jT__h~jfc-. 
 
 REESE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 /\Y, <; ./ 
 

* 
 
COZEN ZA, 
 
 A TALE OF ITALY, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHEE POEMS. 
 
 BY MRS. N. FUBLONG. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION 
 
 SAN FKANCISCO: 
 
 PRINTED BY B. F. STEEETT, 532 CLAY STREET. 
 
 1880. 
 
(*! 3-CO 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by 
 
 MRS. N. FURLONG, 
 In the oflBLce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 PREFACE ................................................... 13 
 
 ANNOUNCEMENT ............................................ 14 
 
 INVOCATION ............................... ................ 17 
 
 COZENZA, A TALE OF ITALY .......... ....................... 19 
 
 NONNENWERTH, A LEGEND OF THE RHINE .................... 133 
 
 WHERE SHE SLEEPS IN SANTA CLARA ....................... 225 
 
 ET ELLE EST MUETTE ....................................... 226 
 
 REMEMBRANCE ............................................ 227 
 
 AN ANSWER .............................. ................ 228 
 
 LAMENT OF LEOXORA D EsTE ............................... 229 
 
 STAR OF THE SEA. . ................. .................... , 242 
 
 ALTSAT BURN .............................................. 243 
 
 TORTESA AND MuRILLO ..................................... 250 
 
 SISTER MART AGNES ........................................ 252 
 
 A PHILOSOPHIC ASSURANCE .................................. 254 
 
 THE "BKER S\VILL" ....................................... 255 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 POBTBATT OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 CASTLE OF OLETANO. THE LURLT. 
 
 ABCH OF ROLANDSECK. CONVENT OF NONNENWEBTH. 
 
 THE BRIDGE ACROSS THE NAHE. ALTSAY BUBN. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 On account of the advertisements to the two larger 
 poems which constitute nearly the whole of this 
 book, together with the numerous notes attached, 
 explaining so much of the subject, there is little left 
 to be said by way of preface, except to thank the 
 public, and a numerous list of subscribing friends, 
 for the favorable acceptance and criticism accorded 
 the first edition of " Nonnenwerth," and to hope that 
 in the Poem of "Cozenza," an equally desired praise 
 and sustaining influence may be deserved, and ac 
 corded. It has become, perhaps, too much the cus 
 tom of authors to seem to depreciate their own 
 efforts; I will only say that I have not tried to "send 
 forth a leaf floating," or "a straw on the wind," or 
 any thing of that kind. I have earnestly tried to 
 please my dear readers, and hope they will think so. 
 
 MRS. N. FURLONG. 
 
ANNOUNCEMENT. 
 
 This Poem is partly founded on the story of a Revolutionary 
 Sicilian. Some of the Characters are real others fictitious. Co- 
 zenza, the principal character, becomes the leader of Revolutionists, 
 in obedience to the wish of his father, who suffered death at the 
 hands of the reigning Monarch. Imbued with the patriotism of 
 his sire, he makes heroic efforts to achieve the Liberation of Italy. 
 "While engaged in battle, he is wounded, taken prisoner, and con 
 fined in Castell d Mare. He effects his escape, but dies while try 
 ing to reach the mountains. 
 
 Etolia, a young lady of noble family, a daughter of the count of 
 Olevano, is made the wife of Cozenza after many romantic trials. 
 At the beginning of the Revolution, she retires to her home at 
 Olevano. Suspected of treason, she is thrown into the dungeons of 
 her own Castle, by the secret spies of the King: and, refusing to 
 confess the complicity of her husband in the Revolution, is put to 
 death, by torture, expiring in the hands of her persecutors. 
 
 Salluzzi, a Captain of Bandits, compelled Cardinal Capano, whom 
 he had taken captive, to unite in marriage Cozenza and Etolia in 
 the Robber s cave where Cozenza had accidentally met his betroth 
 ed. Sttlluzzi renounces his reckless life, and, with his band joins 
 the Liberators. Concetta Lavagnu, the wife of one of Salluzzi s 
 men, seeks her husband on the field of battle among the slain, but 
 finds i ozenza, in the arms of death, and receives his last words of 
 hope and despair. Caldara, a patrio,t priest, while alleviating the 
 poor, gives his service to the cause of Liberty. 
 
 Morbiii, Pontillo, Del Carretto, Satriano, Maniscalco, and others, 
 are secret spies of the King; and, by machines of torture exact 
 confession from those suspected of being disloyal. 
 
 Localities, and Historic events pertaining to the Revolution of 
 1818, are carefully detailed from authentic sources. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY 
 A POEM IN EIGHT CANTOS. 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 Once more, sweet Muse, inspire my soul 
 To wake the Harp, its chords control, 
 
 And pleasing verse unfold; 
 Lend me the voice to fill my song 
 With strains as pure, if not so strong, 
 
 As bards have sung of old. 
 
 Let fitting thought, in verse arise; 
 Of classic lands, ueath sunny skies, 
 
 Made sacred by the lore, 
 Which grand poetic minds have cast 
 Upon the record of the past, 
 
 Of fair Italians shore. 
 
 Then swell the heart to feel the strain 
 Of simple music, which has lain 
 
 Cold in the breast so long; 
 And may the task of love be mine, 
 Thy tender laurels to entwine, 
 
 To beautify my song. 
 
