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Winning her back to nature. She unbound
The helm of many battles from her head,
Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said,—
Oh! never did thine eye
Thro' the green haunts of happy infancy
To die for what we love!-Oh! there is power
Cosí trapassa al trapassar d'un Giorno
ALONG the star-lit Seine went music swelling,
Till the air thrill'd with its exulting mirth; Proudly it floated, even as if no dwelling
For cares or stricken hearts were found on earth; And a glad sound the measure lightly beat,
A happy chime of many dancing feet.
For in a palace of the land that night,
Lamps, and fresh roses, and green leaves were hung, And from the painted walls a stream of light
On flying forms beneath soft splendour flung :
Pauline, the meekly bright!-tho' now no more
Her clear eye flash'd with youth's all tameless glee, Yet something holier than its dayspring wore,
There in soft rest lay beautiful to see;
A charm with graver, tenderer, sweetness fraught→
Thro' the gay throng she moved, serenely fair,
As her young daughter in the dance went by,
Lurk'd there no secret boding in her breast?
Did no faint whisper warn of evil nigh?
Midst the light laughter of festivity:
Whence come those tones!-Alas! enough we know, To mingle fear with all triumphal show!
Who spoke of evil, when young feet were flying
Soft airs thro' braided locks in perfume sighing,
And lo! a light upon the dancers breaking-
One moment holds them still in breathless dread;
The wild fierce lustre grows-then bursts a cry-
And forth they rush-as chased by sword and spear-
Startling the birds and trampling down the flowers :
And where is she, Pauline?-the hurrying throng