Fierce in their beauty, with that flashing | And Love is like the lightning in its might. Winging where least bethought its fiery glance Which dazzles as it were a flying lance, Curls of that tint o'er which a sunbeam flings flight, Love, passionate Love, hast thou not thy In rich return'd affection, which doth make Two days he journey'd, till he reach'd a Together they had fled by sea and land, wood, A very dwelling-place of solitude; Were fill'd with linnets, singing their sweet And dreaming, lover-like with open eye, And wing their way with their dear loves And the youth led her to Italia's strand, Mused EGLAMOUR, in silence, on the art Which even to absence pleasure could impart; Ever before the eyes the one loved face, Aiding the memory with its present grace. Even as he mused on this, he heard a cry, Beautiful art, in pity surely sent A bitter shriek for mercy pleading high. To soothe the banish'd lover's discontent! He rush'd and saw two combatants with one Then pray'd they too his history and name, Whose strength seemed in th' unequal battle | Wherefore and whence their gallant cham done; pion came? And praying, weeping, knelt a maiden near, And told he of his vow, and of the maid Whose piercing voice it was had reach'd his | For whose sake each high venture was ear. His lance flies, and one felon bites the ground; Just one embrace, and they are at his feet. But more on the fair dame's great loveliness; And a small fountain o'er the wild flowers A natural lute, plaining amid the grove, In unreal beauty on his sleeping thought. essay'd. With earnest tone the painter said his way 'T was night, but night which the imperial moon, Regal in her full beauty, turn'd to noon, But still the noon of midnight; though the ray Was clear and bright, it was not that of day; When EGLAMOUR came to a gate: 't was roll'd On its vast hinges back; his eyes behold: He who counts his life but light, Of moonlight, with the floating isles of shade The radiance seem'd to have a favourite rest, Was as a cloud passing before the stars. EGLAMOUR Set his lance; scarcely it jars The mail'd rings of the hauberk: down he bent In time to shun the one his foeman sent; Wasting its strength it reach'd the lake beside, And like a fallen tree dash'd in the tide. Their swords are out like lightning; one whose stroke Is as the bolt that fells the forest-oak, His shield is dash'd in pieces: but just then, him. He went on bended knee: "Now, virgin-queen, Morning's last blush was fading from the sky He enter'd victor; and around him drew The multitude, who could not sate their view Gazing upon him who the black knight slew, And yet so young, so fair. Though somewhat now His cheek had lost its custom'd summerglow, With paleness from his wound, yet was not one Could say his peer they e'er had look'd upon. He found a stately church, and, bending there, His spoil devoted,-pray'd his lover-prayer; When, rising from his knee, he saw a train With cross and chaunt enter the holy fane, Led by a man, though aged, of stately air, With purple robe, though head and feet were bare. He ask'd the cause, and he was told, the king Thus sought some mercy on his suffering; For that he had, in causeless jealousy, Exposed his wife and child to the rude sea. Hope thrill'd the bosom of our ocean-knight, Anxious he staid and watch'd the sacred rite; He saw the old man kneel before the shrine Where was the image of the Maid Divine. He pray'd to her that Heaven, now reconciled, Would pardon his great fault, and give his child Back to his arms. With that the stranger set Full in his view the cloak and carkanet. One moment gazed the king upon his face; The next, and they are lock'd in fast embrace, While from their mutual eyes the warm tears run. The Virgin Mother hath restored his son. Hasty thanksgivings, anxious words were said; Joy for the living, sorrow for the dead, Mingled together. Oh! for those sweet ties By which blood links affection's sympathies; Out on the heartless creed which nulls the claim Upon the heart of kindred, birth, and name! Together seek they now the regal hall So long unknown to aught of festival; Once fill'd with mourning, as now fill'd with joy, While thousands gather round the princely boy. Open'd the king his treasury, and gave His bounty forth free as the boundless wave; Feasting was spread, the dance, the masque, the song, Whatever might to revelry belong : Love to take prisoner, envy to disarmı. There for the night like bosom-friends to dwell, To kiss the ring of his sweet Isabelle. Ah! shame and sign of this our mortal state, The fatal day is come, the pile is raised, As eager for its victim fierce it blazed. They led her forth: her brow and neck were bare, Save for the silken veil of unbound hair; Such small white hands that match'd her On her pale cheek there lay a tear, but one But, hark! there comes a distant rushing sound, The crowd gives way before a courser's bound. She turns her face; her scarce raised eyes behold The unhelm'd head shine with its curls of gold. Sir AMICE knew his rival. What! so slight, So young, would he dare