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gaze on thee?

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They moved before me but as pictures, wrought| Like those that made their hearts thy sacrifice, Each to reveal some secret of man's thought, The called of yore; wont by the Saviour's side, On the sharp edge of sad mortality,

On the dim Olive-Mount to pray at eventide.
Till in his place came one-oh! could it be?
-My friend, my heart's first friend!—and did I

XXVII.
For the strong spirit will at times awake,

Piercing the mists that wrap her clay-abode;
XXIII.

And, born of thee, she may not always take On thee! with whom in boyhood I had played, Earth's accents for the oracles of God; At the grape-gatherings, by my native streams; And e’en for this, dust, whose mask is power! And to whose eye my youthful soul had laid Reed, that would be a scourge thy little hour! Bare, as to Heaven's, its glowing world of dreams; Spark, whereon yet the mighty hath not trod, And by whose side 'midst warriors I had stood, And therefore thou destroyest !-where were And in whose helm was brought-oh! earned flown with blood !

Our hope, if man were left to man's decree alone? The fresh wave to my lips, when tropic beams Smote on my fevered brow!-Ay, years had

XXVIII. passed,

But this I felt not yet. I could but gaze Severing our paths, brave friend !-and thus we

On him, my friend; while that swift moment met at last!

threw

A sudden freshness back on vanished days, XXIV.

Like water-drops on some dim picture's hue; I see it still—the lofty mien thou borest

Calling the proud time up, when first I stood On thy pale forehead sat a sense of power! Where banners floated, and my heart's quick The very look that once thou brightly worest

blood Cheering me onward through a fearful hour, Sprang to a torrent as the clarion blew, When we were girt by Indian bow and spear, And he-his sword was like a brother's worn, 'Midst the white Andes—e'en as mountain deer, That watches through the field his mother's youngHemmed in our camp—but through the javelin est born.

shower We rent our way, a tempest of despair !

XXIX. -And thou-hadst thou but died with thy true But a lance met me in that day's career, brethren there!

Senseless I lay amidst th' o'ersweeping fight,

Wakening at last—how full, how strangely clear, XXV.

That scene on memory flashed !--the shivery I call the fond wish back-for thou hast perished

light, More nobly far, my Alvar!—making known Moonlight, on broken shields—the plain of The might of truth;(4) and be thy memory che- slaughter, rished

The fountain-side—the low sweet sound of waWith theirs, the thousands, that around her throne

And Alvar bending o'er me—from the night Have poured their lives out smiling, in that doom Covering me with his mantle !—all the past Finding a triumph, if denied a tomb! Flowed back-my soul's far chords all answered -Ay, with their ashes hath the wind been sown, to the blast.

And with the wind their spirit shall be spread, Filling man's heart and home with records of the

XXX. dead.

Till, in that rush of visions, I became

As one that by the bands of slumber wound, XXVI.

Lies with a powerless, but all-thrilling frame, Thou Searcher of the Soul! in whose dread sight Intense in consciousness of sight and sound, Not the bold guilt alone, that mocks the skies, Yet buried in a wildering dream which brings But the scarce-owned, unwhispered thought of Loved faces round him, girt with fearful things! night,

Troubled e'en thus I stood, but chained and As a thing written with the sunbeam lies;

bound Thou know'st-whose eye through shade and On that familiar form mine eye to keepdepth can see,

-Alas! I might not fall upon his neck and That this man's crime was but to worship thee, weep!

ter

a

wave

XXXI.

Unheard by day. It seemed as if her breast He passed me—and what next ?—I looked on

Had hoarded energies, till then suppressed two,

Almost with pain, and bursting from control, Following his footsteps to the same dread place,

And finding first that hour their pathway free: For the same guilt—his sisters !(5)–Well I knew -Could a rose brave the storm, such might her The beauty on those brows, though each young

emblem be! face

XXXVI. Was changed-so deeply changed !-a dungeon's air

For the soft gloom whose shadow still had hung Is hard for loved and lovely things to bear, On her fair brow, beneath its garlands worn, And ye, O daughters of a lofty race,

Was fled; and fire, like prophecy's had sprung Queen-like Theresa ! radiant Inez !-flowers Clear to her kindled eye. It might be scornSo cherished ! were ye then but reared for those Pride-sense of wrong-ay, the frail heart is dark hours ?

bound

By these at times, even as with adamant round, XXXII.

