XL.

But thee that breath had touch'd not; thee, nor

him,

The true in all things found!-and thou wert blest Ev'n then, that no remember'd change could dim The perfect image of affection, press'd 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 Unto 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 strew'd 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 lov'd 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
Flow'd 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 pass'd, And, in the freshness of the fanning wind,

Her father sat, where gleam'd the first faint star Through the lime-boughs; and with her light guitar,

She, on the greensward at his feet reclin❜d,

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

XLIV.

And now-oh God!-the bitter fear of death,
The sore amaze, the faint o'ershadowing dread,
Had grasp'd her!-panting in her quick-drawn
breath,

And in her white lips quivering ;-onward led,
She look'd up with her dim bewilder'd eyes,
And there smil'd out her own soft brilliant skies,
Far in their sultry southern azure spread,

Glowing with joy, but silent!-still they smil'd, Yet sent down no reprieve for earth's poor trembling child.

XLV.

Alas! that earth had all too strong a hold,
Too fast, sweet Inez! on thy heart, whose bloom
Was given to early love, nor knew how cold
The hours which follow. There was one, with

whom,

Young as thou wert, and gentle, and untried, Thou might'st, perchance, unshrinkingly have died;

But he was far away;-and with thy doom
Thus gathering, life grew so intensely dear,

That all thy slight frame shook with its cold mortal fear!

XLVI.

No aid!-thou too didst pass !—and all had pass'd, The fearful—and the desperate—and the strong! Some like the bark that rushes with the blast, Some like the leaf swept shiveringly along, And some as men, that have but one more field To fight, and then may slumber on their shield, Therefore they arm in hope. But now the throng Roll'd on, and bore me with their living tide, Ev'n as a bark wherein is left no power to guide.

XLVII.

We reach'd a stately

Wave swept on wave.

square,

Deck'd for the rites. An altar stood on high,
And gorgeous, in the midst. A place for prayer,
And praise, and offering. Could the earth supply
No fruits, no flowers for sacrifice, of all
Which on her sunny lap unheeded fall?
No fair young firstling of the flock to die,

As when before their God the Patriarchs stood? -Look down! man brings thee, Heaven! his brother's guiltless blood!

XLVIII.

Hear its voice, hear!—a cry goes up to thee, From the stain'd sod ;-make thou thy judgment 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 pour'd such strains!

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

When the Most High, on Syria's palmy plains,
Had quell'd her foes!-so full it swept, a sea
Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free!
Oft when the wind, as through resounding fanes,
Hath fill'd the choral forests with its power,

Some deep tone brings me back the music of that

hour.