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The pearls were pure as pearls could be, Passion's whole history. Those only can tell And white as maiden-purity;

Who have loved as young hearts can love The rose had the beauty and breath of soul,

60 well, And the rainbow-changes crowned the whole. How the pulses will beat, and the cheek Frown on your lover one little while,

will be dyed, Dearer will be the light of your smile; When they have some love-augury tried. Let your blush, laugh, and sigh ever mingle Oh, it is not for those whose feelings are cold,

together,

Withered by care, or blunted by gold; Like the bloom, sun, and clouds of the sweet Whose brows have darkened with many spring-weather.

years, Love never must sleep in security,

To feel again youth's hopes and fearsOr most calm and cold will his waking be. What they now might blush to confess,

Yet what made their spring-day's happiness!

ZAIDE watched her flower-built vessel glide, And as that light strain died away,

Mirrored beneath on the deep-blae tide; Again I swept the breathing strings:

Lovely and lonely, scented and bright, But now the notes I waked were sad

Like Hope's own bark, all bloom and light. As those the pining wood-dove sings.

There's not one breath of wind on the air,
The heavens are cloudless, the waters are

fair,
THE INDIAN BRIDE.

No dew is falling: yet woe to that shade!

The maiden is weeping, her lamp has decayed. She has lighted her lamp, and crowned it

with flowers, The sweetest that breathed of the summer- Hark to the ring of the cymetar!

hours;

It tells that the soldier returns from afar. Red and white roses linked in a band, Down from the mountains the warriors come: Like a maiden's blush, or a maiden's hand; Hark to the thunder-roll of the drum! Jasmines,-some like silver spray,

To the startling voice of the trumpet's call! Some like gold in the morning-ray;

To the cymbal's clash !-to the atabal! Fragrant stars,—and favourites they, The banners of crimson float in the sun, When Indian girls, on a festival-day, The warfare is ended, the battle is won. Braid their dark tresses: and over all weaves The mother bath taken the child from her The rosy-bower of lotus-leaves

breast, Canopy suiting the lamp-lighted bark, And raised it to look on its father's crest. Love's own flowers, and Love's own ark. The pathway is lined, as the bands pass

along,

With maidens, who meet them with flowers She watched the sky, the sunset grew dim;

and song She raised to CAMDEO her evening-hymn. And ZAIDE hath forgotten in Azin's arms The scent of the night-flowers came on the All her so false lamp's falser alarms.

air; And then, like a bird escaped from the snare, She flew to the river-(no moon was bright, This looks not a bridal,—the singers are But the stars and the fire-flies gave her

mute, their light;) Still is the mandore, and breathless the lute; She stood beneath the mangoes shade, Yet there the bride sits. Her dark hair is Half delighted and half afraid ;

bound, She trimmed the lamp, and breathed on each And the robe of her marriage floats white bloom,

on the ground. (Oh, that breath was sweeter than all their Oh! where is the lover, the bridegroom? perfume!)

oh! where? Threw spices and oil on the spire of flame, Look under yon black pall- the bridegroom Called thrice on her absent lover's name;

is there! And every pulse throbbed as she gave Yet the guests are all bidden, the feast is Her little boat to the Ganges' wave.

the same, And the bride plights her troth amid smoke

and 'mid flame! There are a thousand fanciful things They have raised the death-pyre of sweetLinked round the young heart's imaginings.

scented wood, In its first love-dream a leaf or a flower

And sprinkled it o'er with the sacred flood Js gifted then with a spell and a power: of the Ganges. The priests are assembled :A shade is an omen, a dream is a sign,

their song From which the maiden can well divine Sinks deep on the ear as they bear her along,

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That bride of the dead. Ay, is not this love?- | The laugh as glad, the step as light,
That one pure, wild feeling all others above: The song as sweet, the glance as bright;
Vowed to the living, and kept to the tomb ! As the laugh, step, and glance, and song,
The same in its blight as it was in its bloom. Did to young happiness belong.
With no tear in her eye, and no change in

her smile Young Zabe had come nigh to the funeral I turned me from the crowd, and reached

A spot which seemed unsought by allThe bells of the dancing-girls ceased from An alcove filled with shrubs and flowers,

their sound, But lighted by the distant hall, Silent they stood by that holiest mound; With one or two fair statues placed, From a crowd like the sea-waves there came Like deities of the sweet shrine.

not a breath. That human art should ever frame When the maiden stood by the place of death Such shapes so utterly divine! One moment was given the last she might A deep sigh breathed, I knew the tone;

spare!

My cheek blushed warın, my heart beat high; To the mother, who stood in her weeping One moment more I too was known,

there.

