XL.

But thee that breath had touched not; thee, nor him,

The true in all things found!-and thou wert blest

Even then, that no remembered change could dim

The perfect image of affection, pressed
Like armour to thy bosom !-thou hadst kept
Watch by that brother's couch of pain, and wept,
Thy sweet face covering with thy robe, when

rest

Fled from the sufferer; thou hadst bound his faith Unto thy soul-one light, one hope ye chose-one death.

XLI.

So didst thou pass on brightly!—but for her, Next in that path, how may her doom be spoken!

-All merciful! to think that such things were, And are, and seen by men with hearts unbroken!

To think of that fair girl, whose path had been So strewed with rose-leaves, all one fairy scene! And whose quick glance came ever as a token Of hope to drooping thought, and her glad voice As a free bird's in spring, that makes the woods rejoice!

XLII.

And she to die!--she loved the laughing earth With such deep joy in its fresh leaves and flowers!

-Was not her smile even as the sudden birth Of a young rainbow, colouring vernal showers? Yes! but to meet her fawn-like step, to hear The gushes of wild song, so silvery clear, Which, oft unconsciously, in happier hours Flowed from her lips, was to forget the sway Of Time and Death below,-blight, shadow, dull decay!

XLIII.

Could this change be?-the hour, the scene, where last

I saw that form, came floating o'er my mind: -A golden vintage-eve;-the heats were passed,

And, in the freshness of the fanning wind,
Her father sat, where gleamed the first faint
Through the lime-boughs; and with her light
guitar,

She, on the greensward at his feet reclined,

In his calm face laughed up; some shepherd-lay Singing, as childhood sings on the lone hills at play.

XLVIII.

Hear its voice, hear!-a cry goes up to thee, From the stained sod;-make thou thy judg ment known

On him, the shedder!-let his portion be The fear that walks at midnight-give the moan In the wind haunting him a power to say "Where is thy brother?"—and the stars a ray To search and shake his spirit, when alone With the dread splendour of their burning eyes! -So shall earth own thy will-mercy, not sacrifice!

XLIX.

Sounds of triumphant praise!-the mass was

sung

-Voices that die not might have poured such

strains!

Through Salem's towers might that proud chant have rung,

When the Most High, on Syria's palmy plains,
Had quelled her foes!-so full it swept, a sea
Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free!
Oft when the winds, as through resounding
fanes,

Hath filled the choral forests with its power, Some deep tone brings me back the music of that hour.

L.

It died away;-the incense-cloud was driven Before the breeze-the words of doom were said;

And the sun faded mournfully from heaven,
-He faded mournfully! and dimly red,
Parting in clouds from those that looked their

last,

And sighed—“ Farewell, thou sun!"-Eve glowed and passedNight-midnight and the moon-came forth and shed

Sleep, even as dew, on glen, wood, peopled spot

Save one-a place of death-and there men slumbered not.

LI.

Twas not within the city(7)-—but in sight
Of the snow-crowned sierras, freely sweeping,
With many an eagle's eyrie on the height,
And hunter's cabin, by the torrent peeping
Far off: and vales between, and vineyards lay,
With sound and gleam of waters on their way,
And chesnut-woods, that girt the happy sleep-
ing,

In many a peasant-home!--the midnight sky Brought softly that rich world round those who came to die.

LII.

The darkly-glorious midnight sky of Spain, Burning with stars!-What had the torches' glare

To do beneath that Temple, and profane
Its holy radiance?-By their wavering flare,
I saw beside the pyres-I see thee now,
O bright Theresa! with thy lifted brow,
And thy clasped hands, and dark eyes filled with
prayer!

And thee, and Inez! bowing thy fair head,
And mantling up thy face, all colourless with
dread!
LIII.

And Alvar, Alvar!-I beheld thee too,

Pale, steadfast, kingly; till thy clear glance fell On that young sister; then perturbed it grew, And all thy labouring bosom seemed to swell With painful tenderness. Why came I there, That troubled image of my friend to bear Thence, for my after-years?—a thing to dwell In my heart's core, and on the darkness rise, Disquieting my dreams with its bright mournful eyes?

