It might be yet the power to will seemed o'er-
That my soul yearned to hear his voice once more!
But mine was fettered !-mute in strong amaze,
I watched his features as the night-wind blew,
And torch-light or the moon's passed o'er their marble hue.
The trampling of a steed! A tall white steed,
Rending his fiery way the crowds among-
A storm's way through a forest-came at speed,
And a wild voice cried "Inez !" Swift she flung
The mantle from her face, and gazed around,
With a faint shriek at that familiar sound;
And from his seat a breathless rider sprung,
And dashed off fiercely those who came to part,
And rushed to that pale girl, and clasped her to his heart.
And for a moment all around gave way
To that full burst of passion! On his breast,
Like a bird panting yet from fear, she lay,
But blest-in misery's very lap-yet blest!
Oh love, love, strong as death!-from such an hour
Pressing out joy by thine immortal power;
Holy and fervent love! had earth but rest
For thee and thine, this world were all too fair!
How could we thence be weaned to die without despair?
But she--as falls a willow from the storm,
O'er its own river streaming-thus reclined
On the youth's bosom hung her fragile form,
And clasping arms, so passionately twined
Around his neck-with such a trusting fold,
A full deep sense of safety in their hold,
As if nought earthly might the embrace unbind!
Alas! a child's fond faith, believing still
Its mother's breast beyond the lightning's reach to kill!
Brief rest! upon the turning billow's height
A strange sweet moment of some heavenly strain,
Floating between the savage gusts of night,
That sweep the seas to foam! Soon dark again
The hour-the scene; the intensely present rushed
Back on her spirit, and her large tears gushed
Like blood-drops from a victim-with swift rain
Bathing the bosom where she leaned that hour,
As if her life would melt into the o'erswelling shower.
But he whose arm sustained her!--oh, I knew
'Twas vain!—and yet he hoped--he fondly strove
Back from her faith her sinking soul to woo,
As life might yet be hers! A dream of love
Which could not look upon so fair a thing,
Remembering how like hope, like joy, like spring,
Her smile was wont to glance, her step to move,
And deem that men indeed, in very truth,
Could mean the sting of death for her soft flowering youth!
He wooed her back to life. "Sweet Inez, live!
My blessed Inez !-visions have beguiled
Thy heart; abjure them! thou wert formed to give
And to find joy; and hath not sunshine smiled
Around thee ever? Leave me not, mine own!
Or earth will grow too dark !-for thee alone,
Thee have I loved, thou gentlest! from a child,
And borne thine image with me o'er the sea,
Thy soft voice in my soul.
Speak! Oh! yet live for me!"
She looked up wildly; there were anxious eyes
Waiting that look-sad eyes of troubled thought,
Alvar's Theresa's! Did her childhood rise,
With all its pure and home-affections fraught,
In the brief glance! She clasped her hands-the strife
Of love, faith, fear, and that vain dream of life,
Within her woman's breast so deeply wrought,
It seemed as if a reed so slight and weak
Must, in the rending storm not quiver only-break!
And thus it was. The young cheek flushed and faded,
As the swift blood in currents came and went,
And hues of death the marble brow o'ershaded,
And the sunk eye a watery lustre sent
Through its white fluttering lids. Then tremblings passed O'er the frail form, that shook it as the blast
Shakes the sere leaf, until the spirit rent
Its way to peace-the fearful way unknown.
Pale in love's arms she lay-she!-what had loved was gone!
Joy for thee, trembler !-thou redeemed one, joy!
Young dove set free !-earth, ashes, soulless clay,
Remained for baffled vengeance to destroy.
Thy chain was riven ! Nor hadst thou cast away
Thy hope in thy last hour!-though love was there
Striving to wring thy troubled soul from prayer,
And life seemed robed in beautiful array,
Too fair to leave !-but this might be forgiven,
Thou wert so richly crowned with precious gifts of heaven!
But woe for him who felt the heart grow still,
Which, with its weight of agony, had lain
Breaking on his ! Scarce could the mortal chill
Of the hushed bosom, ne'er to heave again,
And all the silence curdling round the eye,
Bring home the stern belief that she could die-
That she indeed could die !-for, wild and vain
As hope might be, his soul had hoped : 'twas o'er-
Slowly his failing arms dropped from the form they bore.
They forced him from that spot. It might be well,
That the fierce reckless words by anguish wrung
From his torn breast, all aimless as they fell,
Like spray-drops from the strife of torrents flung,
Were marked as guilt. There are who note these things
Against the smitten heart; its breaking strings
On whose low thrills once gentle music hung
With a rude hand of touch unholy trying,
And numbering them as crimes, the deep, strange tones replying.