I sbrank before LORENZO's eye. She took the jewels that shone on her hand, He leant beside a pedestal: She took from her dark hair its flowery band, | The glorious brow, of Parian stone, And scattered them round. At once they raise of the Antinous, by his side, The hymn of rejoicing and love in her praise. Was not more noble than his own! A prayer is muttered, a blessing said,- They were alike: he had the same Her torch is raised !- she is by the dead. Thick-clustering curls the Roman woreShe has fired the pile! At once there came The fixed and melancholy eyeA mingled rush of smoke and of flame: The smile which passed like lightning o'er The wind swept it off. They saw the bride,- The curved lip. We did not speak, Laid by her Azim, side by side.

But the heart breathed upon each cheek; The breeze had spread the long curls of her We looked round with those wandering looks,

hair:

Which seek some object for their gaze, Like a banner of fire they played on the air. As if each other's glance was like The smoke and the flame gathered round The too much light of morning's rays.

as before,

I saw a youth beside me kneel; Then cleared ;-but the bride was seen no I heard my name in music steal;

more.

I felt my hand trembling in his ;
Another moment, and his kiss
Had burnt upon it; when, like thought,

So swift it past, my hand was thrown
I heard the words of praise, but not Away, as if in sudden pain.
The one voice that I paused to hear; LORENZO like a dream had flown!
And other sounds to me were like

We did not meet again :- he seemed
A tale poured in a sleeper's ear.

To shun each spot where I might be: Where was LORENZO ?-He had stood And, it was said, another claimed Spell-bound; but when I closed the lay, | The heart-more than the world to me! As if the charm ceased with the song, He darted hurriedly away. I masqued again, and wandered on

I loved him as young Genius loves, Through many a gay and gorgeous room; When its own wild and radiant heaven What with sweet waters, sweeter flowers, of starry thought burns with the light, The air was heavy with perfume,

The love, the life, by passion given. The harp was echoing the lute,

I loved him, too, as woman lovesSoft voices answered to the flute,

Reckless of sorrow, sin, or scorn: And, like rills in the noontide clear,

Life had no evil destiny Beneath the flame-hung gondolier,

That, with him, I could not have borne! Shone mirrors peopled with the shades I had been nurst in palaces; Of stately youths and radiant maids; | Yet earth had not a spot so drear, And on the ear in whispers came

That I should not have thought a home, Those winged words of soul and flame, In Paradise, had he been near! Breathed in the dark-eyed beauty's ear How sweet it would have been to dwell, By some young love-touched cavalier; Apart from all, in some green dell Or mixed at times some sound more gay, of sunny beauty, leaves and flowers; Of dance, or laugh, or roundelay.

| And nestling birds to sing the hours ! Oh, it is sickness at the heart

Our home, beneath some chesnut's shade, To bear in revelry its part,

But of the woven branches made:
And yet feel bursting :-not one thing Our vesper-hymn, the low, lone wail
Which has part in its suffering, -

The rose hears from the nightingale;

And waked at morning by the call

Methinks I should not thus repine, Of music from a waterfall.

If I had but one vow of thine. But not alone in drcams like this,

I could forgive inconstancy Breathed in the very hope of bliss,

To be one moment loved by thee! I loved: my love had been the same With me the hope of life is gone, In hushed despair, in open shame.

The sun of joy is set; I would have rather been a slave,

One wish my soul still dwells upon-
In tears, in bondage, by his side,

The wish it could forget.
Than shared in all, if wanting him, I would forget that look, that tone,
This world had power to give beside! My heart hath all too dearly known.
My heart was withered,--and my heart But who could ever yet efface
Had ever been the world to me;

From memory love's enduring trace ?
And love had been the first fond dream, All may revolt, all may complain-
Whose life was in reality.

But who is there may break the chain? I had sprung from my solitude

Farewell !—I shall not be to thee Like a young bird upon the wing

More than a passing thought ; To meet the arrow; 60 I met

But every time and place will be My poisoned shaft of suffering.

With thy remembrance fraught! And as that bird, with drooping crest Farewell! we have not often metAnd broken wing, will seek his nest,

We may not meet again; But seek in vain : so vain I sought

But on my heart the seal is set My pleasant home of song and thought. Love never sets in vain! There was one spell upon my brain, Fruitless as constancy may be, Upon my pencil, on my strain;

No chance, no change, may turn from thee But one face to my colours came;

One who has loved thee wildly, wellMy chords replied but to one name

But whose first love-vow breathed-farewell.
LORENZO !all seemed vowed to thee,
To passion, and to misery!
I had no interest in the things
That once had been like life, or light; And lays which only told of love
No tale was pleasant to mine ear,

In all its varied sorrowing,
No song was sweet, no picture bright. The echoes of the broken heart,
I was wild with my great distress,

Were all the songs I now could sing.
My lone, my utter hopelessness!

