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She stared and langh'l alond like one whose | Leoni-(for this tale had ne're bere

brain

By her who knew alone her brother Is shock'd o' the sudden: then she looked Leoni, timorous lest the blood be

again:

Should rise in vengeance from its som And then she wept. At last-but wherefore And come abroad and elaim a repe

ask

Or, haplier, fancying that the lied How-tremblingly, she did her bloody task? That Guido sailed and would retur She took the heart and washed it in the wave, Was disbelieved and not forgot byl And bore it home and placed it 'midst wild Or that she had discovered where

flowers,

Before his limbs had vithered qui Such as he loved to scent in happier hours, Or- but whate'er it was that mered And 'neath the basil-tree she scoop'd a grave, He dug and found the heart, anze And therein placed the heart, to common earth | For she, to keep it unlike the com Doom'd, like a thing that owned not human Had wound it round with many a wa

birth.

And bathed it with a curieus mrdal
He found it where, like a dark soul

And cursed and cast it to the vara And the tree grew and grew, and brighter

green Shot from its boughs than she before had That day the green tree wither'd ands

seen,

The solace of her mind was stol. 2 And softly with its leaves the west-winds And then she felt that she was cs 1

played :

In the wide world; so to the dista And she did water it with her tears, and talk And caverned haunts, and where is As to a living spirit, and in the shade

tain-floods Would place it gently when the sun did walk Thunder unto the silent air, she fra High in his hot meridian, and she prest She flew away, and left the world The boughs (which fell like balm) upon her And all that man doth worship, in

breast.

AH that around the beating heart is 1 She never plucked a leaf nor let a weed Yet, as she looked farewell to him Within the shadow of its branches fecd, One quivering drop arose and time But nursed it as a mother guards her child,

sight,
And kept it shelter'd from the winter wild: The last that frenzy gave to peor &
And so it grew beyond its fellows, and And then into the dreary wildernes
Tow'red in unnatural beauty, waving there she went alone, a craz'd, heart-brok
And whispering to the moon and midnight-air, And in the solitude she found a ar
And stood a thing unequalled in the land.

Half hidden by the wild-brier bles
Whereby a black and solitary pine.
Struck by the fiery thunder, steed, ei

of pow'r and death a token and a ! But never more along her favorite vale,

And there she lived for months . Or by the village-paths or hurrying river, Or on the beach, when clouds are seen to sail

not heed

The seasons or their change, and så. Across the setting sun, while waters quiver And breezes rise to bid the day farewell

feed No more in any bower she once loved well,

On roots and berries, as the create Whose sound or silence to the ear could tell

Which had in woods been born and me Aught of the passionate past, the pale girl

trod:

Once, and once only was she sern, a Yet Love himself, like an invisible god, The chamois-hunter started from a Haunted each spot, and with his own rich And stopped to look a moment en b

breath

And could not turn him to his sperest Filled the wide air with music sweet and soft, Thin Famine sate upon her holler Such as might calm or conquer Death, (if| And settled Madness in her glaurde

Death

| Told of a young heart wrong'd are Could e'er be conquered) and from aloft

to break: Sad airs, like those she heard in infancy, And, as the spent winds waver err het Fell on her soul and filled her eyes with She to herself a few wild words dod

tears;

And sung a strange and broken mela And recollections came of happier years And ever as she sung she strewd then Thronging from all the cells of memory. With yellow leaves that perish'd er All her heart's follies she remember'd then;

time, How coy and rash-how scornful she had And well their fluttering fall did so been,

chime And then how tender, and how coy again, with the low music of her song:--thet And ever shifting of the burning scene C ame like a dirge filling the air arany That sorrow stamps upon the helpless brain. And this (or like) the melancholy mr

is a spirit stands by me: es by night, it comes by day, hen the glittering lightnings play, k is pale and sad to see.

to whom my brother gave unconsecrated grave.

| Then curious thoughts, and floating things
Saved from the deluge of the brain,
Pass with perplexity and pain;
Then darkness, deaths, and murderings,
And then into my den I hie,
And vainly, vainly pray to die.

him when the breezes moan, when the rattling thunders talk, At last she wandered home. She came by him muttering by me walk,

night; Il me I am quite alone.

The pale moon shot a sad and troubled light he dæmon of the dead,

Amidst the mighty clouds that moved along. I that's good hath upwards fled.

