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And the first song came from the dove,
Another step was with mine there !
With its dear breath the scented air ! LORENZO! could it be
hand That now was trembling in thine own? LORENZO ! could it be mine ear
That drank the music of thy tone ? We sat us by a lattice, where
Came in the soothing evening breeze,
And the soft wind-lute's symphonies,
To a fair orphan, who was left
Of every other friend bereft: An heiress, with her fertile vales,
Caskets of Indian gold and pearl ;
And timid as a peasant girl :
His favourite sister :-and when war
To bear my father's sword afar, I parted from her,—not as one
Whose life and soul are wrung by parting : With death-cold brow and throbbing pulse,
And burning tears like life-blood starting. Lost in war dreams, I scarcely heard
The prayer that bore my name above:
Had more of pity than of love !
She was but as a dream of home,-
That o'er the soldier's spirit come ; Remembering him, when battle lours, Of twilight walks and fireside hours.
I came to thy bright FLORENCE when
The task of blood was done :
Oh, no! my life but then begun.
Ay, by that blush ! the summer rose
Has not more luxury of light !
Like what the clear stars speak at night,
Thy power, thy glory, round me flung
The smile which on thy sweet lips hung !
From thy hair fell a myrtle blossom ;
Look! it has withered in my bosom!
In the sweet sight of Paradise :
But not now,
I'll only tell thee that the line
Ne'er told of misery like mine!
To see the young LANTHE blighted
Trusting affection ill requited!
Too innocent for this damp earth;
Reclaimed again its gentle birth ?
I need not pray thee pardon me
other than for thee !
Where health dwells by the side of spring :
And calm and fragrant airs, might bring
So patient, though she knew each breath
Parted her placid lips in death.
Oh! nothing but a pale spring wreath Would fade o'er her who lies beneath ! her prayers gave
her tears I staid awhile beside her grave; Then led by Hope, and led by Love,
Again I cut the azure wave. What have I more to say, my life!
But just to pray one smile of thine, Telling I have not loved in vain-
That thou dost join these hopes of mine ?
As radiant as a fairy tale!
Sweet as the sigh of the spring gale!
Oh, mockery of happiness!
Love now was all too late to save. False Love ! oh, what had you to do
With one you had led to the grave ? A little time I had been glad
To mark the paleness on my cheek ; To feel how, day by day, my step
Grew fainter, and my hand more weak ; To know the fever of my soul
Was also preying on my frame :
To change the crimson hectic's flaine
I shall not see its twilight close !
And I shall not outlive that rose !
Stars in their poetry of night,
THERE is a lone and stately hall,
One night a refuge there I found.
The torrent rain was sweeping round ;-
The castle's lord, but pale like age;
Was wan as Grief's corroded page.
No hopes :---his sole employ to brood
In sorrow and in solitude.
But rather like a genii's home.
And pictures shone around the dome.
One picture brightest of all there!
Shape thing so gloriously fair!
Is not more radiant in its light !
Lighting the azure brow of night;
A cloud of raven hair, whose shade
Clustered beneath a laurel braid.
Wandered, like snow, amid the chords ;
You almost heard the silvery words.
All soul, all passion, and all fire ;
The morning beam falls on her lyre ;
And on a tablet, hung above,
* LORENZO TO HIS MINSTEL Love.'
HOMMAGE AUX DAMES. OR, A NEW YEAR'S PRESENT.
ANOTHER extremely pretty pre stragglers. To enforce bis orders, too,
sent for the near approaching he has an ugly raw.boned Swiss for a holiday time of the year, dedicated to porter, who threatened to cudgel mer the Ladies," and not unworthy of one day for walking too near bis-g
gar- 9 their patronage. The literary contri- den wall, and the Gascon Captain butions which fill it are anonymous, Sangfeu, who cut off poor Blaise's ear for the writers whisper they are aware for doing as little.” There is also a. that to talk of themselves is not the hint of a poor young lady being shuts way to please the ladies. Both the up in this guarded mansion; and it prose and verse, nevertheless, do them may be anticipated that Ascanio wanmuch credit ; and there is above a hun- ders that way. " A long garden, indred and fifty pages of very agreeable closed by a high wall, and thickly reading, before we come to a little mu- planted on both sides with trees, which : sical piece, blank pages for a diary, entirely' concealed its interior from and places of amusement in the me- view, was at the back, and it was this tropolis. To exemplify our opinion, which Ascanio first approached we shall endeavour to compress
6 He heard a low voice which he Haunted Head, or la Testa di Marte,” thought was that of a woman in disan exceedingly well told story, into tress, and listening more intently and such compass as our limits admit:
approaching nearer, he was satisfied THE HAUNTED HEAD.
that his first impression was correct. " It was yet early on a May morn
He distinctly heard sobs and such exing, in the year 1540, when two trav- pressions of sorrow as convinced hina ellers alighted at the little cabaret, that the person from wbom they proknown by the sign of Les quatre fils ceeded was indulging her grief alone. d'Aymon at the entrance of the forest A large birch tree grew against the of Fontainbleau. They rode two garden wall near the place where he very sorry horses, and each of them stood; he paused for a moment to de carried a package behind his saddle.” liberate whether he could justify the
These were the famous Benvenuto curiosity he felt, when cthe hint of Cellini, “as mad a man of genius as
the hostess that al lady, was impris. the sun of Italy, which has long been soned there, came across his mind, and used to mad geniuses, ever looked without further hesitation he ascended upon," and his handsome pupil Asca- the tree. Ascanio lookedir from nio, who were carrying some works of the height he had gained, and saw al art to the King of France at Fontain- young female sitting on a low garden bleau. For reasons assigned, Cellini seat immediately below the bough on sets out by himself leaving Ascanio; which he stood. She was weeping. and he, getting tired towards evening, At length, raising her head, she dried proposes to walk in the forest ; but, her eyes, and taking up a guitar which before setting out, is specially warned lay beside her, she struck some of the to take care, " in the first place, that chords, and played the symphony to a the Gardes de Chasse did not shoot plaintive air which was then well him instead of a buck; and in the known. Ascanio gazed in breathless next, that he did not stray too near a anxiety, and wondered that one so fair large house, which he would see at should have cause for so deep a sorrow about a quarter of an hour's walk dis- as she was evidently suffering under. tant to the right of the path.” This In a colloquy which ensues, she exhouse, the host tells him “belongs to horts him to fly, tells him she is an or. the Chancellor Poyet, who says he phan whom Poyet wants to force into does not choose to be disturbed in the marriage; and finally agrees to elope meditations to which he devotes bim- with her young
lover. self for the good of the state, by idle " Ascanio clasped the maiden in his