But ye in solemn joy, O faithful pair!
Stood gazing on your parted sister's dust;
I saw your features by the torch's glare,
And they were brightening with a heavenward trust!
I saw the doubt, the anguish, the dismay,
Melt from my Alvar's glorious mien away;
And peace was there-the calmness of the just!
And, bending down the slumberer's brow to kiss,
'Thy rest is won," he said, "sweet sister! Praise for this!"
I started as from sleep ;-yes !--he had spokenA breeze had troubled memory's hidden source ! At once the torpor of my soul was brokenThought, feeling, passion, woke in tenfold force. There are soft breathings in the southern wind, That so your ice-chains, O ye streams! unbind, And free the foaming swiftness of your course! I burst from those that held me back, and fell Even on his neck, and cried-"Friend! brother! fare thee well!"
Did he not say "Farewell?" Alas! no breath
Came to mine ear. Hoarse murmurs from the throng
Told that the mysteries in the face of death
Had from their eager sight been veiled too long.
And we were parted as the surge might part
Those that would die together, true of heart.
His hour was come-but in mine anguish strong,
Like a fierce swimmer through the midnight sea,
Blindly I rushed away from that which was to be.
Away-away I rushed; but swift and high
The arrowy pillars of the firelight grew,
Till the transparent darkness of the sky
Flushed to a blood-red mantle in their hue;
And, phantom-like, the kindling city seemed
To spread, float, wave, as on the wind they streamed,
With their wild splendour chasing me! I knew
The death-work was begun-I veiled mine eyes,
Yet stopped in spell-bound fear to catch the victims' cries.
What heard I then ?-a ringing shriek of pain,
Such as for ever haunts the tortured ear?
I heard a sweet and solemn-breathing strain
Piercing the flame, untremulous and clear!
The rich, triumphal tones !—I knew them well,
As they came floating with a breezy swell!
Man's voice was there-a clarion-voice to cheer
In the mid-battle-ay, to turn the flying;
Woman's-that might have sung of heaven beside the dying!
It was a fearful, yet a glorious thing
To hear that hymn of martyrdom, and know
That its glad stream of melody could spring
Up from the unsounded gulfs of human woe!
Alvar! Theresa !-what is deep? what strong?
-God's breath within the soul! It filled that song
From your victorious voices! But the glow
On the hot air and lurid skies increased:
Faint grew the sounds-more faint: I listened-they had ceased!
And thou indeed hadst perished, my soul's friend!
I might from other ties---but thou alone
Couldst with a glance the veil of dimness rend,
By other years o'er boyhood's memory thrown!
Others might aid me onward: thou and I
Had mingled the fresh thoughts that early die,
Once flowering-never more! And thou wert gone!
Who could give back my youth, my spirit free,
Or be in aught again what thou hadst been to me?
And yet I wept thee not, thou true and brave!
I could not weep-there gathered round thy name
Too deep a passion. Thou denied a grave!
Thou, with the blight flung on thy soldier's fame!
Had I not known thy heart from childhood's time?
Thy heart of hearts?—and couldst thou die for crime?
No! had all earth decreed that death of shame,
I would have set, against all earth's decree, The inalienable trust of my firm soul in thee!
There are swift hours in life-strong, rushing hours,
That do the work of tempests in their might!
They shake down things that stood as rocks and towers
Unto the undoubting mind; they pour in light
Where it but startles-like a burst of day
For which the uprooting of an oak makes way;
They sweep the colouring mists from off our sight;
They touch with fire thought's graven page, the roll
Stamped with past years-and lo! it shrivels as a scroll!
And this was of such hours! The sudden flow
Of my soul's tide seemed whelming me; the glare
Of the red flames, yet rocking to and fro,
Scorched up my heart with breathless thirst for air,
And solitude, and freedom. It had been
Well with me then, in some vast desert scene,
To pour my voice out, for the winds to bear
On with them, wildly questioning the sky,
Fiercely the untroubled stars, of man's dim destiny.
I would have called, adjuring the dark cloud;
To the most ancient heavens I would have said
'Speak to me! show me truth!"-through night aloud
I would have cried to him, the newly dead,
"Come back! and show me truth!" My spirit seemed Gasping for some free burst, its darkness teemed With such pent storms of thought! Again I fled,
I fled, a refuge from man's face to gain,
Scarce conscious when I paused, entering a lonely fane.
A mighty minster, dim, and proud, and vast!
Silence was round the sleepers whom its floor
Shut in the grave; a shadow of the past,
A memory of the sainted steps that wore
Erewhile its gorgeous pavement, seemed to brood
Like mist upon the stately solitude ;
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