XL. But thee that breath had touched not; thee, nor him,

The true in all things found!—and thou wert blest

Even then, that no remembered change could dim

The perfect image of affection, pressed

Like armour to thy bosom !-thou hadst kept Watch by that brother's couch of pain, and wept, Thy sweet face covering with thy robe, when

rest

Fled from the sufferer; thou hadst bound his faith Into thy soul-one light, one hope ye chose-one death.

XLI.

So didst thou pass on brightly!—but for her, Next in that path, how may her doom be spoken!

-All merciful! to think that such things were, And are, and seen by men with hearts unbroken!

To think of that fair girl, whose path had been So strewed with rose-leaves, all one fairy scene! And whose quick glance came ever as a token Of hope to drooping thought, and her glad voice As a free bird's in spring, that makes the woods. rejoice!

XLII.

And she to die!--she loved the laughing earth With such deep joy in its fresh leaves and flowers!

-Was not her smile even as the sudden birth Of a young rainbow, colouring vernal showers? Yes! but to meet her fawn-like step, to hear The gushes of wild song, so silvery clear, Which, oft unconsciously, in happier hours Flowed from her lips, was to forget the sway Of Time and Death below,-blight, shadow, dull decay!

XLIII.

Could this change be?-the hour, the scene, where last

I saw that form, came floating o'er my mind: -A golden vintage-eve;-the heats were passed,

And, in the freshness of the fanning wind,

She, on the greensward at his feet reclined,

In his calm face laughed up; some shepherd-lay Singing, as childhood sings on the lone hills at play.

brother's guiltless blood!

XLVIII.

Hear its voice, hear!-a cry goes up to thee, From the stained sod;-make thou thy judg ment known

On him, the shedder!-let his portion be The fear that walks at midnight-give the moan In the wind haunting him a power to say "Where is thy brother?"—and the stars a ray To search and shake his spirit, when alone With the dread splendour of their burning eyes! -So shall earth own thy will-mercy, not sacrifice.

XLIX.

Sounds of triumphant praise!-the mass was sung

-Voices that die not might have poured such strains!

Through Salem's towers might that proud chant have rung,

When the Most High, on Syria's palmy plains,
Had quelled her foes!-so full it swept, a sea
Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free!
Oft when the winds, as through resounding
fanes,

Hath filled the choral forests with its power, Some deep tone brings me back the music of that hour.

L.

It died away; the incense-cloud was driven Before the breeze-the words of doom were

sai';

And the sun faded mournfully from heaven,
-He faded mournfully! and dimly red,
Parting in clouds from those that looked their
last,

And sighed "Farewell, thou sun!"-Eve glowed and passed—

Night-midnight and the moon-came forth

and shed

Sleep, even as dew, on glen, wood, peopled spot

Save one-a place of death-and there men slumbered not.

LI.

'Twas not within the city(7)—but in sight

Of the snow-crowned sierras, freely sweeping,
With many an eagle's eyrie on the height,
And hunter's cabin, by the torrent peeping
Far off: and vales between, and vineyards lay,
With sound and gleam of waters on their way,
And chesnut-woods, that girt the happy sleep-
ing,

In many a peasant-home!--the midnight sky Brought softly that rich world round those who came to die.

LII.

The darkly-glorious midnight sky of Spain, Burning with stars!-What had the torches'

glare

To do beneath that Temple, and profane
Its holy radiance?-By their wavering flare,
I saw beside the pyres-I see thee now,
O bright Theresa! with thy lifted brow,
And thy clasped hands, and dark eyes filled with
prayer!

And thee, and Inez! bowing thy fair head,
And mantling up thy face, all colourless with
dread!
LIII.

And Alvar, Alvar!-I beheld thee too,

Pale, steadfast, kingly; till thy clear glance fell On that young sister; then perturbed it grew And all thy labouring bosom seemed to swell With painful tenderness. Why came I there, That troubled image of my friend to bear Thence, for my after-years?—a thing to dwell In my heart's core, and on the darkness rise, Disquieting my dreams with its bright mournful eyes?

LIV.

Why came I? oh! the heart's deep mystery!-
Why

In man's last hour doth vain affection's gaze
Fix itself down on struggling agony,

To the dimm'd eye-balls freezing, as they glaze?
It might be yet the power to will seemed o'er-
That my soul yearn'd to hear his voice once
more!

But mine was fettered! mute in strong amaze, I watched his features as the night-wind blew, And torch-light or the moon's passed o'er their marble hue.

LV.

The trampling of a steed!-a tall white steed, Rending his fiery way the crowds amongA storm's way through a forest-came at speed, And a wild voice cried "Inez!" Swift she flung The mantle from her face, and gazed around, With a faint shriek at that familiar sound, And from his seat a breathless rider sprung, And dashed off fiercely those who came to part, And rushed to that pale girl, and clasped her to his heart.

LVI.

And for a moment all around gave way
To that full burst of passion!-on his breast,
Like a bird panting yet from fear she lay.
But blessed-in misery's very lap-yet blest'.-
Oh love, love, strong as death!-from such at
hour

Pressing out joy by thine immortal power,
Holy and fervent love! had earth but rest
For thee and thine, this world were all to fair!
How could we thence be weaned to die without

despair?

LVII.

But she-as falls a willow from the storm, O'er its own river streaming-thus reclin'd On the youth's bosom hung her fragile form, And clasping arms, so passionately twined Around his neck-with such a trusting fold, A full deep sense of safety in their hold, As if nought earthly might th' embrace unbind! Alas! a child's fond faith, believing still Its mother's breast beyond the lightning's reach to kill!

LVIIL

Brief rest! upon the turning billow's height, A strange sweet moment of some heavenly strain,

Floating between the savage gusts of night, That sweep the seas to foam! Soon dark again The hour-the scene-th' intensely present, rush'd

Back on her spirit, and her large tears gushed Like blood-drops from a victim; with swift rain Bathing the bosom where she lean'd that hour, As if her life would melt into th' o'erswelling shower.

LIX.

But he, whose arm sustained her!-oh! I knew 'Twas vain, and yet he hoped!--he fondly

strove

Back from her faith her sinking soul to woo,
As life might yet be hers!-A dream of love
Which could not look upon so fair a thing,
Remembering how like hope, like joy, like
spring,

Her smile was wont to glance, her step to move,
And deem that men indeed, in very truth,
ould mean the sting of death for her soft flower-
ing youth!

LX.

He wooed her back to life.-"Sweet Inez, live!
My blessed Inez!-visions have beguil'd
Thy heart-abjure them!-thou wert formed to
give,

And to find joy; and hath not sunshine smiled Around thee ever? Leave me not, mine own! Or carth will grow too dark!-for thee alone, Thee have I loved, thou gentlest! from a child, And borne thine image with me o'er the sea, Thy soft voice in my soul!-Speak —Oh! yet live for me!"

LXI.

She look'd up wildly; there were anxious eyes Waiting that look-sad eyes of troubled thought, Alvar's Theresa's!- Did her childhood rise, With all its pure and home-affections fraught,