COZENZA 
 
 A TALE OF ITALY. 
 
 I. 
 
 ?ROM sweet Palermo s fruited vales, 
 
 To Genoa s white moving sails; 
 Ravine and oak, and walnut shade, 
 And clust ring vine in sylvan glade, 
 And quaint, receding peasant cots, 
 That rise like wings from hillside grots 
 Are scenes that claim the gifted hand 
 Of magic thought; for, scenes more grand, 
 From mountain slope to ocean strand, 
 Seek not beyond this classic land. 
 Here, blood of murdered Caesars flowed; 
 Here, Carthagenian troopers rode 
 O er roadways where proud armies vast 
 Swept by with death and blighting blast, 
 And left defeat to mark the past. 
 The trampling hoofs of Hannibal, 
 
20 COZENZA. 
 
 No passing sounds to-day recall; 
 And wintry floods, a thousand times, 
 Have washed the crimson fields of crimes. 
 Here, ruins drenching in the flood 
 Of ages, now not stained with blood 
 Of tyrants; and the wild winds brood 
 In sadness where some fortress stood 
 The tyrant hand, the martyred faith, 
 Alike, devoted spoils of Death. 
 
 II. 
 
 Coliseum, crumbling to decay ! 
 What shall I say that is not said: 
 Thy multitudes have passed away. 
 Thy bleeding martyr, and the gray 
 Fierce panther that upon him fed; 
 And thy arena to the night 
 And day is domeless, roofless, quite: 
 And where the busy surging throng 
 Of cities waked the morn, the song 
 Of shepherd swain is heard among 
 His flocks, as though the restless tongue 
 Of fame, with silver harp unstrung, 
 Had left her noblest songs, unsung. 
 Where now, the arm of valor tried ? 
 Where now, the ancient halls of pride ? 
 Let ruin tell the only guide. 
 
 III. 
 
 At Cannae, whose historic plain j 
 Saw forty thousand Romans slaia 
 By foreign foe, no signs remain 
 
A TALE OF ITALY, 21 
 
 Of former greatness; and in vain, 
 We seek the dirty lanes of noise, 
 Old dames, and ragged beggar boys 
 So idly dreaming time away 
 Its memory scarcely lives to-day, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Along Voltorno s vale, the rain 2 
 And sun, still fresh the growing grain, 
 And ever toiling sleepless bees, 
 Go laden on in droning hum; 
 And birds of song, at morning come 
 And thrill the fruited orange trees, 
 
 V. 
 
 Gaeta only lives in name; 3 
 And were it not for Virgil fame, 
 A passing notice could not claim; 
 But, here the antiquarians trace 
 The lone, neglected burial-place 
 Of Eneas nurse so long rank grown 
 With thorn and weed almost unknown. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The pavement ways, where victors led 
 The vanquished, feel no more the tread 
 Of valor ; and, where chariots sped, 
 The pleading beggar kneels in dread, 
 Whose courage and whose hope are fled. 
 Grand, templed roads through groves of shade, 
 The debt of cold neglect have paid; 
 Where now a ride through dust awaits 
 Him who would gain Capua s gates; 4 
 
22 COZENZA. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Near by, is pointed out, to-day, 
 The spot where dark assassins lay, 
 When jealous malice rashly made 
 To swiftly fall the flashing blade, 
 O Rivalry! thy angry glow 
 So caused the burning stream to flow 
 Bright, from the heart of Cicero; 
 Than his, no truer lips were dumb, 
 When carried pale, to dreadiul Borne, 
 Antony s mandate was fulfilled; 5 
 And sweetest silver tones were stilled. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Proud cities are not nature s choice: 
 Her lavish hand, and stirring voice 
 Are seen and heard, beyond control 
 Of man, who fearless gains the goal 
 Of power to lose his life his soul. 
 
 IX. 
 
 If thou, Campagna, drear and lone ! 6 
 Shouldst lend this theme a saddened tone, 
 Whose wooden crosses, record keep, 
 Where all of life, and love, long sleep; 
 Thy darkened spirit s legendry. 
 In ruins of antiquity, 
 Majestic desert by the sea . r 
 Is all, now left to time of thee. 
 
 x. 
 
 If, from the Aventine s crushed dome, 7 
 Some civic leaves of laurel come, 
 Herein, they re neyvly wreathed, and sweet, 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 23 
 
 And laid along the pathless way, 
 By such child hands as dropped the wheat, 
 To mark where they were carried far; 
 Nor distant road, nor sun, nor star, 
 Had any signal whence they d come; 
 Of little woodland babes, one day, 
 Such tender story we are told, 
 Long after their own lips are dumb; 
 And never, meanings sweet, grow old. 
 The red feet of the Sylvan doves 
 That lit, and flew, and lit again; 
 That lit, and flew, and picked the grain, 
 And left no speck where it was cast; 
 Came out from shadows of the groves 
 Came near where they were lying dead; 
 And seeing them locked cold and fast, 
 With russet leaves, light overspread 
 The plaintive sorrow of their fate, 
 So still, and pale, and desolate. 
 
 XI. 
 