The moaning winds of Autumn sang their

song, 1 dæmon which the wave

And shook the red leaves from the forest-trees; cast abroad to scare my soul;

And subterranean voices spoke. The seas herefore did the waters roll

Did rise and fall, and then that fearful swell y o'er his hasty grave?

Came silently which seamen know so well; the sad prayer I uttered then

And all was like an Omen. Isabel urd, or is it due again?

Passed to the room where, in old times, she

lay,

And there they found her at the break of day; not enough that I am here,

Her look was smiling, but she never spoke struck and cold and famished,

Or motioned, even to say- her heart was an remove above the dead,

broke: nust my soul be wild with fear

| Yet, in the quiet of her shining cye rrow, now that hope is gone

Lay death, and something wcare wont to deem I am lost and left alone ?

(When we discourse of some such mournful

theme) told me, when my days were young, Beyond the look of mere mortality. I was fair and born to reign, hands and hearts were my domain, She died-yet scarcely can we call it Death witchery dwelt upon my tongne :

When Heaven 60 softly draws the parting now-but what is this to me

breath; k on the rock of memory?

She was translated to a finer sphere,

For wbat could match ormake herhappy herc? yet at times I dream-aye yet, She died, and with her gentle death there came anishid scenes and golden hours, Sorrow and ruin, and Leoni fell music heard in orange-bowers,

A victim to that unconsuming flame, madness cannot quite forget)

That burns and revels on the heart of man: love, breathed once to me alone, Remorse. This is the tale of Isabel, ghs, and many a melting tone.

And of her love the young Italian.

DIEGO DE MONT I L L A.

A SPANISH TAL E.

octave rhyme (Ital. ottara rima) But, for the octave measure-it should slip

delightful measure made of ease Like running water o'er its pebbled bed, "n'd up with epigram, and, tho' it seem a Making sweet music, (here I own I dip se that a man may scribble when he In Shakspeare for a simile) and be fed please,

Freely, and then the poet must not nip omewhat difficult : indeed, I deem a The line, nor square the sentence, nor be nza like Spenser's will be found to teaze

led s, or heroic couplet; there, the pen By old, approved, poetic canons; no, y touch and polish and touch up again. But give his words the slip, and let 'em go.

I mean to give in this same pleasant rhyme And I will lie pillow'd upon her hem Some short. account of Don Diego de And drink the music of her words, and Montilla, quite an hero in bis 'tiine,

(When sleep shall bring at lasta 1 Who conquer'd captain Cupid, as you'll see:

rest) My tale is sad in part, in part sublime, Ilaply of many a high immorta) 11 With here and there a smack of pleasantry: And, in the lightning of her benery As to the moral, why--'tis under cover; My soul may catch perhaps one thri I leave it for the reader to discover. From her dark eyes-but, ah! year

day

Yenymphs and deities now bath pase “Arms and”_but I forget-Love and the man I sing, tbat's Virgil's method of beginning, Alter'd a little just to suit my plan;

Oh! ye delicious fables, where the I own the thing, and so there's not much. And woods were peopled and the sinning:

things Most writers steal a good thing when they So lovely-why, ah! why has sriese

Scatter'd afor your sweet imagia

can, And when 'tis safely got 'tis worth the win- / Why sear’d the delicate flow'rs that ning.

gave, The worst of 't is we now and then detect | And dash'd the diamond-drops from 'em,

wings? Before they ever dream that we suspect 'em. | Alas! the spirit languishes, and in

At mercy of life's dull realities.

Love and the man I sing—and yet 'twould be no more by well or bubbling fourtal As well methinks, nay perhaps it may be The Naiad dries her tresses in the

better,

Nor Jonger may we in the branches Particularly for a young bard like me,

| The Dryad talk, nor see the read Not to stick quite so closely to the letter; | Along the niountains, nor the Nered One's verse as well as fancy should be free, Her way amongst the waves when || The last indeed hates every sort of fetter : Shadow nor shape remains-Br So, as each man may call what maid he chures

prating By way of Muse, I'll e'en call all the Muses. While th'reader and Diego, both, an

write, ani

Hearken! ye gentle sisters (eight or nine), | Diego was a knight, but more entert Who haunted in old time Parnassus' hill, I Than kpights were then, or are If that so worshipp'd mount be yet divine,

countree. And ye there meet your mighty master still, I younghrave-lat

II, Young-brave-(at least he'd bei And still for poet-heads the laurel twine,

been fright And dip your pitchers in the famous rill,

Well-bred, and gentle, as a knighter l'll trouble ye for a leaf or two; tho’ first 1

