Doubt not its memory's living power
To strengthen me through this!
And thou, mine honoured love and true,
Bear on, bear nobly on!
We have the blessed heaven in view,
Whose rest shall soon be won."
And were not these high words to flow
From woman's breaking heart?
Through all that night of bitterest woe
She bore her lofty part;
But oh! with such a glazing eye,
With such a curdling cheek-
Love, Love of mortal agony
Thou, only thou, shouldst speak!
The wind rose high-but with it rose
Her voice, that he might hear :—
Perchance that dark hour brought repose
To happy bosoms near;
While she sat striving with despair
Beside his tortured form,
And pouring her deep soul in prayer
Forth on the rushing storm.
She wiped the death-damps from his brow
With her pale hands and soft,
Whose touch upon the lute-chords low
Had stilled his heart so oft.
She spread her mantle o'er his breast,
She bathed his lips with dew,
And on his cheek such kisses pressed
As hope and joy ne'er knew.
Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!
She had her meed-one smile in death
And his worn spirit passed!
While even as o'er a martyr's grave
She knelt on that sad spot,
And, weeping, blessed the God who gave
Strength to forsake it not!
The young forgot the lessons they had learnt,
And loved when they should hate-like thee, Imelda!
"Passa la bella Donna, e par che dorma."
WE have the myrtle's breath around us here.
Amidst the fallen pillars: this hath been
Some Naiad's fane of old. How brightly clear,
Flinging a vein of silver o'er the scene,
Up through the shadowy grass the fountain wells,
And music with it, gushing from beneath
The ivied altar! That sweet murmur tells
The rich wild flowers no tale of woe or death;
Yet once the wave was darkened, and a stain
Lay deep, and heavy drops-but not of rain-
On the dim violets by its marble bed,
And the pale shining water-lily's head.
Sad is that legend's truth.-A fair girl met
One whom she loved, by this lone temple's spring, Just as the sun behind the pine-grove set,
And eve's low voice in whispers woke, to bring All wanderers home. They stood, that gentle pair, With the blue heaven of Italy above,
And citron-odours dying on the air,
And light leaves trembling round, and early love
Deep in each breast. What recked their souls of strife
Between their fathers! Unto them young life
Spread out the treasures of its vernal years;
And if they wept, they wept far other tears
Than the cold world brings forth. They stood that hour
Speaking of hope; while tree, and fount, and flower,
And star, just gleaming through the cypress boughs,
Seemed holy things, as records of their vows.
But change came o'er the scene. A hurrying tread
Broke on the whispery shades. Imelda knew
The footstep of her brother's wrath, and fled
Up where the cedars make yon avenue
Dim with green twilight: pausing there, she caught-
Was it the clash of swords? A swift dark thought
Struck down her lip's rich crimson as it passed,
And from her eye the sunny sparkle took
One moment with its fearfulness, and shook
Her slight frame fiercely, as a stormy blast
Might rock the rose. Once more, and yet once more,
She stilled her heart to listen-all was o'er;
Sweet summer winds alone were heard to sigh,
Bearing the nightingale's deep spirit by.
That night Imelda's voice was in the song-
Lovely it floated through the festive throng
Peopling her father's halls. That fatal night
Her eye looked starry in its dazzling light,
And her cheek glowed with beauty's flushing dyes,
Like a rich cloud of eve in southern skies-
A burning, ruby cloud. There were, whose gaze
Followed her form beneath the clear lamp's blaze,
And marvelled at its radiance. But a few
Beheld the brightness of that feverish hue
With something of dim fear; and in that glance
Found strange and sudden tokens of unrest,
Startling to meet amidst the mazy dance,
Where thought, if present, an unbidden guest,
Comes not unmasked. Howe'er this were, the time
Sped as it speeds with joy, and grief, and crime
Alike: and when the banquet's hall was left
Unto its garlands of their bloom bereft ;
When trembling stars looked silvery in their wane,
And heavy flowers yet slumbered, once again
There stole a footstep, fleet, and light, and lone,
Through the dim cedar shade-the step of one
That started at a leaf, of one that fled,
Of one that panted with some secret dread.
What did Imelda there? She sought the scene
Where love so late with youth and hope had been.
Bodings were on her soul; a shuddering thrill
Ran through each vein, when first the Naïad's ril
Met her with melody-sweet sounds and low:
We hear them yet, they live along its flow-
Her voice is music lost! The fountain-side
She gained-the wave flashed forth-'twas darkly dyed
Even as from warrior-hearts; and on its edge,
Amidst the fern, and flowers, and moss-tufts deep,
There lay, as lulled by stream and rustling sedge,
A youth, a graceful youth. "Oh! dost thou sleep?
Azzo!" she cried, "my Azzo! is this rest?"
But then her low tones fåltered :-" On thy breast
Is the stain-yes, 'tis blood! And that cold cheek--
That moveless lip-thou dost not slumber?-speak,
Speak, Azzo, my beloved! No sound-no breath-
What hath come thus between our spirits? Death!
Death? I but dream- I dream!" And there she stood,
A faint fair trembler, gazing first on blood,
With her fair arm around yon cypress thrown,
Her form sustained by that dark stem alone,
And fading fast, like spell-struck maid of old,
Into white waves dissolving, clear and cold;
When from the grass her dimmed eye caught a gleam-
'Twas where a sword lay shivered by the stream-
Her brother's sword!-she knew it; and she knew
'Twas with a venomed point that weapon slew!
Woe for young love! But love is strong. There came
Strength upon woman's fragile heart and frame;
There came swift courage! On the dewy ground
She knelt, with all her dark hair floating round
Like a long silken stole; she knelt, and pressed
Her lips of glowing life to Azzo's breast,
Drawing the poison forth. A strange, sad sight!
Pale death, and fearless love, and solemn night!
-So the moon saw them last.
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