 So thou, fair Cumaen Sibyl! 8 
 Lain dead for ages, may not will, 
 From soft shut eyelids and still breath, 
 To wake what fancy cherisheth. 
 The crisping flames that arches shook, 
 Consumed thy bright Sibylline Book; 
 And fleets may sail to Egypt s shore 
 For relics of the proud Cleo; 9 
 But who shall find, for evermore, 
 That light, bright ashes, slumb ring low? 
 O er it the camel s feet may haste, 
 
COZENZA. 
 
 When going out towards Syria s waste; 
 
 And Arab idlers may sit down 
 
 On perished fragments of thy crown: 
 
 But Alexandrian fires have not 
 
 Burned the strange mystery of thy lot; 
 
 There lives some flower s perennial bloom, 
 
 To ever grow upon thy secret tomb. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Where Cypress groves, low murmur infinite 
 Sad requiems by fountains long left drear, 
 No more beside them may the Goddess sit 
 Nor sunlight, mid the marbles, shadows rear: 
 Kank, o er their ruins, crowns of nettles grow, 
 Since Bayard s cruelties encompassed woe, 
 And left the lamentations of his crime. 
 Though cold the sterile majesty of time 
 Whose pale form moves with ceaseless, noise 
 less tread, 
 
 Where now no captive, stealthy foe beguiles; 
 Though springing mines are still; and lone 
 
 defiles 
 
 Of dense Abruzzi, hide their lines of dead, 
 And bear soft echoes of the Alpine chime, 
 A dirge for desp rate hopes so vainly led, 
 Through Parian caves, whose fine veins reveal 
 What flashed with luster of Canova s steel: 
 land of Prowess! there is still in thee, 
 The unsubdued, stroog wrath of agony! 
 The oaks of Virgil, and^Nisida s Isle; 
 The sunsets, from Miseno 7 s hills, that smile 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 25 
 
 O er burnished Jasper where the headlands 
 
 lean, 
 
 Still, the traveler thrill. 
 XIII. 
 
 Where thou art seen, 
 
 Deserted Pisa ! long each towering dome 10 
 Has been, for butterflies and birds, a home; 
 And doomed consumptives seek thy balmy air, 
 To linger out sweet life, as fleet as fair. 
 The chiseled buttress of thy lone, vast walls, 
 To glory and its splendor, ne er recalls; 
 And to thy litanies 7 austere restraint, 
 The Seabreeze murmurs back responsive plaint. 
 Thy great Cathedral s jewels lie in gloom; 
 And all thy record is a costly tomb. 
 Fortress, and Pyramid, that Satraps raised, 
 May not with thee be classed, with thee be praised: 
 Grand Campo Santo s sculptured arches claim 11 
 The birthplace of Historic art s pure fame : 
 Solid with stone, and solemn unto death 
 Hope s immortality expressed to faith, 
 The light of an existence beaming new, 
 In hollows of the deep grave brightness threw, 
 Symbol and sanctity in awe combine 
 The mystic halos of each pillared shrine; 
 And precious woods whose broad walls, varied 
 
 gleam 
 
 With many brilliant shades whose colors seem 
 Iridescent with heaven s ambient beam, 
 Arched with the glory of its promise bow, 
 Where lit, a hundred lamps of worship glow; 
 
 TrKlVEp^siTY 
 
COZENZA. 
 
 Though in recumbent grace, or though they 
 
 stand 
 
 Brutus and Bachus in the silence grand, 
 Beside the holiness of truest Saint 
 The moveless satire of time s secret plaint; 
 Effaced, or half effaced, the stones of script 
 The cup long empty by the lamp of Crypt, 
 Long cooled upon its stand. O er nameless dust, 
 The corselet of the warrior left to rust; 
 As of Camillus, it is said, the wing 
 Of some light flutterer o er meads, may fling 
 Renownless atoms on the summer air, 
 Borne by the winglet from such place of prayer; 
 The gorgeous festivals of Lupercal, 12 
 With consecrated lights, no longer shall 
 Glow in the Pantheon; for, Candlemas 
 The same yet not the same, as that which was, 
 From myriad pagan gods, withdrawn to shine 
 loved Madonna ! on that face of thine ! 
 No motto graved on arch or cenotaph, 
 Portrays thy mystic, signal glory half; 
 It is for trembling thoughts that dare aspire; 
 Though dedicated thou, the temple s fire 
 Blazed in the pathway of thy naked feet 
 Whose steps upon the ashes are complete 
 Minerva and Sibyl have quenched tripod* 
 Thou, still the altar of the ancient gods. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 27 
 
 4 
 
 arbonari. 
 
 I. 
 
 Out ou the midnight tolled the bell 
 Alerta sta that all was well ! 
 And, still was the air, and dim the sky 
 With the thick, dark mist that hung on high: 
 Nothing was heard but the tramping sound 
 Of slow steps timing the patrol s round: 
 The people s thoughts were as quiet wings 
 In careless trust of unconscious things; 
 Save only a dreamless, tested few 
 That in trembling dared if false if true; 
 To a large old building these had come, 
 Except for a password, seeming dumb. 
 The room was only a little square, 
 That well was seated when all were there; 
 And a strangely fashioned lamp burned bright, 
 Which brought this out by its ruddy light. 
 
 II. 
 
