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Be silent, Conrad-dearest! come and share
The feast these hands delighted to prepare ;
Light toil to cull and dress thy frugal fare!
See, I have plucked the fruit that promised best,
And where not sure, perplex'd, but pleased, I guessed
At such as seemed the fairest: thrice the hill
My steps have wound to try the coolest rill;
Yes! thy sherbet to-night will sweetly flow,
See how it sparkles in its vase of snow!
The grapes' gay juice thy bosom never cheers;
Thou more than Moslem when the cup appears:
Think not I mean to chide-for I rejoice
What others deem a penance is thy choice.
But come, the board is spread; our silver lamp
Is trimmed, and heeds not the Sirocco's damp:
Then shall my handmaids while the time along,
And join with me the dance, or wake the song;
Or my guitar, which still thou lovest to hear,
Shall soothe or lull-or, should it vex thine ear,
We'll turn the tale, by Ariosto told,

Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.

Why thou wert worse than he who broke his vow
To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now;
Or even that traitor chief-I've seen thee smile.
When the clear sky show'd Ariadne's isle,
Which I have pointed from these cliffs the while;
And thus, half sportive, half in fear, I said,
Lest time should raise that doubt to more than dread,
Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main ;
And he deceived me-for-he came again!"

66 Again-again-and oft again-my love!
If there be life below, and hope above,
He will return-but now, the moments bring
The time of parting with redoubled wing:

G

The why-the where-what boots it now to tell? Since all must end in that wild word-farewell! Yet would I fain-did time allow-disclose

Fear not these are no formidable foes;

And here shall watch a more than wonted guard,
For sudden siege and long defence prepared ;
Nor be thou lonely-though thy lord's away,
Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay;
And this thy comfort that, when next we meet,
Security shall make repose more sweet.
List!-'tis the bugle Juan shrilly blew
One kiss one more-another-Oh! adieu!"
She rose she sprung-she clung to his embrace,
Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face.
He dared not raise to his that deep blue eye,
Which downcast drooped in tearless agony.
Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms,
In all the wildness of dishevelled charms;
Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt
So full-that feeling seem'd almost unfelt!
Hark-peals the thunder of the signal gun!
It told 'twas sunset-and he cursed that sun.
Again-again-that form he madly press'd,
Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd!
And tottering to the couch his bride he bore,
One moment gazed-as if to gaze no more;
Felt-that for him earth held but her alone,
Kiss'd her cold forehead-turned-is Conrad gone?
"And is he gone?" on sudden solitude
How oft that fearful question will intrude!
""Twas but an instant past and here he stood!
And now" without the portal's porch she rushed,
And then at length her tears in freedom gush'd;
Big-bright and fast, unknown to her they fell;
But still her lips refused to send-“ Farewell!”

For in that word that fatal word-howe'er

We promise-hope-believe-there breathes despair.
O'er every feature of that still, pale face,

Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase:
The tender blue of that large loving eye

Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy,

Till-Oh how far! it caught a glimpse of him,
And then it flowed-and phrensied seemed to swim
Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dew'd
With drops of sadness oft to be renewed.

"He's gone!"—against her heart that hand is driven,
Convulsed and quick-then gently raised to heaven;
She looked and saw the heaving of the main ;
The white sail set-she dared not look again;
But turned with sickening soul within the gate—
"It is no dream-and I am desolate!"

THE DEATH OF MEDORA.

The lights are high on beacon and from bower,
And midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower:
He looks in vain 'tis strange and all remark,
Amid so many, hers alone is dark.

'Tis strange of yore its welcome seldom fail'd,
Nor now, perchance, extinguish'd, only veil'd.
With the first boat descends he for the shore,
And looks impatient on the lingering oar.
Oh! for a wing beyond the falcon's flight,
To bear him like an arrow to that height!
With the first pause the resting rowers gave,
He waits not looks not-leaps into the wave,
Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and
Ascends the path familiar to his eye.

[high

He reached his turret door-he paused-no sound

Broke from within; and all was night around.

He knock'd, and loudly-footstep nor reply
Announced that any heard or deemed him nigh;
He knock'd but faintly-for his trembling hand
Refused to aid his heavy heart's demand.
The portal opens-'tis a well known face-
But not the form he panted to embrace.
Its lips are silent-twice his own essayed,
And fail'd to frame the question they delayed;
He snatch'd the lamp-its light will answer all-
It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall.

He would not wait for that reviving ray-
As soon could he have linger'd there for day;
But, glimmering through the dusky corridore,
Another chequers o'er the shadow'd floor;
His steps the chamber gain-his eyes behold
All that his heart believed not-yet foretold! [look,
He turn'd not-spoke not-sunk not-fix'd his
And set the anxious frame that lately shook :
He gazed how long we gaze despite of pain,
And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain!
In life itself she was so still and fair,
That death with gentler aspect wither'd there;
And the cold flowers her colder hand contain'd
In that last grasp as tenderly were strain'd
As if she scarcely felt, but feign'd a sleep,
And made it almost mockery yet to weep.
The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow,
And veil'd thought shrinks from all that lurk'd
Oh! o'er the eye death most exerts his might, [below-
And hurls the spirit from her throne of light!
Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,
But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips
Yet, yet they seem as they forbore to smile,
And wish'd repose-but only for a while;

But the white shroud, and each extended tress,
Long-fair-but spread in utter lifelessness,
Which, late the sport of every summer wind,
Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind ;
These-and the pale pure cheek, became the bier-
But she is nothing—wherefore is he here?

He ask'd no question-all were answer'd now
By the first glance on that still-marble brow.
It was enough-she died—what reck'd it how?
The love of youth, the hope of better years,
The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears,
The only living thing he could not hate,
Was reft at once and he deserved his fate,
But did not feel it less :-the good explore,
For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar ;
The proud-the wayward who have fix'd below
Their joy and find this earth enough for woe,.
Lose in that one their all-perchance a mite―
But who in patience parts with all delight?
Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern

Mask hearts where grief hath little left to learn;
And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost,
In smiles that least befit who wear them most.

MOONLIGHT.

The moon is up, and yet it is not nightSunset divides the sky with her—a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest!

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