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Were statues, pale and finely shaped and Her cheek was as a rainbow, it so changed,


As cach emotion o'er its surface ranged; As if all beauty save her life were there; And every word had its companion blush, And, like light clouds floating around each But evanescent as the crimson flush


That tints the daybreak; and her step was The censers roll’d their volumes of perfume;

light And scented waters mingled with the breath As the gale passing o'er the leaves at night; Of flowers, which died as if they joy'd in In truth those snow-feet were too like the death;

wind, And the white vases, white as mountain- Too slight to leave a single trace behind.


She leand against a pillar, and one hand Look'd yet more delicate in the rich glow Smooth'd back the curls that had escaped Of summer-blossoms hanging o'er each side,

the band Like sunset-reddening o’er a silver tide. Of wreathed red roses,—soft and fitting There was the tulip with its rainbow-globe;

chain And, like the broidery on a silken robe In bondage such bright prisoners to retain. Made for the beauty's festal midnight-hours, The other was from the white marble known The sparkling jessamine shook its silver But by the clasping of its emerald zone:


And lighted up her brow, and flash'd her eye, Like timid hopes the lily shrank from As many that were wandering careless by


Caught but a sound, and paused to hear The rose leant as it languish'd with delight,

what more Yet, bride-like, drooping in its crimson Her lip might utter of its honey-store.


She had that sparkling wit which is like And the anemone, whose cheek of flame

light, Is golden, as it were the flower the sun Making all things touch'd with its radiance In his noon-hour most loved to look upon.

bright; And a sweet voice, whose words would

chain all round, At first the pillar'd halls were still and lone, Although they had no other charm than As if some fairy-palace all unknown

sound. To mortal eye or step. This was not long; And many named her name, and each with Waken'd the lutes, and swell'd a burst of

praise; song,

Some with her passionate beauty fill’d their And the vast mirrors glitter'd with the crowd

gaze, of changing shapes. The young, the fair, Some mark'd her graceful step, and others the proud,

spoke Came thronging in; and the gay cavalier Of the so many hearts that own'd the yoke Took some fair flower from the fairest near, of her bewildering smile; meantime, her And gave it to the dark-eyed beauty's hand,

own To mark his partner for the saraband; Seem'd as that it no other love had known And graceful steps pass’d on, whose tender Than its sweet loves of nature, music, song,


Which as by right to woman's world belong, Was as the rose-leaf in the autumn shed; And make it lovely for Love's dwelling-place. And witching words, raising on the young Alas! that he should leave his fiery trace !


But this bright creature's brow seem'd all Blushes that had no need of words to speak.

too fair, Many were lovely there; but, of that many, Too gay, for Love to be a dweller there; Was one who shone the loveliest of any, For Love brings sorrow: yet you might The young OLYMPIA. On her face the dyes

descry Were yet warm with the dance's exercise, A troubled flashing in that brilliant eye, The laugh upon her full red lip yet hung. A troubled colour on that varying cheek, And, arrow-like, flash'd light words from a hurry in the tremulous lip to speak

her tongue. Avoidance of sad topics, as to shun She had more loveliness than beauty: hers Somewhat the spirit dared not rest npon; Was that enchantment which the heart An unquiet feverishness, a change of place,


A pretty pettishness, if on her face A mouth swect from its smiles, a glancing A look dwelt as in scrutiny to seek


What hidden meanings from its change Which had o'er all expression mastery;

might break. Laughing its orb, but the long dark lash

made Somewhat of sadness with its twilight shade, One gazed with silent homage, one who And suiting well the upcast look which

caught seem'd

Her every breath, and blush, and look, and At times as it of melancholy dream'd;


One whose step mingled not with the gay | Mid darkness and decay; those smiles that crowd

press, That circled round her as of right allow'd, Like the gay crowd round, are not happines But one who stood aloof with that lone pride For peace broods quiet on her doveliki Which ever to deep passion is allied.

wings, Half scorning, yet half envying the gay ring And this false gaiety a radiance flings, That gather'd round with gentle blandishing, Dazzling but hiding not; and some whe He stood aloof; and, cold and stern and high,

dwelt Looked as he mock'd at their idolatry: Upon her meteor-beauty, sadness felt; Yet long'd his knee to bend before the shrine Its very brilliance spoke the fever'd breast: Of the sweet image his heart own’d divine; Thus glitter not the waters when at rest While, half in anger that she had not known What even to himself he would not own. He knew not how a woman's heart will keep

The scene is changed, the maiden is alas The mystery of itself, and like the deep

To brood upon Hope's temple overthrove; Will shine beneath the sunbeam, flash and The hue bas left her lip, the light her eye.