 They were a class from the best of men; 
 When gathered and reckoned, numbered ten; 
 And counted in age from twenty four 
 
28 COZENZA. 
 
 To forty, it might be, less or more; 
 With faces all that were strongly set, 
 Where purpose and will together met; 
 With glossy dark hair and foreheads large, 
 Where thought was held as a holy charge; 
 Whose unshaken faith imperiled fear, 
 Had heeded not when in meeting here: 
 To Titian these were a worthy band 
 For the pencil s toil of his gifted hand. 
 
 III. 
 
 All silent not a sound of breath 
 The room was still, as still as death: 
 At last, one slowly raised his head, 
 From leaning on his hand, and said 
 In solemn tone that trembled low, 
 "Let us adjourn it, Brothers, so; 
 Because a revolution, dared 
 To failure, meets no hope s reward ; 
 For only then inhuman shown 
 Were that which none would dare to own." 
 Then with a stern, face rose there one 
 Who said: "Nay, now too much is done ! 
 This, the land of Sicily s sons, 
 Of mountain caves, and burried guns; 
 The stealthy Sbirro found them not 
 i Where long since they were left to rot: 
 
 Deep from their rust they re taken up 
 To fill with blood the Bourbon cup; 
 I know you ll answer best in deed 
 What thus you would who hear and heed." 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 29 
 
 IV. 
 
 They rose at his inspiring word, 
 
 As though a wind a forest stirred: 
 
 Suppressed and slow, one spoke for all 
 
 "This purpose we shall not recall. 
 
 If still, imperious repose 
 
 Abjures the will, let it disclose 
 
 The fainting doubt that strives, and guess 
 
 The furtive No or faithful yes" ! 
 
 And "Yes" repeated ev ry one 
 
 That night s most secret pledge was done. 
 
 V. 
 
 Out paled the stars, stillness, and dews, 
 
 Dawn s manifest sweet interfuse; 
 
 And there Cozenza stood alone, 
 
 For each had passed, and all had gone. 
 
 He bared a white brow to the night, which shone 
 
 Like a drooped wing whose dove plumed peace had 
 
 flown. 
 
 
 
 Or, the soft crest that at the sunrise lines 
 The morning sky of his own Apennines. 
 Is there some harmony of deepest close ? 
 Or fine laid color of the sweet bloom rose? 
 A conscript sleeping ere the day he goes, 
 The void of outward things; the transient breath 
 Of kindling heaven; and the secret wrath 
 Of a wild river that breaks out from snows: 
 Yet, with that patience in his dark eyes deep, 
 As of some pain long borne, and laid to sleep. 
 Such was Cozenza; and a vigil s flame 
 
30 COZENZE. 
 
 Burned in the very signal of his name 
 A fettered triumph, and a scepter s claim. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Half rounded was the wall, and ten feet high, 
 Where nine devoted men were led to die; 
 At base of Pell egrino Ciardone 
 A plain beyond the city, vast, and lone, 
 Excepting a stone bench, altar, and seat 
 Where last prayers were said, fearless, and fleet. 
 Twas there Cozenza s father, shot to death, 
 With fortitude s last hour and love s last breath, 
 Adjured the son beloved, with heritage 
 Whose light illumined all life s after page 
 With high intent, and firmest rectitude; 
 The efforts of high aims, not understood 
 As yet, by that fair boy, who wept and heard 
 As one who stood in caves where thunder stirred. 
 Half conscious of his sad impending loss, 
 Through corridors so sloping, tortuous, 
 Far down before a key had turned the door, 
 Whose gloomy entrance was a prison cell; 
 Where dawn scarce lightened night one little hour: 
 Stricken and drooping, like a storm drenched flower, 
 The child was gently led to this farewell. 
 VII. 
 
 And soon, the dear embrace that held him close, 
 Had calmed his young heart s anguish to repose: 
 The grief of love s despair, first, last, once more, 
 Had stamped that tender heart indellible 
 There, within clammy walls whose dungeon light 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 31 
 
 Was toned to quail a malefactor s blight. 
 
 The low vault roof, the straw strewn floor, and 
 
 stool, 
 
 The only furniture allowed by rule, 
 Except a lantern that unsteady swung, 
 And wavered when, with clang, the door was flung: 
 Here, mournful and intent, the dying sire 
 A martyr s holy faith, would still inspire: 
 Soulfelt and whispering the while with joy, 
 "Be as a father, to thy brothers, boy, 
 And, to thy stricken mother, gentle e er, 
 Bereaved so bitterly, sustained by pray r; 
 Unsullied be the name I leave to thee; 
 Keep it, rememb ring efforts yet to be, 
 The watchword of a trial s darkest sea 
 A standard for thy country s liberty. 7 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So died that hero; and two decades gone, 
 Cold grew the horror of the deed long done; 
 And colder, the sweet eyes that wept for him, 
 Some years since veiled with yew trees, and grown 
 
 dim, 
 
 That widowed mother of majestic grief 
 As for the rest, it is all less and brief; 
 The confiscating spoiler s claim was rife, 
 And left Cozenza but a restless life, 
 At times, he visited the stony shrine, 
 To keep hope definite, not to repine. 
 There still the bullet holes struck in the wall, 
 Or, there a mourning peasant to recall 
 
32 COZENZA. 
 
 The recollections long revered with dread, 
 And teach his son to name the honored dead, 
 While half unmindful of the stranger, near, 
 Who loved to hear him, whom he need not fear, 
 Though telling how, again the noble land 
 Felt all the hated cratt of Ferdinand. 
 And thus, Cozenza s manhood, sadly came 
 Through direst vengeance and ambitious flame: 
 Grand in his sorrow, in his purpose strong, 
 Bound as to Sethori, to his life that wrong. 13 
 With anger ninefold, and a father lost 
 His young reflections on mad billows tost 
 An orphan boy forgotten, until when, 
 One more than nine, he made the secret ten, 
 The faithful, trusted ten who understood, 
 And pledged their service in Abruzzi s wood. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 
 
 | 
 
 he ba of ilu 
 
 I. 
 