He play'd on the guitar, could 'll just try the jug, for 'faith, I'm somewhat

thirsty.
Had seen some parts of Spain, and

the sea.
And now, great lyrist, fain would I behold That sort of man one hopes to me
Thee in the olor Lord od Life fdaur | And the most amorous gentleman 1
Sun-bright Apollo! with thy locks of gold,
As thou art wont to tread heav'n's starry way,
Not marbled and reduced to human mould,

M' There was a languor in bis Spanish As thou didst stand, one of a rich array,

Tbat almost touched on softness: (Yet even there distinct and first of all)

been In the vast palace of the conquered Gaul.

Instead of a man a woman, by the
His languish had done honour to a
For there was in it that regality

Of look, which says the owner maste But, if thy radiant forehead be too bright

Something in former days, whatever For me to look upon with earthly eye, And his hair curl'd (or was curi Ah! send some little nymph of air or light,

brow Whom love has touch'd and taken to the sky, And bid her, till the inspiration quite O'erwhelms, shower kisses on my lip, and The Don Diego (mind this, Dan De

sigh

Pronounce it rightly) fell in love." Such songs (and I will list to her for hours) | The daughter of a widow from To. As once were sung in amaranthine bowers. TWhose husband fell with honour

te up the lord of this same old virago, The first proceeds too from unbandsome hostrait returned to Spain, and went to law

dealing, ith the next heir, but wisely first bespoke And sudden leaves a paleness, if no more, he smartest counsel, for that's half the joke. Perhaps a frown. The last is born of

pleasure,

Or springs from praise, and comes and goes he lady won her cause; then suitors came

at leisure. o woo her and her daughters: she had two: urelia was the elder, and her name, race, wit, and so forth, thro' the country

His mistress-- Shall I paint Aurelia's frown? flew Her proud and regal look, her quick black

eye, uicker than scandal: young Aurora's famehe had no fame, poor girl, and yet she grew

Thro' whose dark fringes such a beam shot

down
nd brighten'd into beauty, as a flower
hakes off the rain that dims its earlier hour.

On men (yet touch'd at times with witchery)
As when Jove's planet, distant and alone,

Flashes from out the sultry suminer-sky urelia had some wit, and, as I've said,

And bids each Jenser star give up its place.

|--This was exactly Miss Aurelia's case. race, and Diego lov'd her like his life; ffer'd to give her half his board and bed, 1 short he woo'd the damsel for a wife, at sbe turned to the right about her head

| Her younger sister—she was meek and pale nd gave some tokens of (not love but)

And scarcely noticed when Aurelia near; strife;

None e'en had tbought it worth their while nd bade him 'wait, be silent, and forget

to rail uch nonsense. He heard this, and loved

On her, and in her young unpractis'd ear her yet.

| Those soft bewitching tones that seldom fait

To win had ne'er been utter'd. She did steer

| Her gentle course along life's dangerous sea le lov'd: 0 how he lov'd! His heart was full For sixteen pleasant summers quietly. of that immortal passion, which alone Tolds thro' the wide world its eternal rule upreme, and with its deep seducing tone Her shape was delicate: her motion free Vinneth the wise, the young, the beautiful, As his, that charter'd libertine, the air, 'he brave, and all, to bow before its throne; Or Dinn's, when upon the mountains she 'he enn and soul of life, the end, the gain; Follow'd the fawn: her bosom full and fair; 'be rich requital for an age of pain. It seem'd as Love himself inight thither flee

| For shelter when his brow was parched with

care: Beneath the power of that passion he

And her white arm, like marble turna by hrank like a Jeaf of summer, which the sun

grace, las scorch'd ere yet in green maturity- Was of good length, and in its proper place. Te was a desperate gamester who ne'er won

single stake, but saw the chances flee, ind still hept throwing on till-all was done:

Her hair was black as night: her eyes were Irore on which the worm had rioted

blue: ill this was what his friends and others said.

