Thine! What dost thou amidst the bright and fair,
Whispering light words, and mocking my despair?
It is not well of thee! My love was more
Than fiery song may breathe, deep thought explore;
And there thou smilest, while my heart is dying,
With all its blighted hopes around it lying:
Even thou, on whom they hung their last green
leaf-

Yet smile, smile on! too bright art thou for grief!

Death! What! is death a lock'd and treasured thing,

Guarded by swords of fire?1 a hidden spring,
A fabled fruit, that I should thus endure,
As if the world within me held no cure?
Wherefore not spread free wings Heaven,
heaven! control

These thoughts!--they rush-I look into my soul
As down a gulf, and tremble at the array
Of fierce forms crowding it! Give strength to pray!
So shall their dark host pass.

The storm is still'd.

Father in Heaven! thou, only thou, canst sound The heart's great deep, with floods of anguish fill'd, For human line too fearfully profound. Therefore, forgive, my Father! if thy child, Rock'd on its heaving darkness, hath grown wild, And sinn'd in her despair! It well may be That thou wouldst lead my spirit back to thee, By the crush'd hope too long on this world pour'dThe stricken love which hath perchance adored A mortal in thy place! Now let me strive With thy strong arm no more! Forgive, forgive! Take me to peace!

And peace at last is nigh.

A sign is on my brow, a token sent

Th' o'erwearied dust from home: no breeze flits by, But calls me with a strange sweet whisper, blent Of many mysteries.

Hark! the warning tone Deepens-its word is Death! Alone, alone, And sad in youth, but chasten'd, I depart, Bowing to heaven. Yet, yet my woman's heart Shall wake a spirit and a power to bless, Even in this hour's o'ershadowing fearfulness, Thee, its first love! O tender still, and true! Be it forgotten if mine anguish threw Drops from its bitter fountain on thy name, Though but a moment!

1 "And if you remember of old, I dare die. Consider what the world would conceive if I should be violently enforced to do it."-Fragments of her Letters.

Now, with fainting frame,

With soul just lingering on the flight begun,
To bind for thee its last dim thoughts in one,
I bless thee! Peace be on thy noble head,
Years of bright fame, when I am with the dead!
I bid this prayer survive me, and retain
Its might, again to bless thee, and again!
Thou hast been gather'd into my dark fate
Too much; too long, for my sake, desolate
Hath been thine exiled youth: but now take back,
From dying hands, thy freedom, and retrack
(After a few kind tears for her whose days
Went out in dreams of thee) the sunny ways
Of hope, and find thou happiness! Yet send
Even then, in silent hours, a thought, dear friend!
Down to my voiceless chamber; for thy love
Hath been to me all gifts of earth above,
Though bought with burning tears! It is the sting
Of death to leave that vainly-precious thing
In this cold world! What were it, then, if thou,
With thy fond eyes, wert gazing on me now?
Too keen a pang! Farewell! and yet once more,
Farewell! The passion of long years I pour
Into that word! Thou hear'st not-but the woe
And fervour of its tones may one day flow
To thy heart's holy place: there let them dwell.
We shall o'ersweep the grave to meet. Farewell!

COME from the woods with the citron-flowers,
Come with your lyres for the festal hours,
Maids of bright Scio! They came, and the breeze
Bore their sweet songs o'er the Grecian seas;
They came, and Eudora stood robed and crown'd,
The bride of the morn, with her train around.
Jewels flash'd out from her braided hair,
Like starry dews midst the roses there;
Pearls on her bosom quivering shone,
Heaved by her heart through its golden zone.
But a brow, as those gems of the ocean pale,
Gleam'd from beneath her transparent veil;
Changeful and faint was her fair cheek's hue.
Though clear as a flower which the light looks
through;

2 Founded on a circumstance related in the Second Series of the Curiosities of Literature, and forming part of a picture in the "Painted Biography" there described.

And the glance of her dark resplendent eye,
For the aspect of woman at times too high,
Lay floating in mists, which the troubled stream
Of the soul sent up o'er its fervid beam.

She look'd on the vine at her father's door,
Like one that is leaving his native shore;
She hung o'er the myrtle once call'd her own,
As it greenly waved by the threshold stone;
She turn'd-and her mother's gaze brought back
Each hue of her childhood's faded track.
Oh! hush the song, and let her tears
Flow to the dream of her early years!
Holy and pure are the drops that fall

When the young bride goes from her father's hall;
She goes unto love yet untried and new,

She parts from love which hath still been true :
Mute be the song and the choral strain,
Till her heart's deep well-spring is clear again!
She wept on her mother's faithful breast,
Like a babe that sobs itself to rest;
She wept-yet laid her hand awhile
In his that waited her dawning smile-
Her soul's affianced, nor cherish'd less
For the gush of nature's tenderness!
She lifted her graceful head at last---
The choking swell of her heart was past;

And her lovely thoughts from their cells found way
In the sudden flow of a plaintive lay.1

With the gather'd grapes, and the lyre in tune, Thy homeward step to greet.

