Billeder på siden

The Angel wrote and vanish'd. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.



Here in this leafy place.

Quiet he lies,
Cold, with his sightless face

Turned to the skies;
'Tis but another dead;
All you can say is said.

Carry his body hence,

Kings must have slaves;
Kings rise to eminence

Over men's graves:
So this man's eye is dim;
Throw the earth over him.

What was the white you touched,

There, at his side ?
Paper his hand had clutched

Tight ere he died;
Message or wish, may be;
Smooth the folds out and see.

Hardly the worst of us

Here could have smiled!
Only the tremulous

Words of a child;
Prattle, that has for stops
Just a few ruddy drops.

Look, she is sad to miss,

Morning and night,
His her dead father's

kiss :
Tries to be bright,
Good to mamma, and sweet,
That is all. "Marguerite."

Ah, if beside the dead

Slumbered the pain!
Ah, if the hearts that bled

Slept with the slain!
If the grief died; but no;
Death will not have it so.



If thou shouldst ever come hy choice or chance
To MODENA, where still religiously
Among her ancient trophies is preserved
Bologna's bucket (in its chain it hangs
Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandine)
Stop at a Palace near the Reggio-gate,
Dwelt in of old by one of the ORSINI.
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain thee; thro' their arched walks,
Dim at noon-day, discovering many a glimpse
Of knights and dames, such as in old romance,
And lovers, such as in heroic song,
Perhaps the two, for groves were their delight,
That in the spring-time, as alone they sate,
Venturing together on a tale of love,
Read only part that day. A summer-sun
Sets ere one half is seen; but, ere thou go,

Enter the house prythee, forget it not ---
And look awhile upon a picture there.

'Tis of a Lady in her earliest youth,
The very last of that illustrious race,
Done by ZAMPIERI but by whom I care not.
He who observes it ere be passes on,
Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again,
That he may call it up, when far away.

She sits, inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half-open, and her finger up,
As though she said 'Beware! her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot,
An emerald-stone in every golden clasp;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!

Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion,
An oaken-chest, half-eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent
With scripture-stories from the Life of Christ;
A chest that came from VENICE, and had held
The ducal robes of some old Ancestor.
That by the way

be true or false
But don't forget the picture; and thou wilt not,
When thou hast heard the tale they told me there.
She was an only child; from infancy
The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire.
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,
That precious gift, what else remained to him?
The young Ginevra was his all in life,
Still as she grew, for ever in his sight;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,

it may

Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.

Just as she looks there in her bridal-dress, She was all gentleness, all gaiety, Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the hour; Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time, The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum; And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.

Great was the joy; but at the bridal-feast, When all sat down, the bride was wanting there. Nor was she to be found! Her father cried, (Tis but to make a trial of our love!" And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook, And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco, Laughing and looking back, and flying still, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. But now, alas! she was not to be found; Nor from that hour could anything be guessed But that she was not! Weary of his life, Francesco flew to Venice, and forth with Flung it away in battle with the Turk. Orsini lived; and long might'st thou have seen An old man wandering as in quest of something, Something he could not find, he knew not what. When he was gone, the house remained awhile Silent and tenantless then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past and all forgot, When on an idle day, a

day of search 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, “Why not remove it from its lurking-place?" 'Twas done as soon as said ; but on the way It burst, it fell; and lo, a skeleton, With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone,

A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold!
All else had perished – save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both,
“Ginevra.” There then had she found a grave!
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down for ever!



Good night. Too late to take a kiss of thine.

I kissed thee ere thy tired eyes closed in rest: Methinks thy brow hath something too divine

For kisses now. So be it; it is best.

Good night. Soft folds are wrapped about thee well:

Careless, my arms may lose thee from their hold. What though the hours be dark, and night-winds swell,

Thy sleep is sound; thou wilt not feel the cold.

Good night. O little one, in dreams locked fast!

Say, wilt thou miss me where I lie apart? Our hands will not be joined, as in time past,

Nor thy small head close pillowed on my heart.

Another Eye than mine shall watch thy waking;

A fonder kiss shall thrill thee with the light. Only, in that sweet morning's sudden breaking,

Keep one for me, one child-kiss! So, good night.

« ForrigeFortsæt »