He mark'd Leontio's cheek, yet fever-flush'd,
Nor deem'd 'twas passion's burning tide that rush'd
Over its recent paleness the excess,
The hectic of love's young voluptuousness
Urged him to taste the evening's balmy air,
And gave him over to Helena's care.
How full of bliss their mingling lives sped on!
Thrice had they mark'd the chaste and changeful moon
From crescent line to full round orb go down.
Leontio's frame its wonted strength regain'd,
Nought but the scars of those deep wounds remain❜d:
But Helena her brilliant eyes shone through
The snow-white curtain of her vestal veil,
Like lamp through shrine of marble- and they grew
Fearfully lustrous, and her cheek as pale:
Her breathing was but one deep struggling sigh,
Suppress'd to pain when scrutiny was nigh.
Still walk'd she with him in the grove
Enamour'd, on his form her look intent;
And drank those tones telling now more than ever
Things which a vestal's ear should listen
But then the scene was changed, those days which wore
Away in rapture, soon must bless no more.
The tide of war returned, the weal of Spain
Recall'd her warriors to their ranks again.
Charles 'gainst the Gallic monarch fierce renew'd,
With light cause fann'd to hate, the deadly feud.
And there were partings in Seville's gay halls,
And mounting of proud pennons on her walls;
And young cheeks paled, and noble hearts unnerved,
But none through lust of love from duty swerved.
Red lips breathed kisses on departing breasts,
And farewell tokens gleam'd on towering crests;
And braids were clasp'd round many a manly arm,
Wrought with those holy names that shield from harm.
How met those tidings stern, young Helena?
She could have borne to see earth pass away,
Herself left in some boundless solitude,
Had he beside her in that chaos stood:
But he must to the fight and she to dwell,
Oh! how she loathed it now ! - within the cell.
How loathed herself, the light, her passion — all,
Save him who caused her from her faith to fall.
She heard it in the grove, he told it her;
You had not seen one pulse or fibre stir,
And she was speechless, like to marble, or
Like her to whom such hate Latona bore:
And when her lips unclosed, you would have deem'd
She felt but coldly, or unwitting seem'd;
But her wide eyes fix'd on Leontio's face, Look'd there as if in hopeless woe to trace The depth, the extent of all her misery. "And is it past?" she cried," and thou and I "No more may watch as now the daylight die: "Leontio, is it past?" One ray was beaming Through the dim tears that silently were streaming; But it gleam'd bright and transient, and was gone: He was still mute, his lips suppress'd their groan, But that told all to her—the whole was known,
Helena sat that eve within the
The dews were bright beneath, the stars above;
Long had it pass'd the gorgeous sunset hour;
The bells were mute in San Francisco's tower;
The nightingale had pour'd her vesper song;
The breeze the sleeping roses died among.
Still fitful came a cadence sweetly grave,
Of holy music o'er the tranquil wave;
But soon that ceased, each tremulous peal of sound,
In the wide dome of space extinction found.
The balm of flowers was round her
Than hers, the priestess of the night, who shone
So meek, and flung her soft effulgence down
Upon the tube-rose and anemone,
There was none on her she sat there alone,
Nor animate thing, nor earthly one was nigh.
The place was all religion, and imbued
Her spirit with its tone; as though the sigh
Of some pure soul then soaring to the sky,
Ere its blest pinion sought the realms above,
Came there to sanctify her solitude;
And piety with human weakness strove
Till her heart shudder'd at its fatal love.
The present was all loneliness
Arose a guilty but seductive dream
The future to her mental view did seem
A gloomy sky with clouds of wrath o'ercast.
A spell was on her lip, and o'er her brain,
She tried to pray, but raised her voice in vain.
Her light had turn'd to darkness her large eye.
Had lost its radiance of eternity:
'Twas not that passion with its earth-born ray
Had dimm'd her lustre, sapp'd her loveliness;
But it had dash'd that holiest charm away,!
That look of the inspired Pythoness,
That glorious beaming of unsullied mind,
That look of dignity with hope combined,
That glance, wherein if we discover aught
Of pride, it seems th' enthusiast flash of thought-
The vast intelligence that breathes the whole
High burst of eloquence which fills the soul.
These she had lost, she knew, deplored it all,
Yet clung more close to him who made her fall.
She thought on those sweet moments shining far
O'er memory's waste, like some departing star,
Or as the moon-ray's hallowing light that play'd
In lambent lines of silver mid the shade.
She thought on those sweet hours, when, in the hush
Of cloister'd stillness, she had felt the gush
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