And she has flung her down as if to die. O'er the rich bark that perishes below. Back from her forehead was the rich hair She felt he gazed upon her, and her cheek

swept, Worc added beauty in its crimson break; Which yet its festal braid of roses kept. And softer smiles were on her lip, like those She was in solitude: the silent room The summer-moonlight sheds upon the rose; Was in the summer's sweet and shadovy And her eye sparkled, like the wine-cup's

gloom; brim,

The sole light from the oratory came, Mantling in light, though it turn'd not to where a small lamp sent forth its scented him.

flame Again the dancers gatherd; from them one Beneath the Virgin's picture; but the wind Took gaily her fair hand, and they are gone. Stole froin the casement, for the jasmise, Leoni follow'd not, yet as they pass'd

twined How could OLYMPLA'S light step be the last? With its luxuriant boughs, too thickly gres, Yet pass'd she quickly by him, and the haste to let the few dim star-beams wander From her wreathed hair one fragrant rose

through displaced.

In her hand was a rose; she held the flower LEONI saw it fall; he is alone,

As if her eye were spell-bound by its powe? And he may make the fairy-gift his own. It was spell-bound; coldly that flower He took the flower, and to his lip 't was

repressid press’d,

Sweet hopes,-ay, hopes, albeit unconfess'd. One moment, and 't is safe within his breast; Check’d, vainly check’d, the bitter grid But while he linger'd dreaming o'er its


That rose flung down because that rose was Olympia's step again is in the room

hers! With the young cavalier, who urged her And at the thought paleness in blushes fled.


Had he, then, read her hear and scorn'd And said her rose beside the column lay,

when read? For there he miss'd it, and some flattering Oh! better perish, than endure that thought


She started from her couch; when her eye Fill'd up the whisper which he only heard.

caught Leoni flang it down in carelessness, As he had mark'd them not, and held it less Part in her votary's suffering; the look

The Virgin's picture. Seem'd it that she took From knowledge of his act than vacant Spoke mild reproof, touch'd with grare thought,

tenderness, While the mind on some other subject Pitying her grief, yet blaming her excess.


OLYMPIA turn'd away, she might not bear In haste he left them both, but he could hear To meet such holy brow, such placid air, The pleading of the gallant cavalier

At least not yet; for she must teach her For that rose as a gift. He might not tell

breast What answer from the maiden's lip then fell, A lesson of submission, if not rest, But when they met again he mark'd her hair And still each throbbing pulse, ere she might Where it had wreathed, -the rose-bud was

kneel not there. They pased and repase'd: he, cold, silently,

And pray for peace she had not sought to

feel. As was his wont; but she, with flashing cye, And blush lit up to crimson, seem'd to wear More than accustom'd gladness in her air. She sought the casement, lured by the Ah! the heart overacts its part; its mirth,

soft light Like light, will all too often take its birth of the young moon, now rising on the night.

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the gay,

The cool breezc kiss'd her, and a jasmine- And she was wretched; she, the young, spray

the fair, Caught in her tresses, as to woo her stay. The good, the kind, bow'd down in her And there were sights and sounds that well

despair. might fling Ay, bitterest of the bitter, this worst pain, A charmed trance on deepest suffering. To know love's offering has been in vain; For stood the palace close on the sea-shore; Rejected, scorn'd, and trampled under foot, Not like those northern ones, where breakers Its bloom and leaves destroyid, not so its root.


He loves me not,- no other word or sound And rugged rocks and barren sands are An echo in OLYMPIA’s bosom found.


She thought on many a look, and many a At once both desolate and magnificent;

tone, But there the beach had turf, and trees that From which she gather'd hope,—now these grew

were gone, Down to the water-side, and made its blue Life were too burthensome, save that it led Mirror for their dark shapes. Is nought so To death; and peace, at least, was with the fair

dead. But must there come somewhat of shadow One pang remain'd: perchance, though unthere?

confess'd, Whate'er thou touchest there must be some Some secret hope yet lingerd in her breast;


But this too was destroy'd. She learn'd next Fair earth, such destiny for thee is made.

Sea-winds and waters had LEONI borne

Afar to other lands; and she had now It was a night to gaze upon the sca, But only to her hapless fate to bow. Marvel, and envy its tranquillity; It was a night to gaze upon the earth, And feel mankind were not her favourite She changed, she faded, she the young,

birth; It was a night to gaze upon the sky, Like the first rose Spring yields to pale decay. Pine for its loveliness, and pray to die. Still her lip wore the sweetness of a smile, OLYMPLA felt the hour; from her cheek fled But it forgot its gaiety the while. Passion's untranquil rose, she bow'd her head: Her voice had ever a low gentle tone, For the thick tears like hasty childhood's But now 't was tremulous as Sorrow's own;


Her step fell softer as it were subdued She hid her face, for tears are shed with To suit its motion to her alter'd mood;