 There was no rest: the awful night, 
 
 "Was full of death s wan, stricken blight: 
 
 The dreadful Plague held carnival; 
 
 Not heeding couch, nor cup, nor pall, 
 
 Nor rank, nor age, nor station all 
 
 Afflicted, fair Palermo wept 
 
 In sadness, and death vigils kept. 
 
 The dead-cart rolled the ready grave 
 
 Was all a victim hoped to have. 
 
 "Bring out your dead, 7 the ghoulish cry; 
 
 Or "haste! come on ! don t wait to die" ! 
 
 The fiendish glance the curse the laugh- 
 
 Told not the horror all nor half; 
 
 Else, strict, wide, silence, just not dumb, 
 
 But wakeful faintly with the hum 
 
 Of moans, that followed still a moan 
 
 From distance come, to distance gone: 
 
 The closing bang of rough box lids 
 
 The cry, the stillness that forbids 
 
34 COZENZA. 
 
 To question what was shut in there; 
 The driver s oath the mourner s pray r 
 Mingled upon the midnight air, 
 One scarce the city, now could know, 
 So changed by one short month of woe. 
 Bright little shops, and houses closed; 
 Death s squalor there alone reposed; 
 And, that the dead might burried be, 
 Were hated criminals set free. 
 
 II 
 
 Holding a phial s strong perfume, 
 
 The priest and doctor strode through gloom, 
 
 Conferring formal rites to die, 
 
 Reserved to special ministry; 
 
 And other adjutants were there, 
 
 Besmeared with dirt with matted hair; 
 
 And arms, and legs, and feet, left bare; 
 
 These carriers of the dead, bestowed 
 
 In careless haste, each added load; 
 
 And with some gaudy finery laid, 
 
 A hideous derision made: 
 
 Each dirty rag, or falling shred, 
 
 Was mixed with plunder from the dead; 
 
 Fine silks, embroidered vests, and coats, 
 
 Deep satin ties round grimy throats, 
 
 And fingers sparkling full of rings 
 
 O er all a frightful aspect throw, 
 
 Wierd contrast with life s flitting show: 
 
 The crowded cart of senseless woes, 
 
 One more or less thrown in, ne er knows; 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 35 
 
 Then Charon in another flings 
 All ready, mounts his seat, and sings. 
 Grieving, a voice was heard to say, 
 "Here is one dead ! stop, come this way" ! 
 And, at a window opened, shown 
 A maiden s face fair, and alone. 
 
 III. 
 
 Her mournful eyes now tear-stained, late were 
 
 bright 
 
 With earnest smiles that beamed like rays of light; 
 Of the fairest race, she was beauty s own, 
 Her brow like a lily that night is on, 
 Her delicate lips of Raphael curve. 
 Had the lucid vein and tremulous nerve, 
 Pliant with power s mysterious being 
 It is not described, you know it when seeing. 
 In play of the wind, moved her soft, dark curls; 
 Her hand was the sign of a thousand Earls 
 Though I write this in a Kepublic land, 
 There are many here who will understand, 
 We are still like those who have gone before us, 
 This rule holds good since old Heliodorus: 
 And no matter what transmigrated shore is, 
 The destiny of a wandering race, 
 It is still the same, through all time or place; 
 And when I have mentioned her teeth of pearls, 
 I ve told of one of the prettiest girls, 
 And a Neapolitan home and name 
 Of the proudest and noblest, she might claim. 
 
30 COZENZA. 
 
 IV, 
 
 What did she there alone ? what did she there ? 
 This being, like a flower, strange and fair; 
 Escaping, while she dared the pestilence 
 Her low voice on the night the darkness dense, 
 Except the fitful torches here and there, 
 That paled in vapors of the midnight air? 
 Oh ! she was not alone: in anguished prayer 
 Her mother sobbing, knelt upon the floor, 
 With bended head, too prostrate to adore; 
 And here, with dread abandon of great grief, 
 The father lay in death, sad, cold relief! 
 
 V. 
 
 The mother trembled to a gentle touch, 
 
 U grieve not, mother; nay, why weep so much ? 
 
 If we should leave for Naples ere the sun, 
 
 Think where we are, and all that must be done : 
 
 An English brig will leave Messina and 
 
 You may, or will you write to Ferdinand ?" 
 
 She hesitated in emotion, as 
 
 Though she had thought of more, and let it pass. 
 
 " My child speak on, I know what you would say; 
 
 I do not care to haste, nor, make delay, 
 
 Indifferent, let fate bring what it may. 
 