Legends of olden times in Greece, I would sit hours by the side

| When not a flower but had its tale; Of some clear rill, and mark it glide, When spirits haunted each green oak; Bearing my tears along, till night

When voices spoke in every gale;
Came with dark hours; and soft starlight When not a star shone in the sky
Watch o'er its shadowy beanty keeping, Without its own love-history.
Till I grew calm :-then I would take Amid its many songs was one
The lute, which had all day been sleeping That suited well with my sick mind.
Upon a cypress-tree, and wake

| I sang it when the breath of flowers The echoes of the midnight-air

Came sweet upon the midnight-wind. With words that love wrung from despair.

LEADES AND CYDIPPE.

Song.

Farewell !- we shall not meet again

As we are parting now!
I must my beating heart restrain-

Must veil niy burning brow!
Oh, I must coldly learn to hide

One thought, all else aboveMust call upon my woman's pride

To hide my woman's love! Check dreams I never may avow; Be free, be careless, cold as thou! Oh! those are tears of bitterness,

Wrung from the breaking heart,
When two, blest in their tenderness

Must learn to live-apart!
But what are they to that long sigh,

That cold and fixed despair,
That weight of wasting agony

It must be mine to bear?

She sat her in her twilight bower,
A temple formed of leaf and flower;
Rose and myrtle framed the roof,
To a shower of April proof;
And primroses, pale gems of spring,
Lay on the green turf glistening,
Close by the violet, whose breath
Is so sweet in a dewy wreath.
And oh, that myrtle! how green it grow!
With flowers as white as the pearls of dew
That shone beside: and the glorious rose
Lay like a beauty in warm repose,
Blushing in slumber. The air was bright
With the spirit and glow of its crimson light.

CYDIPPE had turned from her columped hall.
Where, the queen of the feast, she was

worshipped by all:

Where the vases were burning with spices | Ere doubts and cares, and jealous pain,

and flowers, Are flaws in the heart's diamond-chain :And the odorous waters were playing in Men might forget to think on Ileaven,

showers;

And yet have the sweet sin forgiven. And lamps were blazing—those lamps of

perfume Which shed such a charm of light over But ere the marriage-feast was spread,

the bloom

LEADEs said that he must brook Of woman, when Pleasure a spell has thrown To part awhile froni that best light, Over one night-hour and made it her own. Those eyes which fixed his every look: And the ruby wine-cup shone with a ray, Just press again his native shore, As the gems of the East had there melted away; And then he would that shore resign And the bards were singing those songs of fire, For her dear sake, who was to him That bright eyes and the goblet so well His household-god!—his spirit's shrine!

inspire;While she, the glory and pride of the hour, Sat silent and sad in her secret bower! He came not! Then the heart's decay

Wasted her silently away:

A sweet fount, which the mid-day-sun There is a grief that wastes the heart, Has all too hotly looked upon! Like mildew on a tulip's dyes,When hope, deferred but to depart, Loses its smiles, but keeps its sighs: It is most sad to watch the fall When love's bark, with its anchor gone, . Of autumn-leaves !—but worst of all Clings to a straw, and still trusts on. | It is to watch the flower of spring Oh, more than all !-methinks that love Faded in its fresh blossoming! Should pray that it might ever be

To see the once so clear blue orb Beside the burning shrine which had

Its summer-light and warmth forget; Its young beart'fond idolatry.

Darkening beneath its tearful lid, Oh, absence is the night of love!

Like a rain-beaten violet! Lovers are very children then!

To watch the banner-rone of health Fancying ten thousand feverish shapes, Pass from the cheek!-to mark how plain Until their light returns again.

Upon the wan and sunken brow, A look, a word, is then recalled,

| Become the wanderings of each vein! And thought upon until it wears,

The shadowy hand so thin, 50 pale! Wbat is, perhaps, a very shade,

The languid step!—the drooping head! The tone and aspect of our fears.

The long wreaths of neglected hair! And this is what was withering now

The lip whence red and smile are fled! The radiance of Cydippe's brow.

And having watched thur, day by day, She watched until her cheek grew pale; Light, life, and colour, pass away! The green wave bore no bounding sail: To see, at length, the glassy eye Her sight grew dim; 'mid the blue air Fix dull in dread mortality; No snowy dove came floating there,

Mark the last ray, catch the last breath, The dear scroll hid beneath his wing, Till the grave sets its signs of death! With plume and soft eye glistening, To seek again, in leafy dome, The nest of its accustomed home!

This was CYDIPPE's fate!—They laid Still far away, o'er land and seas,

The maiden underneath the shade
Lingered the faithless LEADES.

Of a green cypress, -and that hour
The tree was withered, and stood bare!