Kept so from breaking !-yet not thus upborne A mournful home, young sisters! had ye left, She moved, though some sustaining passion's With your lutes hanging hushed upon the wall, And silence round the aged man, bereft

Lifted her fervent soul-a sister for the brave! Of each glad voice, once answering to his call. Alas, that lonely father! doom'd to pine

XXXVII. For sounds departed in his life's decline, And yet, alas! to see the strength which clings And, 'midst the shadowing banners of his hall, Round woman in such hours !—a mournful sight, With his white hair to sit, and deem the name

Though lovely!-an overflowing of the springs, A hundred chiefs had burne, cast down by you to The full springs of affection, deep as bright! shame!(6)

And she, because her life is ever twined

With other lives, and by no stormy wind
XXXIII.

May thence be shaken, and because the light
And wo for you, 'midst looks and words of love, Of tenderness is found her, and her eye
And gentle hearts and faces, nursed so long ! Doth weep such passionate tears--therefore she
How had I seen you in your beauty move,

thus can die. Wearing the wreath, and listening to the song! -Yet sat, e'en then, what seemed the crowd to

XXXVIII. shun,

Therefore didst thou, through that heart-shaking Half veiled upon the clear pale brow of one,

scene, And deeper thoughts than oft to youth belong,

As through a triumph move; and cast aside Thoughts, such as wake to evening's whispery Thine own sweet thoughtfulness for victory's sway,

mien, Within the drooping shade of her sweet eyelids O faithful sister! cheering thus the guide, lay.

And friend, and brother of thy sainted youth, XXXIV.

Whose hand had led thee to the source of truth,

Where thy glad soul from earth was purified; And if she mingled with the festive train, Nor wouldst thou, following him through all the It was but as some melancholy star

past, Beholds the dance of shepherds on the plain, That he should see thy step grow tremulous at last. In its bright stillness present, though afar. Yet would she smile—and that, too, hath its

XXXIX. smile

For thou hadst made no deeper love a guest Circled with joy which reached her not the while, 'Midst thy young spirit's dreams, than that which And bearing a lone spirit, not at war

grows With earthly things, but o'er their form and hue

Between the nurtured of the same fond breast, Shedding too clear a light, too sorrowfully true.

The sheltered of one roof; and thus it rose

Twined in with life.--How is it, that the hours XXXV.

Of the same sport, the gathering early flowers But the dark hours wring forth the hidden might Round the same tree, the sharing one repose, Which had lain bedded in the silent soul, And mingling one first prayer in murmurs soft, A treasure all undreamt of;—as the night From the heart's memory fade, in this world's Calls out the harmonies of streams that roll

breath, so oft ?

XL.

XLIV. But thee that breath had touched not;

And now-oh God! the bitter fear of death, thee, nor

And sore amaze, the faint o'ershadowing dread, him, The true in all things found !—and thou wert

Had grasped her!-panting in her quick-drawn

breath, blest

And in her white lips quivering ;-onward led, Even then, that no remembered change could

She looked up with her dim bewildered eyes, dim

And there smiled out her own soft brilliant skies, The perfect image of affection, pressed

Far in their sultry southern azure spread, Like armour to thy bosom!—thou hadst kept Watch by that brother's couch of pain, and wept, Yet sent down no reprieve for earth's poor trem

Glowing with joy, but silent!—still they smiled, Thy sweet face covering with thy robe, when

bling child. rest Fled from the sufferer; thou hadst bound his faith

XLV. Unto thy soul—one light, one hope ye chose—one

Alas! that earth had all too strong a hold, death.

Too fast, sweet Inez! on thy heart, whose bloom XLI.

Was given to early love, nor knew how cold

The hours which follow. There was one, with So didst thou pass on brightly!—but for her,

whom, Next in that path, how may her doom be spo- Young as thou wert, and gentle, and untried, ken!

Thou mightest, perchance, unshrinkingly have -All merciful! to think that such things were, died; And are, and seen by men with hearts un- But he was far away;--and with thy doom broken!

Thus gathering, life grew so intensely dear, To think of that fair girl, whose path had been That all thy slight frame shook with its cold morSo strewed with rose-leaves, all one fairy scene! tal fear! And whose quick glance came ever as a token

XLVI. Of hope to drooping thought, and her glad voice As a free bird's in spring, that makes the woods No aid!—thou too didst pass!—and all had rejoice!

passed,

The fearful—and the desperate—and the XLII.

strong!