 Ah ! yes ; I know the rest ; your anxious face 
 
 This hour restraining love, hath still its grace; 
 
 For you, my dear, I scarce know what to do, 
 
 We go to San Gregorio Armeno: 
 
 My cousin, the good Abbess, will to thee 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 37 
 
 Extend her cautious care, months two, or three: 
 There I will leave thee, till returned again 
 Some pension from the king I must attain. " 
 Downcast, Etolia listened; and silent, did remain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here three men entered, and the converse ceased: 
 
 One of them, seeming a St. Francis priest: 
 
 From all quarters in a ritual book, 
 
 The trusted monks, dread correspondence, took. 
 
 Father Caldara, being one of those 
 
 A patriot too, despite the calm repose 
 
 Of pious law a faithful priest withal, 
 
 Fervently ready unto duty s call, 
 
 He cared not. for the pestilential breath 
 
 Despair had nought for him; and life, no death; 
 
 And passing, where the Plague flag s yellow furl 
 
 Waved o er the mother and the watchful girl, 
 
 Had entered neath its death-like shadows low; 
 
 He had known Olevano long ago 
 
 De Olevano, noblest Count that e er 
 
 Sued to tyrant king, a patriot s prayer; 
 
 Suspected, to be disaffected, long, 
 
 Patient, he waited the redress of wrong, 
 
 Through dull, inactive years of want and pain. 
 
 At length, to royal favor once again, 
 
 Too late restored, by effort that obtained 
 
 The service that his rank and worth, had claimed: 
 
 A far Calabrian Governor, the meed 
 
 Appointed by the king unto his need. 
 
 Now he lay dead; no voice to wake him more: 
 
COZENZA. 
 
 Daughter, and wife, alone the loss deplore 
 For nurse, and servants all had died before. 
 VII. 
 
 In upper hills of Naples, gorge and dell, 
 With cloud-lit splendors that above them swellj 
 Close to sweet, small Lesila s olive groves 
 Were Olevano s towers, filled with doves; 
 And silent halls, and splendid spacious rooms, 
 And remnants of the past, and lonely tombs 
 Of ancestry. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But now they could not place 
 Him placidly to rest could not retrace 
 Their journey there. Alas, so far away 
 From their unrested hope that stricken day. 
 The proud, old Castle Olevano lay ; 
 Quiet and grand, the sleeping hills among: 
 While o er its lord, the pall of death was flung 
 Not now at least; but with the Sylva s dead, 
 Strangers and many there, he must be laid: 
 Delays, and journeys, and the quarantine 
 So far, his distant home these were between, 
 
 IX. 
 
 Unto the Sylva, then they took him: Fate 14 
 Had no alternative; and desolate 
 Was night, a night of sorrow the hour late 
 They took him, mourning, without pomp or state; 
 Alike, that dreadful time, to poor and great, 
 Was the remorseless Plague s insatiate frown. 
 
In upper hills of Naples, gorge and dell, 
 "With cloud-lit splendors that above them swell; 
 Close to sweet, small Lesila s olive groves 
 Were Olevano s towers, filled with doves; 
 And silent halls, and splendid, spacious roooms, 
 And remnants of the past, and lonely tombs 
 Of ancestry." 
 
 Page 38. Stanza Y1I. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 39 
 
 The glorious moon in splendor streaming down 
 On gardens long, and by-paths in the trail 
 Along which moved the cortege; and the pale, 
 Bright stars came out to gem the concave vale: 
 The wind s wild wail, through bending boughs 
 
 made sound 
 
 Of music, to the shadows on the ground: 
 Except a woman s grieving widowhood, 
 All listless, the centurial Cypress wood 
 Far out against the sky like watchers stood; 
 And the lone patrol, on his nightly round, 
 Whose footsteps moved the silence else profound. 
 
 x. 
 
 Close to the iron gate, they entered by, 
 Was a small pillar, pointing to the sky, 
 Which, frescoed paintings of the Passion, showed, 
 Or, how the burning fires of Hades glowed: 
 Then a square grating to an under vault, 
 At turning of some Avenue, was caught: 
 Sad glimpses all, though beautiful the scroll 
 Which in the silv ry moonlight o er them stole; 
 And there, through vacant spaces of the trees, 
 A Gothic Chapel s soft, illumined peace : 
 Here to the Sylva, when the dews were deep, 
 The few had come to bury him, and weep. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Another there had come: what was his quest ? 
 Was he a watcher in that place of rest? 
 Why started he, when drew the cortege near ? 
 Was he a waiting mourner of the bier ? 
 
40 COZENZA. 
 
 Or had the anxious thought, that often glooms 
 The soul, enticed him forth among the tombs? 
 The wheeling bat flew by him, and away; 
 Restless, he moved where darker shadows lay, 
 And sadly mused: 
 
 "O life, thou art a day ! 
 Behold, how many great and noble sleep, 
 Within these spacious vaults, that silence keep ! 
 Hark ! the cemetery bell the lone hour 
 Of midnight in the mountains! dismal power ! 
 Rebounding, echoes from each distant place ! 
 
 man ! one hour is past one more to trace ! 
 Happy is he who has no cause to fear 
 
 The hour of destiny approaching near. 
 
 Yea, mourning women ! whom I watch, unseen, 
 
 Sad emblems of my country ! do you lean 
 Your broken hearts upon a broken reed? 
 
 Let Faith and Hope inspire despair s great need 1 ?) 
 XII. 
 