The spring brought leaves to other trees, She thought on the spring-days, when she But never other leaf grew there!

had been,

It stood, 'mid others flourishing, Lonely and lovely, a maiden-queen: A blighted, solitary thing. When passion to her was a storm at sea, Heard 'mid the green land's tranquillity. But a stately warrior came from afar; The summer-sun shone on that tree He bore on his bosom the glorious scar | When shot a vesse) o'er the sea So worshipped by woman–the death-seal of When sprang a warrior from the prow

war.

LEADES! by the stately brow.
And the maiden's heart was an easy prize, Forgotten toil, forgotten care,
When valour and faith were her sacrifice. All bis worn heart bas had to bear.

That heart is full! lle hears the sigh

That breathed Farewell! so tenderly. Methinks, might that sweet season last, If even then it was most sweet, In which our first love-dream is past, What will it be that now they meet?

Alas! alas ! Hope's fair deceit!

| While, from the window o'er my head, He spurred o’er land, has cut the wave, A dim and sickly gleam was shed To look but on Cydippe's grave.

From the young moon,-enough to show

That tomb and tablet lay below. |I leant upon one monument,

| 'Twas sacred to unhappy love: It has blossomed in beauty, that lone tree,

On it were carved a blighted pineLEADES' kiss restored its bloom;

A broken ring-a wounded dove. For wild he kissed the withered stem

And two or three brief words told all It grew upon Cydippe's tomb!

Her history who lay beneath :And there he dwelt. The hottest ray,

The flowers-at morn her bridal flowers, Still dew upon the branches lay

Formed, ere the eve, her funeral wreath. Like constant tears. The winter came; But still the green tree stood the same. And it was said, at evening's close, A sound of whispered music rose;

I could but envy her. I thought,

How sweet it must be thus to die!
That 'twas the trace of viewless feet
Made the flowers more than flowers sweet.

Your last looks watched, — your last sigh

caught, At length LEADES died. That day,

As life or heaven were in that sigh!
Bark and green foliage past away
From the lone tree,-again a thing

Passing in loveliness and light;

Your heart as pure,- your cheek as bright Of wonder and of perishing !

As the spring-rose, whose petals shut
By sun inscorched, by shower unwet;
Leaving behind a memory

Shrined in love's fond eternity.
One evening I had roamed beside
The winding of the Arno’s tide;
The sky was flooded with moonlight:

But I was wakened from this dream

By a burst of light-a gush of song-
Below were waters azure bright,
Palazzos with their marble-hallo,

A welcome, as the stately doors

Poured in a gay and gorgeous throng. Green gardens, silver waterfalls, And orange-groves and citron-shades,

I could see all from where I stood. And cavaliers and dark-eyed maids;

And first I looked upon the bride; Sweet voices singing, echoes sent

She was a pale and lovely girl; From many a rich-toned instrument.

But, oh God! who was by her side?I could not bear this loveliness!

LORENZO !-No, I did not speak;

My heart beat high, but could not break. It was on such a night as this That love had lighted up my dream

I shrieked not, wept not: but stood there

Motionless in my still despair; Of long despair and short-lived bliss.

As I were forced by some strange thrall, I sought the city; wandering on, Unconscious where my steps might be:

To bear with and to look on all,My heart was deep in other thoughts ;

I heard the bymn, I heard the vow; All places were alike to me:-

(Mine ear throbs with them even now!) At length I stopped beneath the walls

I saw the young bride's timid cheek Of San Mark's old cathedral balls.

Blushing beneath her silver veil. I entered :-and, beneath the roof,

I saw LORENZO kneel! Methought Ten thousand wax-lights burnt on high;

('Twas but a thought!) he too was pale.

But when it ended, and his lip
And incense on the censers fumed
As for some great solemnity.

| Was prest to hers-I saw no more! The white-robed choristers were singing;

My heart grew cold, - my brain swam Their cheerful peal the bells were ringing:

round, Then deep-voiced music floated round,

I sank upon the cloister-floor! As the far arches sent forth sound

I lived, if that may be called life, The stately organ:-and fair bands

From which each charm of life has fled Of young girls strewed, with lavish hands,

Happiness gone, with hope and love, Violets o'er the mosaic floor;

18. | In all but breath already dead. And sang while scattering the sweet store.

Rust gathered on the silent chords

Of my neglected lyre,the breeze I turned me to a distant aisle

Was now its mistress: music brought Where but a feeble glimmering came For me too bitter memories! (Itself in darkness) of the smile

The ivy darkened o'er my bower; Sent from the tapers' perfumed flame; | Around, the weeds choked every flower And coloured as cach pictured pane I pleased me in this desolateness, Shed o'er the blaze its crimson stajn: | As each thing bore my fate's impress.

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