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"Bertha! where art thou ?--Speak, oh! speak, my
Alas! unconscious of her pangs the while,
The gentle girl, in fear's cold grasp alone,
Powerless hath sunk within the blazing pile;
A young bright form, deck'd gloriously for death,
With flowers all shrinking from the flame's fierce breath!
But oh! thy strength, deep love!-there is no power
And forth, like banners, from each lattice wave;
And what bold step may follow, midst the roar
Was one brief meeting theirs, one wild farewell?
Freshly and cloudlessly the morning broke
On that sad palace, midst its pleasure-shades; Its painted roofs had sunk-yet black with smoke
And lonely stood its marble colonnades :
But yester-eve their shafts with wreaths were bound!-Now lay the scene one shrivell'd scroll around!
And bore the ruins no recording trace
Of all that woman's heart had dared and done?
And they were all !--the tender and the true
Left this alone her sacrifice to prove, Hallowing the spot where mirth once lightly flew,
To deep, lone, chasten'd thoughts of grief and love. Oh! we have need of patient faith below, To clear away the mysteries of such wo!
Juana, mother of the Emperor Charles V., upon the death of her husband, Philip the Handsome of Austria, who had treated her with uniform neglect, had his body laid upon a bed of state in a magnificent dress, and being possessed with the idea that it would revive, watched it for a length of time incessantly, waiting for the moment of returning life.
It is but dust thou look'st upon. This love,
THE night-wind shook the tapestry round an ancient
And torches, as it rose and fell, waved thro' the gorgeous gloom,
And o'er a shadowy regal couch threw fitful gleams and red,
Where a woman with long raven hair sat watching by