As if her every movement, gesture, look, Her heart had spent its tempest, like the Their bearing from the spirit's sadness took;


And yet there was no word which told that When summer-rain bursts from its stormy

grief shroud ;

Prey'd on the heart as blight preys on the Pale, sad, but calm, she turn'd, and bent

leaf. the knee,

But meeker tenderness to those around, In meekest prayer, Madonna fair, to thee. A soothing, sharing love, as if she found Where might the maiden's soul, thus crush'd Her happiness in theirs; more mild, more and riven,

kind, Turn from its mortal darkness, but to Heaven? As if a holier rule were on her mind. It is in vain to say that love is not I cannot choose but marvel at the way The life and colour of a woman's lot. In which our lives pass on, from day to day It is her strength; for what, like love's caress, Learning strange lessons in the human heart, Will guard and guide her own weak tender- And yet like shadows letting them depart.

Is misery so familiar that we bring It is her pride, fleeting and false the while, Ourselves to view it as a usual thing? To see her master suing for her smile. Thus is it; how regardless pass we by Calls it not all her best affections forth, The cheek to paleness worn, the heavy cyc! Pure faith,devotedness, whose fruitless worth We do too little feel each other's pain; Is all too little felt? Oh! man has power We do relax too much the social chain Of head and hand, - heart is a woman's That binds us to cach other; slight the care


There is for grief in which we have no share.


Youth, beauty, rank, and wealth, all these

Can these be wretched? Mystery of the mind !
Whosc happiness is in itself, but still
Has not that happiness at its own will.

OLYMPIA felt all this; it loosed one more Of her heart's ties, and carth's illusions

wore The aspect of their truth,

,-a gloomy show, But what it well befits the soul to know.

It taught the lesson of how vain the toil Sunny and blue was the minstrel's eye, To build our hopes upon earth’s fragile soil. Like the lake when noontide is passing by; Oh! only those who suffer, those may know And his hair fell down in its golden rings How much of piety will spring from woe. As bright and as soft as his own harp-stringt

Yet with somewhat wild upon lip and cheek,

As forth the enthusiast spirit would break Days, weeks, and months passid onwards, To wander at times through earth and air,

and once more And feed upon all the wonders there. LEONI stood upon his native shore.

A changeful prelude his light notes rang, Slight change there was in him: perchance As remembering all they bad ever sung.

his brow

Now the deep numbers rolled along, Wore somewhat of more settled shadow now; Like the fiery sweep of a battle-song; Somewhat of inward grief, too, though re- Now sad, yet bold, as those numbers gare


Their last farewell to the victor's grave; Was in his scornful speech and bitter jest; Then was it soft and low, as it brought For misery, like a masquer, mocks at all The depths of the maiden's lovelon In which it has no part, or one of gall.

thought I will say that he loved her, but say not Harp of Erin! hath song a tone That his, like hers, was an all-blighted lot; Not to thy gifted numbers known? For ever in man's bosom will man's pride But the latest touch was light and calm, An equal empire with his love divide. As the voice of a hymn, the night - falling


Holy and sweet, as its music were given It was one glorious sunset, lone and mute, Less from a vision of earth than of heaven, Save a young page who sometimes waked

his lute
With snatches of sad song ; 'LEONI paced
His stately hall, and much might there be

What were the workings of its owner's mind.
Red wine was in a silver vase enshrined,

But rudely down the cup was flung,undrain'd,
So hastily, the leaf below was stain'd; Rose up the young moon; back she flung
For many an open'd volume lay beside, The veil of clouds that o'er her hung:
As each for solace had in vain been tried : Thus would fair maiden fling aside
And now, worn, wearied, with his solitude, Her bright curls in their golden pride;
He strode, half sad, half listless in his mood, On pass’d she through the sky of blue,
Listening the lute or the deep ocean-wave, Lovelier as she pass'd it grew;
When an attendant enter'd in and gave At last her gentle smiles awake
A packet to his hand. Careless he gazed, The silence of the azure lake.
And broke the seal. Why! the red flush Lighted to silver, waves arise,

has raised

As conscious of her radiant eyes.
Its passion to his brow-what! is the name Hark! floats around it music's tone,
There written? — from OLYMPIA, then, it Sweeter than mortal ear hath known:

Such, when the sighing night-wind grieves

Amid the rose's ruby leaves,
“One word, Leoni, 't is my first and last, That too soon his reluctant wing

Conscious the nightingale is nigh,
And never spoken but that life is past.
It is earth's lingering dreaming, that I pine To his own fair flower bring;

Must rival song and rival sigh
To know these lines will meet one look of Such as the lute, touch'd by no hand


Save by an angel's, wakes and weeps ; If possible upon thy heart to fling

Such is the sound that now to land One gentle memory, one soft thought to cling From the charmed water sweeps. To thy more mournful hours; to bid thee take Around the snowy foam-wreaths break, A pledge too dearly treasured for thy sake, The spirit band are on the lake. And one of mine. Ah! this may be forgiven; First, a gay train form’d of the hues "T is the last weakness of the bride of Heaven, of morning-skies and morning-dews: Which I shall be or ere this comes to tell How much thou hast been loved. Farewell, As eve's last cloud with them delay'd;

A saffron-light around them play'd farewell!"

