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The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!”—dissolved, and left
The atom darkness in a slow turmoil;
Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil,
And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil : It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache, And in the dawn she started up awake;
- - - XLII. “Ha! has" said she, “I knew not this hard life, I thought the worst was simple misery; I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife Portion'd us—happy days, or else to die; But there is crime—a brother's bloody knife! Sweet Spirit,4hou hast school'd my infancy: I'llyisit thee;for this, and kiss thine eyes, And greet the morn. and even in the skies." ... . . . : :".....Klili. when the full morning came, she had devised How she might secretto the forest hie; How she might find the clay, so dearly prized, ‘And sing; it one latest lullaby; How her short absence might be unsurmised, While she the immost of the dream would try. Resolved, she took with her an aged nurse, And went into that dismal forest-hearse.
See, as they creep along the river-side
. . ." XLV. who hath not loiter'd in a green church-yard, "...And let his spirit, like a demon-mole, Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard, "To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole; Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd, And filling it bube more with human soul? Ah! this is flohday to what was felt when Isabella by Lorenzo knelt. . She gazed into the fresh-thrown mould, as though, - One gsance did fully all its secrets tell; Clearly she sdw, as other eyes would know Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well; Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow, Like to a native lily of the dell: Then with her knife, all sudden, she began To dig more servently than misers can.
w XLVII. Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon Her silk had, play'd in purple phantasies; She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone, And put it in her bosom, where it dries And freezes utterly unto the bone Those dainties made to still an infant's cries: Then 'gan she work again, nor stay’d her care, But to throw back at times her veiling hair.
And so she ever fed it with thin tears,
Whence thick, and green, and beautiful it grew, So that it smelt more balmy than its peers
Of Basil-tufts in Florence; for it drew Nature besides, and life, from human fears,
From the fast-mouldering head there shut from
view: So that the jewel, safely casketed, Came forth, and in perfumed leafits spread.
L St. AGNEs' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was ' The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly sold : Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
II. His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meager, barefoot, wan, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze, Imprison'd in black, purgatorial rails : Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, He passeth by ; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
Northward he turneth through a little door,
And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.