He wooed her back to life.-"Sweet Inez, live!
My blessed Inez !-visions have beguil'd
Thy heart-abjure them!-thou wert formed to
give,

And to find joy; and hath not sunshine smiled Around thee ever? Leave me not, mine own! Or earth will grow too dark!-for thee alone, Thee have I loved, thou gentlest! from a child, And borne thine image with me o'er the sea, Thy soft voice in my soul!-Speak-Oh! yet live for me!"

LXI.

She look'd up wildly; there were anxious eyes Waiting that look-sad eyes of troubled thought, Alvar's-Theresa's!-Did her childhood rise, With all its pure and home-affections fraught,

In the brief glance ?-She clasped her handsthe strife

Of love, faith, fear, and that vain dream of life Within her woman's breast so deeply wrough It seemed as if a reed so slight and weak Must, in the rending storm not quiver onlybreak!

LXII.

And thus it was-the young cheek flushed and faded,

As the swift blood in currents came and went, And hues of death the marble brow o'ershaded And the sunk eye a watery lustre sent Through its white fluttering lids. Then trem blings passed

O'er the frail form, that shook it, as the blast Shakes the sere leaf, until the spirit rent Its way to peace-the fearful way unknownPale in love's arms she lay-she-what had loved was gone!

LXIII.

Joy for thee, trembler!-thou redeemed one, joy Young dove set free! earth, ashes, soulless clay Remained for baffled vengeance to destroy; -Thy chain was riven!-nor hadst thou cas

away

Thy hope in thy last hour!-though love was there

Striving to wring thy troubled soul from prayer And life seemed robed in beautiful array, Too fair to leave!-but this might be forgiven, Thou wert so richly crowned with precious gifts of Heaven!

LXIV.

But wo for him who felt the heart grow still, Which, with its weight of agony, had lain Breaking on his!-Scarce could the mortal chill Of the hushed bosom, ne'er to heave again, And all the silence curdling round the eye, Bring home the stern belief that she could die, That she indeed could die!-for wild and vain As hope might be—his soul had hoped—'twas o'er

Slowly his failing arms dropped from the form they bore.

LXV.

They forced him from that spot.-It might be well,

That the fierce, reckless words by anguish wrung From his torn breast, all aimless as they fell, Like spray-drops from the strife of torrents flung, Were marked as guilt.-There are, who note

these things

Against the smitten heart; its breaking strings

They touch with fire, thought's graven page, the

roll

Stamped with past years-and lo! it shrivels as a scroll!

LXXV.

And this was of such hours!--the sudden flow Of my soul's tide seemed whelming me; the glare

Of the red flames, yet rocking to and fro, Scorched up my heart with breathless thirst for air,

And solitude and freedom. It had been Well with me then, in some vast desert scene, To pour my voice out, for the winds to bear On with them, wildly questioning the sky, Fiercely th' untroubled stars, of man's dim destiny.

LXXVI.

I would have called, adjuring the dark cloud; To the most ancient Heavens I would have said -"Speak to me! show me truth!"(8)—through night aloud

I would have cried to him, the newly dead, "Come back! and show me truth!"-My spirit seemed

Gasping for some free burst, its darkness teemed With such pent storms of thought!-again I fled

I fled, a refuge from man's face to gain, Scarce conscious when I paused, entering a lonely fane.

LXXVII.

A mighty minster, dim, and proud, and vast! Silence was round the sleepers, whom its floor Shut in the grave; a shadow of the past, A memory of the sainted steps that wore Erewhile its gorgeous pavement, seemed to brood Like mist upon the stately solitude, A halo of sad fame to mantle o'er Its white sepulchral forms of mail-clad men, And all was hushed as night in some deep Alpine glen.

LXXVIII.

More hushed, far more!-for there the wind sweeps by,

Or the woods tremble to the streams' loud play!
Here a strange echo made my very sigh
Seem for the place too much a sound of day!
Too much my footstep broke the moonlight,
fading,

Yet arch through arch in one soft flow pervading;

And I stood still:-prayer, chant, had died away, Yet past me floated a funereal breath

Of incense.-I stood still-as before God and death!|