Such tints, when gazing from afar,

The dazed eye sees in midnight-star. He took her gift: well known the pledges They scatter'd flowers, and the stream


Grew like a garden, each small billow A wither'd rose, a tress of silken hair. Shining with the crimson gleam

The young rose flung upon its pillow;


And from their hands, and from their hair, She grew up a neglected child,
Blossoms and odours fill'd the air;

As pure, as beautiful, as wild
And some of them bore wreathed shells, As the field-flowers which were for years
Blush-dyed, from their coral cells, Her only comrades and compeers.
Whence the gale at twilight brought Time pass’d, and she, to woman grown,
The earliest lesson music caught :

Still, like a wood-bird, dwelt alone. And gave they now the sweetest tone, Save that, beside a peasant's hearth, That unto sea-born lyre was known; Tales of the race which gave her birth For they were echoes to the song

Would sometimes win the maiden's ear; That from spirit-lips was fleeting,

And once, in a worst hour of fear, And the wind bears no charm along

When the red fever raged around, Such as the shell and voices meeting. Her place beside the couch was found On pass’d they to the lulling tune,

Of sickness, and her patient care, Meet pageant for the lady moon.

And soothing look, and holy prayer, A louder sweep the music gave:

And skill in herbs, had power sublime The chieftain of the charmed wave,

Upon the sufferer's weary time: Graceful upon his steed of snow,

But, saving these, her winter-day Rises from his blue halls below;

Was pase'd within the ruins gray ;
And rode he like a victor knight

And ever summer-noons were spent
Thrice glorious in his arms of light. Beside the charmed lake, and there
But, oh! the look his features bear Her voice its silver sweetness sent
Was not what living warriors wear; To mingle with the air.
The glory of his piercing eye

Thus time pass'd on. At length, one day Was not that of mortality:

Beside her favourite haunt she lay, Earth's cares may not such calm allow, When rush'd some band who wish'd to Man's toil is written on his brow:

make But here the face was passionless,

Her prisoner for her beauty's sake.
The holy peace of happiness,
With that grave pity spirits feel
In watching over human weal;

She saw them ere they gain'd her seat. An awful beauty round him shone

Ah! safety may she gain ? But for the good to look upon.

Though mountain-deer be not more fleet,
Close by his side a maiden rode,
Like spray her white robe round her flow'd ; The lake-oh, it is there to save!

Yet here flight is in vain.
No rainbow-hues about her clung,
Such as the other maidens flung ;

She plunges-is it to a grave?
And her hair hath no summer-crown,

Moons waned; again is come the night

When sprites are free for earthly sight. But its long tresses floating down

They see the mortal maiden ride
Are like a veil of gold which cast
A sunshine to each wave that past.

In honour by the chieftain's side,

So beautiful, so free from sin,
She was not like the rest: her cheek
Was pale and pure as moonlight snows;

Worthy was she such boon to win:

The spirit-race that floated round
Her lip had only the faint streak
The bee loves in the early rose;

Were not more pure, more stainless found;

Her utmost loveliness and grace
And her dark eye had not the blue

Were sole signs of her human race:
The others had clear, wild, and bright;
But floating starry, as it drew

Happy, thus freed from earthly thrall, Its likeness from the radiant night.

She skims the lake, fairest of all.
And more she drew my raised eye
Than the bright shadows passing by;
A meeker air, a gentler smile,
A timid tenderness the while,

Scarlet robe broider'd with gold ;
Held sympathy of heart, and told

A turban's snowy, but gem-set fold, The lady was of earthly mould.

And its heron-plume fastend by diamondBlush'd the first blush of coming day,

clasp; Faded the fairy-band away.

Rubies red on his dagger-hasp ; They pass'd, and only left behind

Eyes dark as a midnight-dream, A lingering fragrance on the wind, Yet flashing wild with starry beam; And on the lake, their haunted home, Swarthy chcek untouch'd by red, One long white wreath of silver foam. Told far had CLEMENZA's summons sped: Heard I in each surrounding vale

Since the Moorish bard had brought his What was that mortal maiden's tale:

claim, Last of her race, a lonely flower,

'Mid these Northern halls, to the meed of She dwelt within their ruind tower.

fame. Orphan without one link to bind Nature's affection to her kind;

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