Her mouth was small, and from its opening

stream'd Ind yet, but one short year ago, his cheek |

Notes like the silver voice of young Carew, Dimpled and shone,and o'er it health had flung

Of whose sweet music I have often dream'd,

8 And then (as vonths like me are wont to do colour, like the autumn-evening's streak, Vhich flushing through the darker olive,

'Fancying that every other damsel scream'd,

Started to hear Miss Carew again. I sit

clung ike a rich blush upon him. In a freak

In general (to be near her) in the pit. Men will I'm told,or when their pride is stung, Call up that deepening crimson in girls'

Let lovers who have croaking Delias swear

features: some people swear it makes 'em different

Their tones are just in tune, or just the thing:

Let lying poeta puff, in couplets fair, creatures.

Pan's reedy pipe-Apollo's golden string-

How Memnon sung, and made the Thebane For me, I always have an awkward feeling

stare When that vermilion tide comes flooding o'er When he saw Titan's daughter scattering The brows and breast, instead of gently Flowers --'tis all stuff,reader: what say you

stealing

Give me (but p’rhaps I'm partial) Mis On, and then fading till 'tis scen no more;

Carew.

Oh! witching as the nightingale first heard At last, Aurora ar him: she hain Beneath Arabian heavens, wooing the rose, Hiin oft when scarcely tenisz frak Is she, or thrush new-mated, or the bird She bowed, and then, as he had That calls the morning as the last star goes Resum'd her stady. Vez, kis alan Down in the west, and out of sight is heardShe mark'd, and troabled peector Awhile, then seems in silence to repose And trembling limbs whid Loret i Somewbere beyond the clouds, in the full

ebook: glory

His faint and melancholy smile that sia Of the new-risen Sun.-Now to my story: So seldom bat so beautifal was a

The Don was constant at his Lady's court, She look'd and look d again: skem
For every day at twelve she held a levee,
Where song, joke, music, and all sorts of And yet she tried, her eyes & the
sport

avay; Went 'round, so that the hours were seldom And, as it were from pity, strate ta

heavy; .

The cause of all his iil, and & Aurelia talk'd, (and talking was her forte) (While passion in her heart began Or quizzed her female friends, and then the To soothe his sadness, and to makes

bevy

Would smile and talk of Love, a tu Of coxcombe vow'd such wit was never

matter: heard :

A simpleton! as if 'twould male his For this one gave his honour, one his word.

her,

But sorrow nerer lasts; he most bend Things went on pretty smoothly till the Don

| Had he not some way sought and found Declar'd his love; but, when he bought to

For, howsoe'er we try the fact te ho marry,

Love is but meagre diet sauced with He found she would not give up all for one:

'Tis feasting too much like the Barr What! Counts and Cavaliers and all, and

| Who thought to pass off his imisidy carry

Kid, nats, et cetera, on his guest. and Herself demurely—'twas not to be done:

Got his ears box'd for lying, as we la She said she lov'd him not, and bade him

tarry, (As I have told) on which he did begin

Diego, when he found all hope was! To grow and soon grew tolerably thin.

Determin'd like a prudent man to his
At first he tore his hair (it was his ex
But, then, his mother- she began to 1

| And asked him, would he leave her He gazed and watch'd, and watch'd and

" (She who had watch'd and lov'd him! gazed upon her,

to die, And look’d, like Suckling's lover, thin and

And her gray hairs to the grave with pale;

bring? But how should looking thin have ever won He said he could not think of such a When looking well (as he says) didn't

prevail ? It did not answer with our Spanish Donna. He said : Dear Mother, on my banaa Nor can it save in poem, play, or tale;

In its new meaning) from Madrid li In fact there's not much interesting in 't

And if I think more of her I'll be able Unless it be in hotpress and good print.

Yet, as he spoke, a settled look of w
Declared she never could be quite for
Whom in his young heart he had werk

$0; Yet, gentles, would I not be thought to And the mute eloquence of his sich!

jeer

Told all his thoughts, for grief de The Love that flourishes when young hearts

beguile. are given, And pledged in bope and fullest faith sincere, Nor would I jest when such fond hearts are The knave (it is his study) and the $

riven.

(For he has glimpses) and the madma I only mean that love ('tis pretty clear) Deceive; they do by accident or rule. When 't rises without hope is merely leaven, And keep their look of canning from the And that boys suffering 'neath the lash of But grief is lesson'd in an honest ache

Cupid,

And o'er the face spreads out, in sad Are sometimes even more than sad; they're Its pallid colours or its hectic fush:

stupid.

| It ought to put the others to the bar

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