Still with a gloomier thought he turned

To what he felt, and what he was.

As near and near the stern day drew,
When the unpitying bark afar
Should waft the lover from his star;
For still, as neared that day of dread,
Sunk Julian's soul; and if he bore
Against his doom, and faintly fed

With hope his sick heart's wasted core;
"Twas only in the hours when nought,
And none broke o'er his lonely thought-
His mind was poisoned at the fount !
He lothed all living forms, and even

The starry themes he most was wont To love, grew tedious; and the leaven Of his deep-hoarded gathering woe, Tainted and tinged all things below.

But lovely is a woman's soul,
And ev'n when sorrow spurns control,
Its selfishness she smothers;
And Mary, tho' perchance the dart
Had entered deeper in her heart

Ev'n than her lover's breast; yet cherished
The thought that in his grief had perished,
The thought, the sympathy for others!

So, roused at moments from her bow'd
And brooding sorrow, she surveyed,
Alarmed and anxious, the strange cloud
That o'er the Indian cast its shade.
Too pure, too guileless to discover
The barb and mystery of his soul,
She dreamt not she beheld a lover
In him compassion would console:
But shudderingly she saw his look

So dreadly on his brother fall;
And felt that he had ceased to brook,
And now abhorred, their fleshly thrall.

"Twas evening, and the quiet air

Came thro' the casement, soft and holy, By which the brothers seated were ;

Chang, self-wrapt in his melancholy,

And looking o'er the changed street,

Where fast the gloaming shades were thickening, And wearied Traffic's busy feet

Were heard more rarely homeward quickening ;There was a softness in his mien,

There was a softness in his brow;

And Mary, as she chanced, unseen
To

pass beside him, paused---and now
Ching, who in silent watch had viewed
The slow relaxing of his mood,
Looked up, and when he saw the maid,
A smile upon his features play'd.

Gently he signed her not to speak,

Lest that unwonted spell should break;
So pleased and touched the maiden stood,
An answering smile upon her cheek;

And on his shoulder kindly laid

A sister's hand, as she survey'd.

So were they grouped: there was, I ween,
A quiet pathos in the scene.

The object of their mutual care

Feeding lone thoughts, unconscious, there-
The wistful, and the anxious brother
Striving his very breath to smother---

And smiling with a moistened eye;
And, in her still and tranquil grace,
That fair girl, with her moon-light face,
And ivory neck, and golden hair,
Contrasted with that Eastern Pair,
Gazing on both so tenderly.

Chang sighed, and turned ;--and all amazed,
Started--and on the watchers gazed.

As he gazed, the warm blood rushed
To his cheek-the gathering ire
Lit his eyes with livid fire;
And his lips with anger trembling,

Half refused the speech; but hushed

And their sudden fear dissembling,

Stood the two; nor from him took

The pitying kindness of their look.

"Her hand on thine! 'tis true!"--so said he,
With a hollow voice unsteady,

As he muttered--from the heart
To the deed the passions start:
And a fierce and frantic hand

On his brother's throat he fixed;
And his features sternly scanned,
With a gaze, wherein were mixed
All the wrath, and all the woe,
All the madness that below,
In his bosom, raged and festered!

"Thou too lov'st!" he said--nor more--

As it came, the fit was o'er,

And the fiend abruptly mastered !
"Fool-fool-oh! bitter fool!" he muttered,
And his face ashamed he hid;
Faintly even Mary chid-

And no word by Ching was uttered,
To his eyes the wrong'd heart crept,
And-but not in wrath-he wept.
That wild and fierce leap of the mind
Had outstripped words-and left behind
A leaden terror numb, and still,
And a foreboding icy thrill,

Vague, shuddering, mute, and undefined !

Before that evening, and that scene,
A scheme on Mary's mind had been,
Which she had anxiously revolved---
Doubting half-and half resolved.
But from that hour, albeit not more
She guess'd Chang's passion than before,
And only felt how deep the sting
Of his appalling hate to Ching:
Her mind no longer could be bent
From the "wound pitch of her intent."

To none her project she betray did,
Till of its likelihood persuaded;
And then 'twas with no easy art

She won her sire to acquiescing;

Sweet reader, how shall I impart

That scheme to save the bore of guessing ?--

Nay, reader, fie--Ma'am, no caressing!
Upon my word, you 're much too pressing!
I grant, to please you all, my trade is:---
But then, indeed-consider ladies!---
Well, if you will-it must be so!

Silence!--are all prepared ?-then know---
That plots are fruits which shun precocity,
And that no sin's like curiosity!

But while the scheme was in its cradle,
Chang said that London air him made ill;