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“ And there are floating sounds that fill the skies through

night and day, Sweet sounds! the soul to hear them faints in dreams of

heaven away! They wander through the olive-woods, and o'er the

shining seas, They mingle with the orange-scents that load the sleepy

breeze; Lute, voice, and bird, are blending there ;-it were a

bliss to die, As dies a leaf, thy groves among, my flowery Sicily !

I may not thus depart-farewell ! yet no, my country !

no !

Is not love stronger than the grave? I feel it must be so! My fleeting spirit shall o'ersweep the mountains and the

main, And in thy tender starlight rove, and through thy woods

again. Its passion deepens—it prevails !-I break my chain—I

come

To dwell a viewless thing, yet blest—in thy sweet air,

my home!”

And her pale arms dropp'd the ringing lyre,
There came a mist o'er her eye's wild fire,
And her dark, rich tresses, in many a fold,
Loos'd from their braids, down her bosom roll'd.

For her head sank back on the rugged wall, -
A silence fell o'er the warrior's hall;
She had pour'd out her soul with her song's last tone;
The lyre was broken, the minstrel

gone!

IVAN THE CZAR.

“ Ivan le Terrible, étant dejà devenu vieux, assiégoit Novogorod. Les Boyards, le voyant affoibli, lui demandèrent s'il ne vouloit pas donner le commandement de l'assaut à son fils. Sa fureur fut si grande à cette proposition, que rien ne put l'appaiser; son fils se prosterna à ses pieds; il le re ussa avec un coup d'une telle violence, que deux jours après le malheureux en mourut. Le père, alors au desespoir, devint indifférent à la guerre comme au pouvoir, et ne survécut que peu de mois à son fils.”—Dir Années d'Eril, par MADAME DE Staël.

22

IVAN THE CZAR.

Gieb diesen Todten mir heraus. Ich muss
Ihn wieder haben !

• Trostlose allmacht,
Die nicht einmal in Gräber ihren arm
Verlängern, eine kleine Übereilung
Mit Menschenleben nicht verbessern kann!

SCAILLER.

He sat in silence on the ground,

The old and haughty Czar ;
Lonely, though princes girt him round,

The leader of the war :
He had cast his jewelld sabre,

That many a field had won,
To the earth beside his youthful dead,

His fair and first-born son.

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