Beyond, the Tibur, on his shrunken way,
Mourns songless onward to the Tyrrhene sea
Thro' Latium's wastes, that sadden ceaselessly
With many a shattered sepulchre bestrewed,
Baring their breast unto the lazy death,
That creeps along the dull air's rotting breath!
And there, in amphitheatre afar,

The hills lay basking in the purple sky,
Till all grew grey-and Maro's shepherd star
Watch'd the soft silence with a loving eye;

And-ev'n as one who walketh in a sleep—

The Moon rov'd dreaming, o'er the night sky's solemn

steep.

VIII.

"He comes not "-Zoe murmured-" yet the hour
“Hath past—and-hark-how ominously o'er
"The silent air from Nero's Golden Tower
"Hoots the owl's startling cry; and to the core
"Of my chill'd heart, strikes like a voice of doom!
"He comes not-yet the moon is high—before
"His footstep never tarried-Heaven, if aught
"Of peril crossed his path!-How deep a gloom
"Broods o'er the hollow of yon shattered arch!-
"What if—ay, there there lies the startling thought,
"Which, ev'n beside him, hath the power to blast
"As with a curse—the summer of my soul!

"What form glides there!-Ha! sure by yonder larch

"Athwart the gloom--a human shadow stole,

66

"I heard the black boughs rustle as it past.

"O God, before whose eye the felon night
"Forgoes her veil, and broadens into light,
"Protect his pathway from the lurking death,
"The bought assassin's dagger! O my heart,
"Be still-be still or break!-He comes-
"Grows thick with rapture, and the life streams dart
"As if to waste the
very veins away.

-my

breath

"He comes! How blest the silence which doth melt "Beneath the music of his footstep! Air,

"How my lip drinks thee, since thy tides have felt "The thrilling odour of his rich breath-where "The perfume, and the sighing sounds of May, "Weave o'er the face of night a soft and blossoming day! "My glorious stranger, welcome! Ah! as one "Who watcheth daylight on the mountain's brow, "Has my soul long'd for thee—and I have won "The boon at last. Thou beamest on me now! "But why so cruel, dearest! thou must measure "The past suspense-dread-torture-with the bliss "That now flows forth in tears-thou art a treasure "So vast--so wondrous-that to merely miss "Thee from my side-fills my whole frame with fear! "And, truant, see how Dian from her vault

"Tells thee how long my heart hath sickened here, "And dares-what I may not-upbraid thee with thy

fault."

They sate them on a fallen column, where
The wild acanthus clombe the shattered stone,
Mocking its sculptured mimicry which there
Was graven on the pillar'd pomp o'erthrown;
And in its deathless, but unflowering green,

Typing the' immortal wrecks—and barren pride of scene!
There seemed nought living near them; Zoe's arm
Was round her lover-and her cheek was prest
Upon his shoulder-Oh! the thrilling charm
Of that dependence—when we feel the breast,
On which we lean, bounds all the heart and hope,
Which till that breast was found-thought worlds too
barr'd a scope !

IX.

"And tell me, feel'st thou not our lone retreat, "Drink from our love an ether of delight?

"And tell me, if like mine thy heart hath beat

"Thro' the long-dull day, with one wish for night?

'Night-most beloved night, that marks us meet"Alas! alas! that we should ever part !"

"And wherefore should we?—Are we not become

"Each to the other, all beneath the skies?

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My heart flies to thy presence, as its home,

"And sleeps beneath the shadow of thine eyes!

"Wherefore, my Zoe? Thou art to my sight
"Not as a dream, but as the soul of dreams,
"Their essence, life, and immortality!

"The focus of the wild and scattered beams,
"That woke the Memnon of my minstrelsy.
"Rome left, I leave not thee !-but if too soon

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Compell'd, I wander backward to my doom, "Thou, as yon star clings ever through the gloom, "Fast by the pathway of the pilgrim moon,— "Thou wilt still shine, unsevered by my side,

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My star of faith and love, my blessing and my bride!”

She answered not, but trembled; and he raised
Fondly her downcast cheek-the rose was fled,
And like a mourner o'er it, in the stead,

Sate paleness there, and droop'd-the tender eyes
That shunning, met his own, were wet with tears;
And that subdued and stricken thought, which wears
Woe as a nun, the hope-entombing veil,

Silent and self-consuming, cast its gloom

O'er her still features, and their touching bloom!

He gazed, and felt within him as he gazed

The bold and haughty spirit sink and quail—

As if the omen of no idle fears

Crept to his heart, and with a voice of bale,

Spoke of his baffled youth—his manhood's loveless years!

"Thou dost not answer, Zoe ;-can it be

"That I have lov'd too wildly?-true, that ne'er

"Hast thou reveal'd thy birth, thyself, to me;
"But hast been worshipp'd in my heart and prayer
“Unknown, and glorious, like a mystic light,
"Or dim-seen future, to my soul prefated;

"Or shape, that in the weird and passionate night,
"I won some heavenly magic, and created!

"But now, Love, let me lure thee from thy shade,
"My bright Egeria-be a mortal maid,

"Lift the all-idle mystery from my heart—
"And tell me, fairest, what and whence thou art!"

Eager his eye, and anxious was his tone,

And the half smile that o'er his features shed
A moment's hurried brightness wan'd and fled,
As ceased his words.

She with a tender look,

Made soft by sadness, and a silent fear,

And with a voice, which summon'd from its throne

The charmed heart unto the haunted ear,

After a pause replied:

"I will not brook

"Mine own, to gaze upon the dark thought, thou
"Hast conjur'd to appal me!-leave me! Heaven!

"Leave Rome, and me!—Nay, nay, unknit that brow!"

"List to me, Zoe!-In my father's land,

"For ages have our

bold race bow'd the knee

"To false gods fed on that idolatry,

"Which maketh what it worships. It is given