-No, I did not speak;
My heart beat high, but could not break.
I shrieked not, wept not; but stood there
Motionlee in my still despair;
As I were forced by some strange thrall,
To bear with and to look on all,—
I heard the hymn, I heard the vow:
(Mine ear throbs with them even now!)
I saw the young bride's timid cheek
Blushing beneath her silver veil.
I saw LORENZO kneel! Methought
('Twas but a thought!) he too was pale.
But when it ended, and his lip
Was pressed to hers-I saw no more!
My heart grew cold,-my brain swam rour4,-
I sank upon the cloister floor!
I lived, if that may be called life,
From which each charm of life has filed
Happiness gone, with hope and love,-
In all but breath already dead.
Rust gathered on the silent chords
Of my neglected lyre,-the breeze
Was now its mistress: music brought
For me to bitter memories!
The ivy darkened o'er my bower;
Around, the weeds choked every flower.
I pleased me in this desolateness,
As each thing bore my fate's impress.
At length I made myself a task
To paint that Cretan maiden's fate, Whom Love taught such deep happiness, And whom Love left so desolate.
I drew her on a rocky shore:—
Her black hair loose, and sprinkled o'er
With white sea-foam;-her arms were bare,
Flung upward in their last despair.
Her naked feet the pebbles prest;
The tempest-wind sang in her vest:
A wild stare in her glassy eyes;
White lips, as parched by their hot sighs;
And cheek more pallid than the spray,
Which, cold and colorless, on it lay :-
Just such a statue as should be
Placed ever, Love! beside thy shrine;
Warning thy victims of what ills-
What burning tears, false god! are thine. Before her was the darkling seas
Behind the barren mountains rose
A fit home for the broken heart
To weep away life, wrongs, and woes!
I had now but one hope:-that when
The hand that traced these teints was cold-
Its pulse but in their passion seen-
LORENZO might these teints behold,
And find my grief;-think-see-feel all
I felt in this memorial!
It was one evening,-the rose-light
Was o'er each green verandah shining;
Spring was just breaking, and white buds
Were 'mid the darker ivy twining.
My hall was filled with the perfume
Sent from the early orange bloom:
The fountain, in the midst, was fraught
With rich hues from the sunset caught;-
And the first song came from the dove,
Nestling in the shrub alcove.
But why pause on my happiness?—
Another step was with mine there
Another sigh than mine made sweet
With its dear breath the scented air!
LORENZO! Could it be my hand,
That now was trembling in thine own?
LORENZO! Could it be mine ear
That drank the music of thy tone?
We sat us by a lattice, where
Came in the soothing evening breeze,
Rich with the gifts of early flowers,
And the soft wind-lute's symphonies.
And in the twilight's vesper-hour,
Beneath the hanging jasmine-flower,
I heard a tale,-as fond, as dear
As e'er was poured in woman's ear!
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