 Thus mused Cozenza; until thought was staid 
 By a light hand upon his shoulder laid. 
 
 1 Delay not ?> said the low voice he obeyed. 
 ^Caldara ! Friend and Father ! is it you? 
 
 I have waited here some hours in the dew. 
 Are they all down there now ?" he sudden grew 
 More cautions still with this inquiring tone, 
 And glanced to see were yet the mourners gone. 
 "Who are fhey^. Are they strangers? Do you 
 
 know? 
 What news ? and tell me quickly, speaking low." 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 41 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " What news, and who are tlmjl sad news at best: 
 
 There lies Count Olevauo at his rest; 
 
 And there, his wife and daughter desolate; 
 
 And, since a few days, hapless is the strait 
 
 Of fair Messina, filled with ships of fate 
 
 The devastating troops are landing in 
 
 Carnage most terrible, and ruin s din 
 
 The people of Messina fly to us 15 
 
 Our two battalions are a total loss ! 
 
 Boys, twenty, and sixteen, how well sustained, 
 
 Unflinchingly, and long the heart is pained; 
 
 Out of two thousand, there returned, but eight; 
 
 Presenting to the Ministry, they said: 
 
 Behold, and count us ! all the rest are dead! 
 
 Here is our Banner, and heed not our fate ! 
 
 Though red the waters of Messina run, 
 
 And we were slaughtered, is its honor won. r> 
 
 XIV. 
 
 "Does Countess Olevano know I m here f 
 To fair Etolia speak before you go; 
 And, if she know not, you may let her know, 
 And tell our friends below, that I am near ! 
 I knew all that you told me of the fleet, 
 And fighting at Messina. It is meet, 
 Some care be taken of those ladies chance 
 Alone must grant them safe deliverance; 
 Because the English Brig, no refugees 
 Will take on board, until a day of peace," 
 
42 COZENZA. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The grieving Countess had to pray r withdrawn, 
 To wait within the little church, till dawn ; 
 Her child s low converse with the friendly priest 
 Anxiety or thought, cost not the least: 
 It was, no doubt, some gentle care they planned 
 Of morning journey, and to understand 
 Who should companions be. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 There was no lamp; 
 
 The moon, alone, lit all the heavenly camp, 
 Etolia listened ! Ah what soft, light step? 
 Her lips were parted; and her breath was deep 
 There in half shadow, there, before her stood 
 Yea, he had come ! and dark the Cypress wood ; 
 And white the low Verbenas on the ground 
 Beside his pathway, silent, most profound. 
 He was her own : the aerial glow 
 And her own frightened heart, his name might know. 
 She did not greet him with her joy or woe ; 
 But took his hand, saying or sighing, oh ! 
 What things he said his sweet and fond embrace 
 Would here in passive words find little trace. 
 What efforts then she made with tremors cold, 
 That swift her startled thoughts to him be told 
 His kisses oft Ah me ! the story old 
 And yet, forever good, like perfect gold. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Would she go to Carmine f there he held 
 Apostolato sittings. Numbers swelled 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 43 
 
 Daily, the ranks of the devoted few, 
 Whose fervent destiny more brightly grew ; 
 And her own happiness more sweetly true. 
 Nay, it were vain to ask king Ferdinand, 
 Consent to e er bestow on him her hand; 
 Too deep endorsement of suspected taint 
 Would seal her father s mem ry with complaint : 
 Her loving mother s need the kingly ire, 
 Were she to wed a Lib ral, adding fire 
 To what had been alleged against her sire. 
 
 XYIII. 
 
 While ling ring, loving, grieving, waited they, 
 The hours delayed not the approaching day. 
 Passive and mute, with resignation won, 
 She had with effort felt that all was done 
 He had departed with the waning moon. 
 Pale, as the Ivory statue of Alea, 
 She stood, forgetful he was not still near. 
 The night wind blew ; but not the Sylva s dead 
 Heard the sweet words that he had fondly said : 
 She murmured ; 
 
 XIX. 
 
 li my God ! thy will be done ; 
 As a wrecked swimmer on the waters thrown, 
 My hope is at thy mercy thine alone ! 
 Ah ! now to me, it has been w ell revealed, 
 That thy dear presence inaccessible, 
 Hid in the tempest, like a cloud-wrapt sun, 
 Is that to which my soul should have appealed, 
 Changeless forever, without human spell 
 
44 COZENZA. 
 
 Of eyes whose look is a vain agony , 
 
 Of lips whose beauty is a silent wail ; 
 
 These have no story e er to tell to me 
 
 Those shade their splendor in thy Temple s vail I" 
 
 xx. 
 
 On her foot, was placed the slipper of glass ; 
 She could not stand up when her Prince did pass; 
 The spindle was touched ; and the Princess slept 
 And lowly, Etolia knelt down, and wept. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 mystic Love ! Why, in thy sense of soul, 
 Is some pain perfect to usurp control ? 
 A gentle Wolf that walks within the wood ; 
 A little one who knows not ill from good. 
 Whom we remember by her crimson hood 
 Her hapless Grandma not more wise than she, 
 Ages on ages keep their legendry : 
 Forever, is the latch unlifted -yet, * 
 We see, with consternation and regret, 
 Outside, the Wolf and Riding Hood still wait : 
 Inside, the Grandmother bewails her fate 
 All this for sake of Love we would forget. 
 Still, Mustapha s son the mystery tries : 
 The Lamp is touched to luster with surprise, 
 While countless gems flash out before his eyes : 
 Elate with pride and hope, ambitions blend ; 
 And a black mountain, and its caverns end 
 The journey where the Genii descend. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 45 
 
 lie flafacombs. 
 
