Then farewell, king, yet were I one,

Care would not come so soon. Would he and I were far away Keeping flocks on Himalay!

FRAGMENT: PEACE FIRST AND LAST.

THE babe is at peace within the womb,
The corpse is at rest within the tomb,
We begin in what we end.

FRAGMENT: WANDERING.

HE wanders (like a day-appearing dream,
Through the dim wildernesses of the mind)
Through desert woods and tracts, which seem
Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.

GINEVRA.1

WILD, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one
Who staggers forth into the air and sun
From the dark chamber of a mortal fever,
Bewildered, and incapable, and ever

Fancying strange comments in her dizzy brain
Of usual shapes, till the familiar train
Of objects and of persons passed like things
Strange as a dreamer's mad imaginings,

1 The story on which this fragment is based is to be found in a book entitled L'Osservatore Fiorentino. -ED.

Ginevra from the nuptial altar went;

The vows to which her lips had sworn assent 10 Rung in her brain still with a jarring din, Deafening the lost intelligence within.

And so she moved under the bridal veil, Which made the paleness of her cheek more pale,

And deepened the faint crimson of her mouth, And darkened her dark locks, as moonlight doth,

And of the gold and jewels glittering there
She scarce felt conscious,-but the weary glare
Lay like a chaos of unwelcome light,

Vexing the sense with gorgeous undelight.
A moonbeam in the shadow of a cloud
Was less heavenly fair-her face was bowed,
And, as she passed, the diamonds in her hair
Were mirrored in the polished marble stair
Which led from the cathedral to the street;
And ever as she went her light fair feet
Erased these images.

20

The bride-maidens who round her thronging

came,

30

Some with a sense of self-rebuke and shame,
Envying the unenviable; and others
Making the joy which should have been
another's

Their own by gentle sympathy; and some
Sighing to think of an unhappy home:
Some few admiring what can ever lure
Maidens to leave the heaven serene and pure
Of parents' smiles for life's great cheat; a

thing

Bitter to taste, sweet in imagining.

But they are all dispersed-and, lo! she

stands

40

Looking in idle grief on her white hands,
Alone within the garden now her own;
And through the sunny air, with jangling tone,
The music of the merry marriage bells,
Killing the azure silence, sinks and swells;-
Absorbed like one within a dream who dreams
That he is dreaming, until slumber seems
A mockery of itself—when suddenly
Antonio stood before her, pale as she.
With agony, with sorrow, and with pride,
He lifted his wan eyes upon the bride,

And said "Is this thy faith?" and then as

one

50

Whose sleeping face is stricken by the sun
With light like a harsh voice, which bids him

rise

And look upon his day of life with eyes

Which weep in vain that they can dream no

more,

Ginevra saw her lover, and forbore

To shriek or faint, and checked the stifling
blood

Rushing upon her heart, and unsubdued
Said "Friend, if earthly violence or ill,
Suspicion, doubt, or the tyrannic will
Of parents, chance, or custom, time or change,
Or circumstance, or terror, or revenge,
Or wildered looks, or words, or evil speech,
With all their stings and venom can impeach
Our love, we love not:-if the grave which
hides

61

The victim from the tyrant, and divides
The cheek that whitens from the eyes that dart
Imperious inquisition to the heart

That is another's, could dissever ours,

ས་

r

We love not."- "What! do not the silent

hours

Beckon thee to Gherardi's bridal bed?
Is not that ring".

said,

66

70

-a pledge, he would have

Of broken vows, but she with patient look
The golden circle from her finger took,
And said " Accept this token of my faith,
The pledge of vows to be absolved by death;
And I am dead or shall be soon- -my knell
Will mix its music with that merry bell.

Does it not sound as if they sweetly said

We toll a corpse out of the marriage bed?'
The flowers upon my bridal chamber strewn 80
Will serve unfaded for my bier-so soon
That even the dying violet will not die
Before Ginevra." The strong fantasy

Had made her accents weaker and more weak,
And quenched the crimson life upon her cheek,
And glazed her eyes, and spread an atmosphere
Round her, which chilled the burning noon
with fear,

90

Making her but an image of the thought,
Which, like a prophet or a shadow, brought
News of the terrors of the coming time.
Like an accuser branded with the crime
He would have cast on a beloved friend,
Whose dying eyes reproach not to the end
The pale betrayer-he then with vain repen-

tance

Would share, he cannot now avert, the sen

tence

Antonio stood and would have spoken, when The compound voice of women and of men Was heard approaching; he retired, whilst she Was led amid the admiring company

Back to the palace,—and her maidens soon 100

Changed her attire for the afternoon,
And left her at her own request to keep
An hour of quiet and rest :-like one asleep
With open eyes and folded hands she lay,
Pale in the light of the declining day.

Meanwhile the day sinks fast, the sun is set, And in the lighted hall the guests are met; The beautiful looked lovelier in the light Of love, and admiration, and delight Reflected from a thousand hearts and eyes Kindling a momentary Paradise.

This crowd is safer than the silent wood,
Where love's own doubts disturb the solitude;
On frozen hearts the fiery rain of wine
Falls, and the dew of music more divine
Tempers the deep emotions of the time
To spirits cradled in a sunny

120

clime: How many meet, who never yet have met, To part too soon, but never to forget. How many saw the beauty, power and wit Of looks and words which ne'er enchanted yet; But life's familiar veil was now withdrawn, As the world leaps before an earthquake's dawn, And, unprophetic of the coming hours, The matin winds from the expanded flowers Scatter their hoarded incense, and awaken The earth, until the dewy sleep is shaken From every living heart which it possesses, Through seas and winds,' cities and wilder

nesses,

As if the future and the past were all Treasured i' the instant;-so Gherardi's hall Laughed in the mirth of its lord's festival,

130

Probably we should read lands instead of winds; but I know of no authority for the change.—ED.