66

THE KAISER'S FEAST

Well didst thou love him then, and he

Still at thy side was seen :

How is it that such things can be

As though they ne'er had been?
Evil was this world's breath, which came
Between the good and brave!

Now must the tears of grief and shame
Be offered to the grave.

"And let them, let them there be poured!
Though all unfelt below-

Thine own wrung heart, to love restored,
Shall soften as they flow.

Oh! Death is mighty to make peace;
Now bid his work be done?

So many an inward strife shall cease-
Take, take these babes, my son."

His eye was dimmed-the strong man shook
With feelings long suppressed;

Up in his arms the boys he took,

And strained them to his breast.

And a shout from all in the royal hall

Burst forth to hail the sight;

And eyes were wet midst the brave that met
At the Kaiser's feast that night.

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TASSO AND HIS SISTER

["DEVANT vous est Sorrente, là demeurait la sœur de Tasse, quand il vint en pélerin demander à cette obscure amie un asyle contre l'injustice des princes. Ses longues douleurs avaient presque egaré sa raison ! il ne lui restait plus que son génie."-CORINNE.]

SHE sat, where on each wind that sighed
The citron's breath went by,

While the red gold of eventide
Burned in the Italian sky.

Her bower was one where daylight's close
Full oft sweet laughter found,

As thence the voice of childhood rose
To the high vineyards round.

But still and thoughtful at her knee
Her children stood that hour,
Their bursts of song and dancing glee
Hushed as by words of power.

With bright fixed wondering eyes, that gazed
Up to their mother's face,

With brows through parted ringlets raised,

They stood in silent grace.

While she-yet something o'er her look
Of mournfulness was spread-

Forth from a poet's magic book
The glorious numbers read;

The proud undying lay, which poured
Its light on evil years;

TASSO AND HIS SISTER

His of the gifted pen and sword,
The triumph, and the tears.

*

She read of fair Erminia's flight,
Which Venice once might hear
Sung on her glittering seas at night
By many a gondolier:

Of him she read, who broke the charm
That wrapt the myrtle grove;
Of Godfrey's deeds, of Tancred's arm,
That slew his Paynim love.

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Young cheeks around that bright page glowed,

Young holy hearts were stirred:

And the meek tears of woman flowed

Fast o'er each burning word.

And sounds of breeze, and fount, and leaf,
Came sweet each pause between,
When a strange voice of sudden grief
Burst on the gentle scene.

The mother turned. A way-worn man,

In pilgrim garb, stood nigh,

Of stately mien, yet wild and wan,

Of proud yet mournful eye.

But drops which would not stay for pride

From that dark eye gushed free,

As, pressing his pale brow, he cried,

66

'Forgotten even by thee!

*It is scarcely necessary to recall the well-known Italian saying, that Tasso, with his sword and pen, was superior to all men.

"Am I so changed ?-and yet we two
Oft hand in hand have played;
This brow hath been all bathed in dew

From wreaths which thou hast made; We have knelt down and said one prayer, And sung one vesper strain;

My soul is dim with clouds of care-
Tell me those words again!

"Life hath been heavy on my headI come a stricken deer,

Bearing the heart, midst crowds that bled, To bleed in stillness here."

She gazed, till thoughts that long had slept
Shook all her thrilling frame-

She fell upon his neck and wept,
Murmuring her brother's name.

Her brother's name !-and who was he,
The weary one, the unknown,
That came, the bitter world to flee,

A stranger to his own?

He was the bard of gifts divine

To sway the souls of men:
He of the song for Salem's shrine,
He of the sword and pen!

THE RELEASE OF TASSO

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THE RELEASE OF TASSO.

THERE came a bard to Rome; he brought a lyre
Of sounds to peal through Rome's triumphant sky,
To mourn a hero on his funeral pyre,

Or greet a conqueror with its war-notes high;
For on each chord had fallen the gift of fire,
The living breath of Power and Victory,-
Yet he, its Lord, the sovereign city's guest,
Sighed but to flee away and be at rest.

He brought a spirit whose ethereal birth
Was of the loftiest, and whose haunts had been
Amidst the marvels and the pomps of earth,
Wild fairy bowers, and groves of deathless green,
And fields where mail-clad bosoms prove their worth,
When flashing swords light up the stormy scene:
He brought a weary heart, a wasted frame,—
The Child of Visions from a dungeon came.

On the blue waters, as in joy they sweep,
With starlight floating o'er their swells and falls-
On the blue waters of the Adrian deep

His numbers had been sung; and in the halls,
Where, through rich foliage if a sunbeam peep,
It seems Heaven's wakening to the sculptured walls,
Had princes listened to those lofty strains,

While the high soul they burst from pined in chains.

And in the summer gardens, where the spray
Of founts, far glancing from their marble bed,