XIX.

He sate him down at a pillar's base,
And passed his hand athwart his face;
Like one in dreary musing mood,
Declining was his attitude;

465

His head was drooping on his breast,

Fevered, throbbing, and opprest;

And o'er his brow, so downward bent,
Oft his beating fingers went,

Was it the wind, through some hollow stone,
Sent that soft and tender moan?

He lifted his head, and he looked on the sea,
But it was unrippled as glass may be;

He looked on the long grass it waved not a blade;

How was that gentle sound conveyed?

480

He looked to the banners each flag lay still, So did the leaves on Cithaeron's hill,

And he felt not a breath come over his check; What did that sudden sound bespeak?

485

He turned to the left is he sure of sight?
There sate a lady, youthful and bright!

XX.

He started up with more of fear
Than if an armed foe were near.
"God of my fathers! what is here?
"Who art thou, and wherefore sent
"So near a hostile armament?”
His trembling hands refused to sign

490

The cross he deemed no more divine:
He had resumed it in that hour,

495

But conscience wrung away the power.

He gazed, he saw: he knew the face

Of beauty, and the form of grace;

It was Francesca by his side,

The maid who might have been his bride!

500

The rose was yet upon her cheek,
But mellowed with a tenderer streak:

Where was the play of her soft lips fled?
Gone was the smile that enlivened their red.
The ocean's calm within their view,

Beside her eye had less of blue;
But like that cold wave it stood still,
And its glance, though clear, was chill.

505

Around her form a thin robe twining,
Nought concealed her bosom shining;

510

It was so wan, and transparent of hue,

You might have seen the moon shine through.

XXI.

"I come from my rest to him I love best, "That I may be happy, and he may be blest. "I have passed the guards, the gate, the wall; 520 "Sought thee in safety through foes and all. ""Tis said the lion will turn and flee

"From a maid in the pride of her purity; "And the Power on high, that can shield the good "Thus from the tyrant of the wood, 525 "Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well

"From the hands of the leaguering infidel.

"I come and if I come in vain,

"Never, oh never, we meet again! "Thou hast done a fearful deed

"In falling away from thy father's creed: "But dash that turban to earth, and sign

VOL. V.

C

530

"The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine: "Wring the black drop from thy heart,

"And to-morrow unites us no more to part." 535

"And where should our bridal couch be spread? "In the midst of the dying and the dead? "For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flaine "The sons and the shrines of the Christian name. "None, save thou and thine, I've sworn, 540 "Shall be left upon the morn:

"But thee will I bear to a lovely spot,

"Where our hands shall be joined, and our sorrow forgot.

"There thou yet shalt be my bride,

"When once again I've quelled the pride

"Of Venice; and her hated race

"Have felt the arm they would debase

"Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those "Whom vice and envy made my foes."

Upon his hand she laid her own —

545

550

Light was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone,

And shot a chillness to his heart,

Which fixed him beyond the power to start.

Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold,
He could not loose him from its hold;

But never did clasp of one so dear

555

Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear,
As those thin fingers, long and white,

Froze through his blood by their touch that night. The feverish glow of his brow was gone,

560

And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone,
As he looked on the face, and beheld its hue
So deeply changed from what he knew:

Fair but faint without the ray

565

Of mind, that made cach feature play
Like sparkling waves on a sunny day;
And her motionless lips lay still as death,
And her words came forth without her breath,
And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,
And there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell.
Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed,
And the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed
With aught of change, as the eyes may seem
Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream;
Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, 575
Stirred by the breath of the wintry air,
So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light,
Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight;

As they seem, through the dimness, about to come

down

From the shadowy wall where their images

frown;

580