When thou return'st to Italy,
Discourse to her in minstrelsy

Of LEON'S love and constancy."

"Thy will, young lord, shall be obeyed," The aged harper calmly said;

And as the vessel cleaved her way,

To LEON many a tender lay

He sang, of every storied clime,

And chivalry of olden time;
The beauty of fair ROSALIE,

And her estate beyond the sea.

X.

Arrived at last, the happy crew

Salute the land that glads their view:

When safely anchored in the bay,

With trembling footsteps from the shore,

The hoary minstrel leads the way,

Unto the lady's castle door;

There tunes his harp, and to its sound

Comes ROSALIE with blithesome bound.

Hope smiling in her soft blue eye,
Her mien all joy—all ecstasy ;

By blushes deep her thoughts confest,
While ushering in her bard and guest.

XI.

The bounties spread before them here, The flowing bowl, and welcome cheer, The banquets rich, and festivals

That nightly filled the sumptuous halls,
In honor of the noble guest,

Who, like a monarch, is caressed :
The minstrel's arts, and subtle wiles,

The witchery of the lady's smiles,
The magic of her matchless grace,
Her fatal charms I need not trace:
But all the fickleness of Love,
How very faithless he can prove
To whom he makes his warmest vow,
To what false shrines too oft we bow,
And what the youthful lord befell
For wedding the "Sicilian Belle,"
The sequel of this tale will tell.

CANTO IV.

THE BANK OF THE TIBER.

Ah, tu non sai,

Qual guerra di pensieri

Agita l'alma mia.

METASTASIO.

THE DISAPPOINTMENT-THE PAGE-THE CONFIRMATION

I.

THE waves are smooth, the wind is calm, Onward the golden stream' is gliding,

Amid the myrtle and the palm2

And ilices its margin hiding;

Now sweeps it o'er the jutting shoals

In murmurs, like despairing souls;
Now deeply, softly flows along,

Like ancient minstrel's warbling song;

Then slowly, darkly, thoughtfully,

Loses itself in the mighty sea.

The sky is clear, the stars are bright,

The moon reposes on her light;

On many a budding, fairy blossom,
Are glittering evening's dewy tears,
Like sparkling gems on Beauty's bosom,
When she in festal hall appears.

The summer flowers, in freshest bloom,
Like modest virgins smiling there,
Are breathing all around perfume
Upon the mute enamored air;
The citron-trees along the strand,
With golden fruitage brightly teem;
The lilies in the water stand,

Watching their shadows in the stream,
And ring the while their tiny bells,

As round their feet the billow swells.

II.

And there, beneath a cypress tree,

The beautiful young FLORENCE stands,

In silence watching wistfully

The waves that wash the sparkling sands : Her velvet robe, deep-wrought with gold,

Falling in many a graceful fold;
Her sable tresses flowing back

Beneath a cap of velvet black;

A diamond on her high brow gleaming,

A brilliant on her bosom beaming,

Give her so stately, rich a mien,

That she might vie with Egypt's queen,
When sailing on the Cydnus she

Went forth to meet Mark Antony.

III.

The Moon is past her zenith now,
The dew descends on bud and bough,
And ill at ease the lady seems;

Oft up and down the lawn she paces,
Then sudden starts as one that dreams
Or some unwelcome thought retraces,
And stills her heart, and leans her ear
The long-expected oar to hear ;—
But all is silent as the grave,

Nor boat, nor oar disturbs the wave,

To intimate her lover near,

Or soothe her agonizing fear.

With both white hands she clasps her brow,

As hope were quenched for ever now,
And peace were lost beyond recall—
"Tis so! 'tis so !-I see it all!-
Oh! fatal! Oh! perfidious spell
Of love that sent my soul to hell!
Poor LEONARDO! rests he well!