Some like the bark that rushes with the blast, And she to die!-she loved the laughing earth

Some like the leaf swept shiveringly along, With such deep joy in its fresh leaves and flow

And some as men, that have but one more field ers!

To fight, and then may slumber on their shield, - Was not her smile even as the sudden birth

Therefore they arm in hope. But now the Of a young rainbow, colouring vernal showers ?

throng Yes! but to meet her fawn-like step, to hear

Rolled on, and bore me with their living tide, The gushes of wild song, so silvery clear, Which, oft unconsciously, in happier hours

Even as a bark wherein is left no power to guide. Flowed from her lips, was to forget the sway

XLVII. Of Time and Death below,-blight, shadow,

dull decay!

Wave swept on wave.

We reached a stately

square, XLIII.

Decked for the rites. An altar stood on high,

And gorgeous, in the midst. A place for prayer, Could this change be?—the hour, the scene, And praise, and offering. Could the earth supwhere last

ply I saw that form, came floating o'er my mind : No fruits, no flowers for sacrifice, of all -A golden vintage-eve;—the heats were pass- Which on her sunny lap unheeded fall? ed,

No fair young firstling of the flock to die, And, in the freshness of the fanning wind, As when before their God the Patriarchs stood? Her father sat, where gleamed the first faint star -Look down! man brings thee, Heaven! his Through the lime-boughs; and with her light brother's guiltless blood! guitar,

XLVIII. She, on the greensward at his feet reclined,

In his calm face laughed up; some shepherd-lay Hear its voice, hear!-a cry goes up to thee, Singing, as childhood sings on the lone hills at From the stained sod ;-make thou thy judgplay.

ment known

have rung,

On him, the shedder!-let his portion be

To do bencath that Temple, and profane The fear that walks at midnight-give the moan Its holy radiance ?-By their wavering flare, In the wind haunting him a power to say

I saw beside the pyres--I see thee now, " Where is thy brother?"--and the stars a ray O bright Theresa! with thy lifted brow, To search and shake his spirit, when alone And thy clasped hands, and dark eyes filled with

With the dreau splendour of their burning eyes! prayer! -So shall earth own thy will--mercy, not sacri- And thee, and Inez! bowing thy fair head, fice!

And mantling up thy face, all colourless with

dread! XLIX.

LIII. Sounds of triumphant praise !-the mass was And Alvar, Alvar!-I beheld thee too, sung

Pale, steadfast, kingly; till thy clear glance fell -Voices that die not might have poured such On that young sister; then perturbed it grew, strains !

And all thy labouring bosom seemed to swell Through Salem's towers might that proud chant With painful tenderness. Why came I there,

That troubled image of my friend to bear When the Most High, on Syria's palmy plains, Thence, for my atter-years ?-a thing to dwell Had quelled her foes !-so full it swept, a sea In my heart's core, and on the darkness rise, Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free! Disquieting my dreams with its bright mournful Oft when the winds, as through resounding

eyes? fanes, Hath filled the choral forests with its power,

LIV. Some deep tone brings me back the music of that Why came I ? oh! the heart's deep mystery!hour.

Why

In man's last hour doth vain affection's gaze L.

Fix itself down on struggling agony, It died away;—the incense-cloud was driven To the dimm'd eye-balls freezing, as they glaze ? Before the breeze-the words of doom were It might be-yet the power to will seemed o'ersaid;

That my soul yearn’d to hear his voice once And the sun faded mournfully from heaven,

more! -He faded mournfully! and dimly red,

Lut mine was fettered! mute in strong amaze, Parting in clouds from those that looked their I watched his features as the night-wind blew, last,

And torch-light or the moon's passed o'er their And sighed —"Farewell, thou sun!"-Eve marble hue. glowed and passed

LV. Night-midnight and the moon-came forth and shed

The trampling of a steed !-a tall white steed, Sleep, even as dew, on glen, wood, peopled Rending his fiery way the crowds amongspot

A storm's way through a forest-came at speed, Save one-a place of death and there men slurn- And a wild voice cried " Inez!" Swift she flung bered not.

The mantle from her face, and gazed around,

With a faint shriek at that familiar sound, LI.

