As stirless with the torrent's shock,

As pure in its proportioned grace, And seems a thing of air, as then, Afloat above this fairy glen;

But though mine eye will kindle still
In looking on the shapes of art,

The link is lost that sent the thrill,
Like lightning, instant to my heart.
And thus may break before we die,
Th' electric chain 'twixt soul and eye!

Ten years-like yon bright valley, sown Alternately with weeds and flowersHad swiftly, if not gaily, flown,

And still I lov'd the rosy Hours ;

And if there lurk'd within my breast Some nerve that had been overstrung

And quiver'd in my hours of rest,

Like bells by their own echo rung,

I was with Hope a masquer yet,

And well could hide the look of sadness

And, if my heart would not forget,

I knew, at least, the trick of gladness,

And when another sang the strain,
I mingled in the old refrain.

'Twere idle to remember now,

Had I the heart, my thwarted schemes.
I bear beneath this alter'd brow

The ashes of a thousand dreams

Some wrought of wild Ambition's fingers,
Some colored of Love's pencil well-
But none of which a shadow lingers,

And none whose story I could tell.
Enough, that when I climbed again
To Tivoli's romantic steep,

Life had no joy, and scarce a pain,

Whose wells I had not tasted deep;

And from my lips the thirst had pass'd For every fount save one-the sweetest-and the last.

The last the last! My friends were dead,

Or false; my mother in her grave;

Above my father's honor'd head

The sea had lock'd its hiding wave;
Ambition had but foil'd my grasp,
And love had perish'd in my clasp;

And still, I say, I did not slack
My love of life, and hope of pleasure,
But gather'd my affections back;
And, as the miser hugs his treasure
When plague and ruin bid him flee,

I closer clung to mine--my lov'd, lost Melanie!

The last of the De Brevern race,

My sister claimed no kinsman's care;
And, looking from each other's face,
The eye stole upward unaware—
For there was nought whereon to lean
Each other's heart and heaven between-
Yet that was world enough for me,
And, for a brief but blessed while,
There seemed no care for Melanie

If she could see her brother smile;
But life with her was at the flow,
And every wave went sparkling higher,
While mine was ebbing, fast and low,

From the same shore of vain desire,

And knew I, with prophetic heart,

That we were wearing aye insensibly apart.

II.

We came to Italy. I felt

A yearning for its sunny sky; My very spirit seem'd to melt

As swept its first warm breezes by. From lip and cheek a chilling mist, From life and soul a frozen rime, By every breath seem'd softly kiss'dGod's blessing on its radiant clime!

It was an endless joy to me

To see my sister's new delight;
From Venice in its golden sea
To Postum in its purple light,
By sweet Val d'Arno's tinted hills,
In Vallombrosa's convent gloom,
Mid Terni's vale of singing rills,

By deathless lairs in solemn Rome,
In gay Palermo's "Golden Shell,"
At Arethusa's hidden well-

We loiter'd like th' impassion'd sun

That slept so lovingly on all,

And made a home of every one

Ruin, and fane, and waterfall

And crown'd the dying day with glory

If we had seen, since morn, but one old haunt of story.

We came with Spring to Tivoli.
My sister lov'd its laughing air
And merry waters, though, for me,
My heart was in another key,

And sometimes I could scarcely bear
The mirth of their eternal play,

And, like a child that longs for home
When weary of its holiday,

I sighed for melancholy Rome.
Perhaps the fancy haunts me still--
'Twas but a boding sense of ill.

It was a morn, of such a day

As might have dawn'd on Eden first,
Early in the Italian May.

Vine-leaf and flower had newly burst,

And on the burthen of the air

The breath of buds came faint and rare;
And far in the transparent sky