That moveless lip !-thou dost not slumber?-speak,
Speak, Azzo, my beloved! No sound-no breath-
What hath come thus between our spirits? Death!
Death? I but dream-I dream!" And there she stood,
A faint fair trembler, gazing first on blood,
With her fair arm around yon cypress thrown,
Her form sustained by that dark stem alone,
And fading fast, like spell-struck maid of old,
Into white waves dissolving, clear and cold;
When from the grass her dimmed eye caught a gleam-
'Twas where a sword lay shivered by the stream—
Her brother's sword !—she knew it; and she knew
'Twas with a venomed point that weapon slew !
Woe for young love! But love is strong. There came
Strength upon woman's fragile heart and frame :
There came swift courage! On the dewy ground
She knelt, with all her dark hair floating round
Like a long silken stole; she knelt, and pressed
Her lips of glowing life to Azzo's breast,
Drawing the poison forth. A strange, sad sight!
Pale Death, and fearless Love, and solemn Night!
-So the moon saw them last.
The Morn came singing
Through the green forests of the Apennines,
With all her joyous birds their free flight winging,
And steps and voices out amongst the vines.
What found that dayspring here? Two fair forms laid Like sculptured sleepers,-from the myrtle shade Casting a gleam of beauty o'er the wave,
Still, mournful, sweet. Were such things for the grave? Could it be so indeed? That radiant girl,
Decked as for bridal hours !-long braids of pearl
Amidst her shadowy locks were faintly shining,
As tears might shine, with melancholy light:
And there was gold her slender waist entwining,
And her pale graceful arms-how sadly bright;
And fiery gems upon her breast were lying,
And round her marble brow red roses dying.
But she died first ! -the violet's hue had spread
O'er her sweet eyelids with repose oppressed;
She had bowed heavily her gentle head,
And on the youth's hushed bosom sunk to rest.
So slept they well!-the poison's work was done :
Love with true heart had striven-but Death had won.
"Du Heilige! rufe dein Kind zuruck!
Ich habe genossen das irdische Gluck,
Ich habe gelebt und geliebet."-WALLENSTEIN.
THE Woods-oh! solemn are the boundless woods
Of the great Western World when day declines,
And louder sounds the roll of distant floods,
More deep the rustling of the ancient pines.
When dimness gathers on the stilly air,
And mystery seems o'er every leaf to brood,
Awful it is for human heart to bear
The might and burden of this solitude!
Yet, in that hour, midst those green wastes, there sate
One young and fair; and oh! how desolate !
But undismayed-while sank the crimson light,
And the high cedars darkened with the night.
Alone she sate; though many lay around,
They, pale and silent on the bloody ground,
Were severed from her need and from her woe,
Far as death severs life. O'er that wild spot
Founded on incidents related in an American work, Sketches of Connecticut.
Combat had raged, and brought the valiant low,
And left them, with the history of their lot,
Unto the forest oaks-a fearful scene
For her whose home of other days had been
Midst the fair halls of England! But the love
Which filled her soul was strong to cast out fear:
And by its might upborne all else above,
She shrank not-marked not that the dead were near. Of him alone she thought, whose languid head
Faintly upon her wedded bosom fell;
Memory of aught but him on earth was fled,
While heavily she felt his life-blood well
Fast o'er her garments forth, and vainly bound
With her torn robe and hair the streaming wound-
Yet hoped, still hoped! Oh! from such hope how long
Affection woos the whispers that deceive,
Even when the pressure of dismay grows strong!
And we, that weep, watch, tremble, ne'er believe
The blow indeed can fall. So bowed she there
Over the dying, while unconscious prayer
Filled all her soul. Now poured the moonlight down,
Veining the pine-stems through the foliage brown,
And fire-flies, kindling up the leafy place,
Cast fitful radiance o'er the warrior's face,
Whereby she caught its changes. To her eye,
The eye that faded looked through gathering haze,
Whence love, o'ermastering mortal agony,
Lifted a long, deep, melancholy gaze,
When voice was not that fond, sad meaning passed-
She knew the fulness of her woe at last!
One shriek the forests heard-and mute she lay
And cold, yet clasping still the precious clay
To her scarce-heaving breast. O Love and Death!
Ye have sad meetings on this changeful earth-
Many and sad!—but airs of heavenly breath
Shall melt the links which bind you, for your birth
Is far apart.
Than the moon sheds, came flushing mist and dew.
The pines grew red with morning; fresh winds played;
Bright-colour'd birds with splendour crossed the shade,
Flitting on flower-like wings; glad murmurs broke
From reed, and spray, and leaf-the living strings
Of Earth's Eolian lyre, whose music woke
Into young life and joy all happy things.
And she, too, woke from that long dreamless trance,
The widowed Edith: fearfully her glance
Fell, as in doubt, on faces dark and strange,
And dusky forms. A sudden sense of change
Flashed o'er her spirit, even ere memory swept
The tide of anguish back with thoughts that slept;
Yet half instinctively she rose, and spread
Her arms, as 'twere for something lost or fled,
Then faintly sank again. The forest-bough,
With all its whispers, waved not o'er her now.
Where was she? Midst the people of the wild,
By the Red hunter's fire: an aged chief,
Whose home look'd sad-for therein played no child-
Had borne her, in the stillness of her grief,
To that lone cabin of the woods; and there,
Won by a form so desolately fair,
Or touched with thoughts from some past sorrow sprung,
O'er her low couch an Indian matron hung;
While in grave silence, yet with earnest eye,
The ancient warrior of the waste stood by,
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