Yet that bright lady's eye methinks hath less
Of deep, and still, and pensive tenderness,
Than might beseem a mother's ;-on her brow
Something too much there sits of native scorn,
And her smile kindles with a conscious glow,

As from the thought of sovereign beauty born.
--These may be dreams--but how shall woman tell
Of woman's shame, and not with tears ?--She fell !
That mother left that child!-went hurrying by
Its cradle-haply, not without a sigh,

Haply one moment o'er its rest serene

She hung-but no! it could not thus have been,

For she went on !-forsook her home, her hearth,

To live a gaudy and dishonour'd thing,

Sharing in guilt the splendours of a king,

Her lord, in very weariness of life,

Girt on his sword for scenes of distant strife;

He reck'd no more of glory-grief and shame
Crush'd out his fiery nature, and his name
Died silently. A shadow o'er his halls

Crept year by year; the minstrel pass'd their walls ;
The warder's horn hung mute ;—meantime the child,
On whose first flowering thoughts no parent smiled,
A gentle girl, and yet deep-hearted, grew

Into sad youth; for well, too well, she knew
Her mother's tale! Its memory made the sky
Seem all too joyous for her shrinking eye ;

Check'd on her lip the flow of song, which fain

Would there have linger'd; flush'd her cheek to pain,

If met by sudden glance; and gave a tone

Of sorrow, as for something lovely gone,

Ev'n to the spring's glad voice. Her own was low,
And plaintive--oh! there lie such depths of wo

In a young blighted spirit! Manhood rears
A haughty brow, and age has done with tears;
But youth bows down to misery, in amaze
At the dark cloud o'ermantling its fresh days,--

And thus it was with her. A mournful sight

In one so fair-for she indeed was fairNot with her mother's dazzling eyes of light,

Hers were more shadowy, full of thought and

prayer,

And with long lashes o'er a white-rose cheek,

Drooping in gloom, yet tender still and meek,

Still that fond child's-and oh! the brow above,
So pale and pure! so form'd for holy love

Το

gaze upon in silence!--but she felt

That love was not for her, tho' hearts would melt

Where'er she mov'd, and reverence mutely given

Went with her; and low prayers, that call'd on Heaven

To bless the young

Isaure.

One sunny morn,

With alms before her castle gate she stood,

Midst peasant-groups; when breathless and o'erworn, And shrouded in long weeds of widowhood,

A stranger thro' them broke :-the orphan maid
With her sweet voice, and proffer'd hand of aid,
Turn'd to give welcome; but a wild sad look
Met hers; a gaze that all her spirit shook;

And that pale woman, suddenly subdued

By some strong passion in its gushing mood,

Knelt at her feet, and bath'd them with such tears

As rain the hoarded agonies of years

From the heart's urn; and with her white lips press'd
The ground they trod; then, burying in her vest
Her brow's deep flush, sobb'd out--" Oh! undefiled!

I am thy mother--spurn me not, my child!"

Isaure had pray'd for that lost mother; wept
O'er her stain'd memory, while the happy slept
In the hush'd midnight; stood with mournful gaze
Before yon picture's smile of other days,

But never breath'd in human ear the name

Which weigh'd her being to the earth with shame.

What marvel if the anguish, the surprise,

The dark remembrances, the alter'd guise,

Awhile o'erpower'd her ?—from the weeper's touch
She shrank-'twas but a moment--yet too much
For that all humbled one; its mortal stroke
Came down like lightning, and her full heart broke
At once in silence. Heavily and prone

She sank, while, o'er her castle's threshold-stone,
Those long fair tresses--they still brightly wore
Their early pride, tho' bound with pearls no more—-
Bursting their fillet in sad beauty roll'd,

And swept the dust with coils of wavy gold.

Her child bent o'er her-call'd her--'twas too late-

Dead lay the wanderer at her own proud gate! The joy of Courts, the star of knight and bard.How didst thou fall, O bright-hair'd Ermengarde!