He was not long remembered; for when time,

Whose days were years, had passed, and fate again
Led him to gaze a moment on the face

Of her he loved so well, her eye betrayed
No beam of kind acknowledgment, but turned,
Hurriedly, from his. He had not asked for love;
But, ah! how little had he looked for scorn!

V.

He bent him then, in silence, on his way,

To where the Alpine monarch, crowned with snows,—
The eminent Montblanc-heaves into Heaven
Its pure and stainless pinnacle. Amid

Nature's stupendous scenes the minstrel roved,
And half forgot his sorrows. He would climb
The lofty Jura, and from thence look down
Upon the world beneath him, till deep thoughts,
Passions and feelings, crowded on his mind

In swift and numberless succession; but

The first, the last, the sweetest, and the best,

Was love, though wild and hopeless! He would dwell

Intensely on the past, and oft evoke

Bright shades of visionary bliss from out

The inmost depths of his day-dreaming soul;
Till Reason, with her flaming sword, sprang up
And drove him from his Paradise of thought.

VI.

Moons rolled away; yet still it was his choice
To make the wilderness his home, and wander
'Mid Nature's giant offspring. When the sun
Shed its retiring beams of crimson on

The glittering snows that shroud their searchless heights,

In breathless admiration, would he mark

The last rich halo sinking;-and when day
Had left the world to darkness, would return
Home to his low-roofed dwelling at the foot
Of frowning Jura,-silently to muse

On all the wild vicissitudes of life!

This might not long endure : back to man's haunts Once more the minstrel, with unwilling feet,

Wended; for there were duties, unfulfilled,
The world professed to claim from him, and he
Was not disposed to disavow, although

They had no charms for him. Again he sought
The busy mart, and mingled with the throng;
Was flattered, cheated, and caressed ;—now basked
Awhile in Fortune's sunshine,-and now mourned
His little, lessened by the wiles of those
Who prey upon credulity; and this

Because he had not learned to hate the world,

Nor deem men villains, till he found them such!

VII.

But heavier woes awaited him. The seeds

Of sickness, which Misfortune's hand had sown,
Began to germinate. His spirit pined
In voiceless anguish, for he scorned complaint;
And whilst his lips were wreathed into a smile,
The worm of death was preying on his heart.
Kinless, and almost friendless, was he left
To sink into the grave. No anxious eye

Το gaze upon his face, and soothe his pain
With looks of tenderness. And there was Hope
In wild contention with Despair, within

The cell of his dark bosom ;-and they strove
Which might obtain the mastery, till a sweet
And calm-browed angel, with her lamp of light,
Religion, scared the ravening fiend away!
Then were the minstrel's dreams all gentleness,
And he could bear to think on years gone by,
And those yet hidden in the womb of time!

VIII.

Still there was one regret, one deep regret,

Which haunted his young spirit ;-'twas that he,

The unowned breathings of whose lyre had wrought should speed

Favour with those who knew him not,

To his eternal home, nor leave behind

A wreath of sweet remembrance for his name ;-
And so he garlanded the wilding flowers

His youthful muse had gathered from the mount
Of time-hallowed Aonia, and deemed,

C

Most fondly deemed, his chaplet would find grace
(Even for the sake of him who culled its blooms)
With one sweet breast at least; since pride might now
No longer interpose its chilling chain

Between him and the load-star of his love!

It was an idle thought :-those simple strains
(The only incense he could offer then)

Which he had breathed for her in earlier years,
Had perished from her memory; and even
His name was unremembered now, who never
Had parted with a tender thought of her!

IX.

Such was to be. They said her vows were given To one of Fortune's favorites, and one

Of whom the world, and its reports, spake fair; Then what had she to do with thoughts of him, Whose only wealth was of the mind,-whose rank Was slight,-unless nobility of soul

May cope with blazoned 'scutcheons? It was meet That he should be forgotten-if he e'er