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It was the midnight hour, and all was still; the City

slept ; His brother knelt beside his couch, and silent watching

kept : The lamp a sickly gleam threw round, then settled pale

and wan Upon the wasted form and features of that dying

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'Twas then the Mourner pressed his brother's failing

hand, and spoke, And started--as his roice the more than deathlike still

ness broke : “My brother! on the verge of life and death thou

standest now, “ If thou dost hear my latest prayer, by word or sign

avow !


“ Thou dost !—then in the name of that great God I

call on thee; “ Before whose Judgment-seat thy soul or soon or late

shall be :

“I charge thee if thou canst-come back—and Death's

great secret tell :

“ Is Soul immortal, as we trust, and is there Heaven

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He spake no more, but crossed his brow--bis brother's

soul had fled : Perchance he had not heard him on the confines of the

dead: But in his grasp he faintly felt his failing hand

reply, On him was turned the last dim light that flashed forth

from his eye!

The bell of midnight tolled forth as he uttered his last

word; And the Minster organ's distant hymn along the street

was heard; It seemed an omen of the good, as if the dead had

flown To heaven upon the melody of that low dying



XI. His dust reposed in sanctity; he, pilgrim in his

course, The lonely journey of his life pursued with failing


And nightly prayed he that his brother's soul in peace

might rest : That he might share his love again in mansions of the



It was the night of Hallow-mas, the hour, when by his

side A twelvemonth since upon that lowly bed his brother


He opened, ere he turned to rest, the casement, and

looked down Where Night her robe of sleep and silence cast o'er that

fair town.


O! but it is a lovely sight to see fair Florence

sleep! To watch the Moon, her tower and bridge in silver soft

ness steep ; The domes like shrouded giants rise, the broader mant

ling ray Flooding the streets with light as bright, but lovelier far

than day!


The very houses drowsily seemed nodding in that

gleam ; As clear as their own shadows in the Arno's glassy

stream: No sound was heard between the city walls and distant

hill: The hands of human life were stopped-the pulse of

Time stood still!

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Uberto looked upon the scene, and while he blest it,

felt His bosom, long estranged from earth, with human feel.

ings melt; Ah! could he less ? the body of mankind lay panting

deep: The mighty heart of thousands, like an infant's, was


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