And from his seat a breathless rider sprung, Twas not within the city(7)—but in sight And dashed off fiercely those who came to part,

Of the snow-crowned sierras, freely sweeping, And rushed to that pale girl, and clasped her to his With many an eagle's eyrie on the height,

heart. And hunter's cabin, by the torrent peeping

LVI. Far off: and vales between, and vineyards lay, With sound and gleam of waters on their way, And for a moment all around gave way And chesnut-woods, that girt the happy sleep- To that full burst of passion!--on his breast, ing,

Like a bird panting yet from fear she lay, In many a peasant-home !-the midnight sky But blessed-in misery's very lap-yet blest! Brought softly that rich world round those who Oh love, love, strong as death!—from such an came to die.

hour

Pressing out joy by thine immortal power,
LI.

Holy and fervent love! had earth but rest
The darkly-glorious midnight sky of Spain, For thee and thine, this world were all to fair!
Burning with stars ! -What had the torches' How could we thence be weaned to die without
glare

despair ?

a

a

a

LVII.

In the brief glance ?-She clasped her hands But she-as falls a willow from the storm,

the strife O'er its own river streaming-thus reclin'd Of love, faith, fear, and that vain dream of life, On the youth's bosom hung her fragile form,

Within her woman's breast so deeply wrought, And clasping arms, so passionately twined

It seemed as if a reed so slight and weak Around his neck—with such a trusting fold,

Must, in the rending storm not quiver onlyA full deep sense of safety in their hold,

break! As if nought earthly might th’embrace unbind!

LXII.
Alas! a child's fond faith, believing still
Its mother's breast beyond the lightning's reach to

And thus it was the young cheek flushed and kill!

faded,

As the swift blood in currents came and went, LVIII.

And hues of death the marble brow o'ershaded, Brief rest! upon the turning billow's height,

And the sunk eye a watery lustre sent A strange sweet moment of some heavenly

Through its white fluttering lids. Then tremstrain,

blings passed Floating between the savage gusts of night,

O'er the frail form, that shook it, as the blast That sweep the seas to foam! Soon dark again

Shakes the sere leaf, until the spirit rent The hour—the scene-th' intensely present,

Its way to peace-the fearful way unknownrush'd

Pale in love's arms she lay-she-what had loved Back on her spirit, and her large tears gushed

was gone! Like blood-drops from a victim; with swift rain

LXIII. Bathing the bosom where she lean'd that hour, As if her life would melt into th' o'erswelling Joy for thee, trembler !—thou redeemed one, joy! shower.

Young dove set freel earth, ashes, soulless clay,

Remained for baffled vengeance to destroy; LIX.

-Thy chain was riven!—nor hadst thou cast But he, whose arm sustained her!-oh! I knew away 'Twas vain, and yet he hoped !-he fondly Thy hope in thy last hour !—though love was strove

there Back from her faith her sinking soul to woo,

Striving to wring thy troubled soul from prayer, As life might yet be hers !-A dream of love And life seemed robed in beautiful array, Which could not look upon so fair a thing,

Too fair to leave!—but this might be forgiven, Remembering how like hope, like joy, like Thou wert so richly crowned with precious gifts spring,

of Heaven! Her smile was wont to glance, her step to move,

LXIV. And deem that men indeed, in very truth, Could mean the sting of death for her soft flower- But wo for him who felt the heart grow still, ing youth!

Which, with its weight of agony, had lain

Breaking on his !-Scarce could the mortal chill LX.

Of the hushed bosom, ne'er to heave again, He wooed her back to life.—"Sweet Inez, live! And all the silence curdling round the eye, My blessed Inez !-visions have beguild Bring home the stern belief that she could die, Thy heart—abjure them!—thou wert formed to That she indeed could die!—for wild and vain give,

As hope might be--his soul had hoped—twas And to find joy; and hath not sunshine smiled o'erAround thee ever ? Leave me not, mine own! Slowly his failing arms dropped from the form they Or earth will grow too dark!—for thee alone,

bore. Thee have I loved, thou gentlest! from a child,

LXV. And borne thine image with me o'er the sea, Thy soft voice in my soul!—Speak --Oh! yet live They forced him from that spot.-It might be for me!"

well,

That the fierce, reckless words by anguish wrung LXI.

From his torn breast, all aimless as they fell, She look'd up wildly; there were anxious eyes Like spray-drops from the strife of torrents flung, Waiting that look-sad eyes of troubled thought, Were marked as guilt. There are, who note Alvar's-Theresa's !— Did her childhood rise, these things With all its pure and home-affections fraught, Against the smitten heart; its breaking strings

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