cope with him in fight? Their blades flash out, but only one is red; Rolls on the ground the traitor's felon head, The dust around with his life-blood is dyed, And EGLAMOUR darts to his maiden's side. Her lip is red, her eyes with tears are dim. But she is safe, and she is saved by him. And the pair at the holy altar are kneeling, Unconsciously; as if prayers had been there, ing, Sir AMICE rode around the weeping ring: Once, twice, the trumpet challenges: all fear To meet th' accuser's never erring spear. Her lip grows ghastly pale, closes her eye, It cannot meet its last of agony. They are contrasts each: the broider'd gold And on his brow and on his cheek And his beauty, it strikes on the heart with awe: And the maiden, hers is no smile to brook In meekness the storm of an angry look; For her forehead is proud, and her eyes' deep blue Hath at times a spirit flashing through, That speaks of feelings too fierce to dwell In, woman, thy heart's sweet citadel. He placed on the golden nuptial band; But the ring hath cut the maiden's hand, And the blood dripp'd red on the altar-stone,Never that stain from the floor hath gone. Away he flung, with a curse, that ring, And replaced it with one more glittering; And AGATHA smiled, as pleased to bear Gems that a queen might be joyed to wear. The priest urged that ring had been bless'd in vain, And the Count and the maiden left the fane. Change and time take together their flight, AGATHA wanders alone by night. Has change so soon over passion pass'd So soon has the veil from love been cast? The day at the chase, and the night at the wine, VIVALDI has left his young bride to pine, To pine if she would: but not hers the eye To droop in its weeping, the lip but to sigh; There is rage in that eye, on that lip there is pride, As it scorn'd the sorrow its scorn could not hide. Oh! frail are the many links that are In the chain of affection's tender care, And light at first: but, alas! few know How much watching is ask'd to keep them so. The will that yields, and the winning smile That soothes till anger forgets the while; Words whose music never yet caught The discord of one angry thought; And all those nameless cares that prove Their heaviest labour work of love. Ay, these are spells to keep the heart, When passion's thousand dreams depart: But none of this sweet witchcraft came To fan the young Count's waning flame. Passionate as his own wild skies, Rank and wealth seem'd light sacrifice To his German maiden's lowly state; Chose he as chooses the wood-dove his mate: But when his paradise was won, It was not what his fancy had fed upon. Alas! when angry words begin Their entrance on the lip to win; When sullen eye and flushing cheek Her lord is gone to some hunter's rite, Where the red wine-cup passes night; What now hath AGATHA at home? And she has left it lone to roam. But evil thoughts are on her, now Sweeps the dark shadow o'er her brow. What doth she forth at such an hour, When hath the fallen fiend his power? On through the black pine-forest she pass'd: Drearily moan'd around her the blast; Hot and heavy the thick boughs grew, Till even with pain her breath she drew; Flicker'd the moonlight over her path, As the clouds had gather'd together in wrath, Like the vague hopes whose false lures give birth. To one half the miseries haunting our earth. Safety and solace in danger and fear? Closed the huge and shapeless crags around, Had written its worst of lessons there; Dreary it is the path to trace, Step by step, of sin's wild race. Pass we on to a lovely night, Shone the sea with silver moonlight; Who would ever dream, but such time Must be sacred from human crime? I see two silent figures glide Moodily by the radiant tide; I see one fall,-in AGATHA's breast VIVALDI's dagger had found a nest; I hear a heavy plunge, the flood, Oh! 't is crimson'd with human blood; I see a meteor shining fair, It is the sweep of golden hair; Float the waters from the shore, The waves roll on, I see no more. Long years have pass'd, -VIVALDI's name Is foremost in the lists of fame. Are there, then, spirits that may steep Conscience in such a charmed sleep? No: haggard eye and forehead pale Tell sadly of a different tale; And some said, not his wealth or power Could bribe them share his midnight-hour. 'Tis morn, and shout and trumpet's call Proclaim that it is festival; The doge VIVALDI weds to-day The galleys paused,-the ring he took. He heard the murmur; none then scann'd, 'T was strange, for there they found the ring, Some said it was fit gift to bring, And lay upon the Virgin's shrine, Of human vanity a sign. And there, as if by miracle, One drop of blood beneath it fell; Lost the bright ring its ruby hue. And, pale as twilight's earliest dew, There still may curious eye behold The relic. But my tale is told. Now welcome, fair MARGUERITE, to thee, Of her tresses, parted in simple braid: Her cheek was pale, for its blush soon pass'd,— And sang she in sweet but mournful tone, THE QUEEN OF CYPRUS. THE PROVENÇAL LADY'S LAY, A SUMMER-ISLE, which seem'd to be A very favourite with the sea, |