XXXV.

Then, in her chamber, as if thrown aside,

Perchance forgotten-a scroll met his eye :

Confessions poured forth when she could not hide
The desolate truth: the words unmeasured, high,

And wild, and passionate, were poetry;
For what is Poetry but to impart

All passions in their grandest energy ?

The eloquence inspired by Nature—art

Never yet felt that glow which springs but from the

heart.

XXXVI.

Man's sterner breast, how little does it know

The feelings of the woman! and how less

Dare she his strength and all her weakness show!

And so an untold world of happiness,

Of sympathies which she durst not confess,

Die, treasured in her bosom-all her own;

But in this scroll, the very nakedness,

Of the heart's childish innocence was shown,

No mask, no veil to hide-its inmost feelings known.

S

XXXVII.

And the all infantine simplicity

Of that untutored bosom! its love dwelling,
Though all forsook, as proudly, tenderly,

As if each hour were not its requiem knelling;
Now with those memories so cherished swelling,
On all that was-bright scenes for ever o'er!
Then in remorse its own affection telling;

Ah! love is still its own avenger sure:

The heart that slights its pledge doth mourn it ever

more.

1.

It is so he has left me-hope, love, pride,
Uphold no more; my brain, my heart are dried:

Yes, he has left me! day on day has flown;

Yet still I ask if I am left alone?

Thou wert my day my universe to me!

Tree, bird, and flower-I found them all in thee
Thy beautiful young brow, thy warm, bright eye,
They were my life's sun, and my summer sky!

2.

Thy soft lip's opening smiles were my young roses; Thy breath was like the evening's when it closes; Thy voice, the nightingale's rich notes to me;

Thy step, the music of the summer sea!

In the full strength thy perfect form bespoke,
I saw the beauty of the verdant oak!

In thy proud bearing towered the lofty pine,
And in thy movements bent the graceful vine.

3.

The war-horse, pawing in the distant vale,
Scenting the battle on the coming gale,
Laughing at fear, and glorying in the life

That clothes his neck with thunder for the strife,

Gave me the image of thy nobler heart;

I saw, like his, thy bosom dare the dart,

Like his, thy full eye scorn the danger near;
And give a soldier's welcome to the spear!

4.

I saw thee beautiful, in thy spring-tide
Of lofty fearlessness, and manly pride;
I saw thee beautiful-I felt thee mine:
And from that hour my spirit clung to thine!
Thou wert its life, the sun of light, and guide
To thy own shadow moving by thy side!
And from that hour, the universe to me,

Tree, bird, and flower, were thee-were only thee!

5.

The Tree is gone whose branches round me spread:

And the bird singing 'midst its leaves, is dead:
And love's own flower that bloomed for only me,
Is withered-crushed-all-all have died in thee!
Thou hast forsaken, but must not despise :

As thou would'st do, if life I still could prize:
Thou wilt remember me-I dare not dwell

Upon the past-for ever, oh, farewell!

XXXVIII.

But where was she, this fond, yet erring creature,

This martyr of the heart? what home received?

Who soothed that maddened mind whose every fea

ture

Was thus o'erwrought? was then her sense bereaved? Or still did Memory tell her while she grieved? Months rolled away-but she was unforgot;

Autumn's suns burned, until the mountain heaved

With its long pent-up fires: the warning drought

Dried up the water-springs: the Hermit rose, and sought XXXIX.

The abysses of the crater to foretell

The hour to Naples when the storm should burst:

He, chosen still the Mountain's oracle:

Then of all presages he saw the worst,

By the dark fate of poor Francesca nursed;

There 'neath a stone still clung, in tatters riven,

A veil, and fixed to it a cross;-the first

Fond pledge of love-the sweetest to her given,

When love and hope were one, when life to her seemed

heaven.