"To win thy erring mind to grace, "Nor have I soothing words to heal "The wounds that passion doth inure "Upon that early-withered face; "Yet may I try to work thy weal "By the meek force of patient grief; "Here may I tarry by thy side, "Here in one suppliant gaze abide, "Till night-winds shake the last sere leaf "From fond hope's blighted tree, "Which though it be a slender thing, "Seemingly not worth fostering, "Still doth o'ershadow thee."

Then came a pause-a voiceless calm
Shedding quiet drops of balm-

Sweet showers of genial thoughts did rise
From out that fair soul's virgin-well,
Whose holy spring of sympathies

There had been need of sorrow's spell,
And duty's bidding, to unseal.

Ah! now she yearneth to reveal

All that had grown through silent youth;

All faith-all tenderness and truth

All that blithe girlhood's joys and cares
Had nurtured in the shade,

But to life's free and common airs
Whose breath man's open nature shares,
Had never yet betrayed.

But he, whose warped and bitter soul
The maid is striving to control,

Hath bent him to the mastery

Of that mute prayer and glistening eye;

It was his playmate that laid siege
To the cold fastness of despair,
It was a pleader that did bear
A friend's a sister's privilege,
And sacred instinct led

The feelings, which with headlong force
Had charactered a torrent's course,
To memory's fountain-head.

His ear was charmed; in still delight
He heard that angel of the night,
And when her voice did cease,

A mild familiar resonance

Hushing the storms that once had been

By sway of happiness serene,

Lulled his whole being in a trance

Of momentary peace.

And oh mistrust not, gentle maid,

Thy spiritual victory

Only believe he hath obeyed,

And with thy guidance will comply,
When time hath fused on every sense
That stream of silent influence.
-Woe, woe! it may not be-for now
Up the sky dark vapours creep,
The pitying moon retires-and thou
Alas! canst not descry,

That Lycophron is fain to weep
In love's captivity.

Oh! that such intercession sweet,

So bold a rescue nobly done,
To save a brother well nigh won,
Mere over-doing should defeat.

Had she but prest his hand, or felt
His quivering lip, and moistened cheek,
And not at that sad moment knelt ;
Despite the clouds, she must have known.

That he was waxing kind and meek,
And shortly would be all her own.

That fond impatient heart again
Broke forth in its beseeching strain,

And sure 'twas Fate her bosom stirred,
And winged with mischief each good word.
Softly and winningly she sighed ;

"Oh brother! think of her that died, "Bequeathing thee, her infant son,

"To him whose heart thy pride doth break "Return and yield thee, Lycophron ! "Return, for our dead Mother's sake." "Dead Mother! dead!-I had forgot; "Shame on me, that I was beguiled "To listen to my Mother's child

66

Pleading for sin, and knowing not
"How words of that fair shew,

"Are treason to Her sacred name,
"And outrage every righteous claim
"Of this religious woe.
"Away-away! I will be true,
"I'll live for her and not for you ;
"And, though I love thee, Therine,
"I must forego thy love for me;
"And yet in this I will be kind;
"My secret of deep life-long pain
"Shall never craze thy lovely mind,
"Thy thoughts in penal fetters bind,
"Thy guileless bosom stain.

"Pity me, if thou wilt, that I

"A bondsman am of Memory,

;

"An alien and a wanderer, sent "On through the world to fare "As a strange living monument, "Of vengeance and despair. "Weep, if thou wilt, that on me lies "A dark entail of household crime, "That I renounce in youth's gay prime "The hearth's endearing sanctities : "Nor is there one who dares to give "To this poor princely fugitive, "Water, or bread, or fire.

"For that they grudge, the craven herd, "To cringe for me at Phoebus' shrine "And pay for me the threatened fine, "And quails all Corinth at one word "Of thy tyrannic Sire.

"No friend have I in this wide town"No resting-place to lay me down"Yet will I not depart, nor stray By loved Pirenes' watery shades, "Lest haply on some pleasant day "When deer are trooping up the glades, "And birds are loud, and air is rife "With breathings of a joyous life, "And I may tell from sight and sound "I tread my dear old hunting ground, "Then my heart's purpose fail, subdued "By dalliance with that winsome mirth, "And boyish fancies so delude "My nerved and burning breast, "That it forswear, thus idly wooed, "What is alone my being's worth, "This sad and proud unrest.