Thou in whose voice, to bless thy child,

Lay tones of love so deep,

Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled-
I leave thee! let me weep!

Mother! I leave thee! On thy breast
Pouring out joy and woe,

I have found that holy place of rest
Still changeless-yet I go !

Lips, that have lull'd me with your strain!
Eyes, that have watch'd my sleep!
Will earth give love like yours again?—
Sweet mother! let me weep!

And like a slight young tree, that throws
The weight of rain from its drooping boughs,
Once more she wept. But a changeful thing
Is the human heart-as a mountain spring
That works its way, through the torrent's foam,
To the bright pool near it, the lily's home!
It is well!-The cloud on her soul that lay,
Hath melted in glittering drops away.
Wake again, mingle, sweet flute and lyre!
She turns to her lover, she leaves her sire.
Mother! on earth it must still be so:
Thou rearest the lovely to see them go !

Still and sweet was the home that stood
In the flowering depths of a Grecian wood,
With the soft green light o'er its low roof spread,
As if from the glow of an emerald shed,
Pouring through lime-leaves that mingled on high,
Asleep in the silence of noon's clear sky.
Citrons amidst their dark foliage glow'd,
Making a gleam round the lone abode;
Laurels o'erhung it, whose faintest shiver
Scatter'd out rays like a glancing river;
Stars of the jasmine its pillars crown'd,
Vine-stalks its lattice and walls had bound;
And brightly before it a fountain's play
Flung showers through a thicket of glossy bay,

To a cypress which rose in that flashing rain, Like one tall shaft of some fallen fane.

And thither Ianthis had brought his bride,
And the guests were met by that fountain side.
They lifted the veil from Eudora's face-
It smiled out softly in pensive grace,
With lips of love, and a brow serene,
Meet for the soul of the deep wood-scene.
Bring wine, bring odours!-the board is spread;
Bring roses! a chaplet for every head!

The wine-cups foam'd, and the rose was shower'd
On the young and fair from the world embower'd;
The sun look'd not on them in that sweet shade,
The winds amid scented boughs were laid;
And there came by fits, through some wavy tree,
A sound and a gleam of the moaning sea.

Hush! be still! Was that no more
Than the murmur from the shore?
Silence did thick rain-drops beat

On the grass like trampling feet?
Fling down the goblet, and draw the sword!
The groves are fill'd with a pirate horde!
Through the dim olives their sabres shine!-
Now must the red blood stream for wine!

The youths from the banquet to battle sprang, The woods with the shriek of the maidens rang; Under the golden-fruited boughs

There were flashing poniards and darkening brows

Footsteps, o'er garland and lyre that fled,
And the dying soon on a greensward bed.
Eudora, Eudora! thou dost not fly-
She saw but Ianthis before her lie,

With the blood from his breast in a gushing flow,
Like a child's large tears in its hour of woe,
And a gathering film in his lifted eye,
That sought his young bride out mournfully.
She knelt down beside him-her arms she wound
Like tendrils, his drooping neck around,
As if the passion of that fond grasp
Might chain in life with its ivy-clasp.
But they tore her thence in her wild despair,
The sea's fierce rovers-they left him there:
They left to the fountain a dark-red vein,
And on the wet violets a pile of slain,

And a hush of fear through the summer grove.—
So closed the triumph of youth and love!

III.

Gloomy lay the shore that night,

When the moon, with sleeping light,

Bathed each purple Sciote hill-
Gloomy lay the shore, and still.
O'er the wave no gay guitar
Sent its floating music far;
No glad sound of dancing feet
Woke the starry hours to greet.
But a voice of mortal woe,

In its changes wild or low,

Through the midnight's blue repose,
From the sea-beat rocks arose,
As Eudora's mother stood
Gazing o'er th' Egean flood,
With a fix'd and straining eye-
Oh! was the spoilers' vessel nigh?
Yes! there, becalm'd in silent sleep,
Dark and alone on a breathless deep,
On a sea of molten silver, dark
Brooding it frown'd, that evil bark !
There its broad pennon a shadow cast,
Moveless and black from the tall still mast;
And the heavy sound of its flapping seil
Idly and vainly woo'd the gale.
Hush'd was all else-had ocean's breast
Rock'd e'en Eudora that hour to rest?

To rest? The waves tremble !--what piercing cry
Bursts from the heart of the ship on high?
What light through the heavens, in a sudden spire,
Shoots from the deck up? Fire! 'tis fire!
There are wild forms hurrying to and fro,
Seen darkly clear on that lurid glow;
There are shout, and signal-gun, and call,
And the dashing of water-but fruitless all!
Man may not fetter, nor ocean tame
The might and wrath of the rushing flame!
It hath twined the mast like a glittering snake,
That coils up a tree from a dusky brake;
It hath touch'd the sails, and their canvass rolls
Away from its breath into shrivell'd scrolls;
It hath taken the flag's high place in the air,
And redden'd the stars with its wavy glare;
And sent out bright arrows, and soar'd in glee,
To a burning mount midst the moonlight sea.
The swimmers are plunging from stern and

prow

Eudora Eudora! where, where art thou?
The slave and his master alike are gone.—
Mother! who stands on the deck alone?
The child of thy bosom !--and lo! a brand
Blazing up high in her lifted hand!

And her veil flung back, and her free dark hair
Sway'd by the flames as they rock and flare;
And her fragile form to its loftiest height
Dilated, as if by the spirit's might:

And her eye with an eagle-gladness fraught-
Oh! could this work be of woman wrought?
Yes! 'twas her deed!-by that haughty smile,
It was hers she hath kindled her funeral pile !
Never might shame on that bright head be:
Her blood was the Greek's, and hath made her free!

Proudly she stands, like an Indian bride
On the pyre with the holy dead beside;
But a shriek from her mother hath caught her ear,
As the flames to her marriage-robe draw near,
And starting, she spreads her pale arms in vain
To the form they must never infold again.
-One moment more, and her hands are clasp'd-
Fallen is the torch they had wildly grasp'd-
Her sinking knee unto Heaven is bow'd,

And her last look raised through the smoke's din shroud,

And her lips as in prayer for her pardon move;Now the night gathers o'er youth and love!

To-morrow eve may find me chain'd, and thee-How can I bear the boy's young smiles to see?"

The bright blood left that youthful mother's check; Back on the linden stem she lean'd her form; And her lip trembled as it strove to speak,

Like a frail harp-string shaken by the storm. "Twas but a moment, and the faintness pass'd, And the free Alpine spirit woke at last.

And she, that ever through her home had moved With the meek thoughtfulness and quiet smile Of woman, calmly loving and beloved,

And timid in her happiness the while, Stood brightly forth, and steadfastly, that hour— Her clear glance kindling into sudden power.

Ay, pale she stood, but with an eye of light,
And took her fair child to her holy breast,
And lifted her soft voice, that gather'd might

As it found language:-"Are we thus oppress'd?
Then must we rise upon our mountain-sod,
And man must arm, and woman call on God!

"I know what thou wouldst do;-and be it done! Thy soul is darken'd with its fears for me. Trust me to heaven, my husband! This, thy son, The babe whom I have borne thee, must be free! And the sweet memory of our pleasant hearth May well give strength-if aught be strong on earth.

"Thou hast been brooding o'er the silent dread Of my desponding tears; now lift once more, My hunter of the hills! thy stately head,

And let thine eagle glance my joy restore! I can bear all, but seeing thee subduedTake to thee back thine own undaunted mood.

"Go forth beside the waters, and along

The chamois paths, and through the forests go; And tell, in burning words, thy tale of wrong

To the brave hearts that midst the hamlets glow. God shall be with thee, my beloved! Away! Bless but thy child, and leave me-I can pray!"

He sprang up, like a warrior youth awaking

To clarion sounds upon the ringing air; [ing He caught her to his heart, while proud tears break

From his dark eyes fell o'er her braided hair; And "Worthy art thou," was his joyous cry, "That man for thee should gird himself to die!

"My bride, my wife, the mother of my child! Now shall thy name be armour to my heart:

And this our land, by chains no more defiled,
Be taught of thee to choose the better part!
I go thy spirit on my words shall dwell:
Thy gentle voice shall stir the Alps. Farewell!"

Aud thus they parted, by the quiet lake,

In the clear starlight: he the strength to rouse Of the free hills; she, thoughtful for his sake,

To rock her child beneath the whispering boughs, Singing its blue half-curtain'd eyes to sleep With a low hymn, amidst the stillness deep.

PROPERZIA ROSSI.

[Properzia Rossi, a celebrated female sculptor of Bologna, possessed also of talents for poetry and music, died in conse quence of an unrequited attachment. A painting, by Ducis. represents her showing her last work, a basso-relievo of Ariadne, to a Roman knight, the object of her affection. who regards it with indifference.]

"Tell me no more, no more

Of my soul's lofty gifts! Are they not vain
To quench its haunting thirst for happiness?
Have I not loved, and striven, and fail'd to Lind
One true heart unto me, whereon my own

Might find a resting-place, a home for all
Its burden of affections? I depart,
Unknown, though Fame goes with me; I must leave
The earth unknown. Yet it may be that death
Shall give my name a power to win such tears
As would have made life precious."

I.

ONE dream of passion and of beauty more!
And in its bright fulfilment let me pour
My soul away! Let earth retain a trace
Of that which lit my being, though its race
Might have been loftier far. Yet one more dream!
From my deep spirit one victorious gleam
Ere I depart! For thee alone, for thee!
May this last work, this farewell triumph be-
Thou, loved so vainly! I would leave enshrined
Something immortal of my heart and mind,
That yet may speak to thee when I am gone,
Shaking thine inmost bosom with a tone
Of lost affection,-something that may prove
What she hath been, whose melancholy love
On thee was lavish'd; silent pang and tear,
And fervent song that gush'd when none were

near,

And dream by night, and weary thought by day, Stealing the brightness from her life awayWhile thou- -Awake! not yet within me die' Under the burden and the agony

Of this vain tenderness-my spirit, wake!