 I. 
 
 Follow Cozenza, where the colored panes 
 
 Chequered the somber light with many stains, 
 
 Around the Chapel, to another door ; 
 
 Entering, unobserved as all before, 
 
 He looked around, and saw he was alone. 
 
 At one end, was an altar of gray stone, 
 
 Surmounted by a heavy cross of wood 
 
 That for a century upon it stood : 
 
 Short rows of benches leaned against the walls, 
 
 Unpainted ; and quaint biers with faded palls 
 
 That once were damask even signal death, 
 
 Faded or graded, a tokened splendor hath. 
 
 Several pick-axes, and bars, and spades, 
 
 Lay in another corner fun ral aids. 
 
 n. 
 
 An oaken door led from the altar s left 
 Downward a solid stairs that had been cleft 
 From rock. Here faintest gleam of light had fled, 
 And made more cautions each descending tread. 
 
46 C Z E N Z A . 
 
 Thus downward, making steps and pathway sure, 
 He reached the second narrow sepulture, 
 Which being dark, he stumbled o er a skull, 
 Or ran against the niches that were full 
 Of ghastly inmates, till he turned a third 
 Long gall ry saw a light, and voices heard. 
 Here, too, an altar, and some seats of stone, 
 Used by the Monks at pray r in days long gone; 
 Once more the Comitato s tested few, 
 Welcomed their daring leader, tried and true. 
 
 III. 
 
 Father Caldara, and some twenty more, 
 
 One of them went to guard the staircase door, 
 
 The others seated on the benches, round, 
 
 Attentive silence, pending and profound, 
 
 Secret and pledged, an anxious, waiting Band 
 
 All sworn enemies to Ferdinand. 
 
 Those men of Fate ! Palmerston ! what use 16 
 
 Your crafty policy and futile snares ? 
 
 They dared and suffered, though you did refuse 
 
 The promised aid to their relying prayers. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Caldara stood with foot upon the stair 
 
 Of the lone, long forgotten altar, where, 
 
 Within a little nook, a lantern s gleam 
 
 Made all the gloomy shadows denser seem, 
 
 But lighting earnest thought in ev ry beam 
 
 Of soulful eyes there gathered, though but few, 
 
 Brave leaders all, of mountain peasants who, 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 4? 
 
 Would die with them, when they their lances drew. 
 Sworn on the skull and crossbones lying there, 
 Cozenza s left hand resting on them bare; 
 Emblems of Death most awful, just, severe, 
 Not signs of failure, slavery, nor fear. 
 * Son of the martyred dead ! Hath the hour come? 
 Fulfill thy chosen vow, accept thy doom ! 
 Here we have gathered from the cities far, 
 To guide our liberties beneath thy star : 
 Marked is the glass; and falling grain by grain, 
 Our citizens; our hopes, our efforts, vain ! 
 Here to concert then, let the trial be; 
 ITALIA UNA, AND OUR LIBERTY ! ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Brothers ! invested with your sternest trust, 
 E en as a breastplate in the bloody dust, 
 With hope s collectedness I take the task; 
 And with what dangers fraught, I do not ask. 
 Of old, the dusty banner in this vault, 
 The breeze of Freedom on the sunshine caught; 
 And well you know that ev ry shining blade 
 Must be a victor s or a martyr s, laid 
 Upon its crumbling fold," this, all he said. 
 " We do, we swear it," and they all arose; 
 As a storm lightens wh jn a rainbow glows, 
 So flashed their eyes, and clashed their saber blows. 
 But lo! that moment from the gallery s end, 
 What instant terror does that voice portend ? 
 i( O fated men ! low hangs the tyrant s sword: 
 Light be your footsteps silent ev ry word : 
 
 (UNIVERSITY 
 
 v 
 
48 COZENZA. 
 
 Sbirri are knocking at the Sylva s gate : 17 
 We must not fall alive defend your fate! 
 Fierce Maniscalco s minions trapped you here 
 If we must fall, our blood shall cost them dear." 
 
 VI. 
 
 u Be calm," Caldara said; " this shock to meet ; 
 
 Stir not, though time is precious, minutes fleet. 7 
 
 Approaching a side niche, he touched a spring, 
 
 Though not performing in the highland fling 
 
 The standing occupant around did swing, 
 
 Disclosing an apperture into which 
 
 They scarce could pass, man after man. The niche 
 
 Kevolved back to its place with ringing sound ; 
 
 And in a grotto, then, themselves they found, , 
 
 Not more than eight by ten, in height or size; 
 
 Of unaccustomed darkness to their eyes; 
 
 So damp and chill the air, their blood would freeze; 
 
 But stirred by dire alarm, and ill at ease 
 
 With great excitement there was little thought 
 
 Of cold or damp such things were held as nought. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Hasten!" said Caldara; "because, if they 
 Perceive with certainty we gathered here; 
 And that there is not an apparent way 
 For our escape, I doubt not; and I fear, 
 They ll knock down all the dead, until they meet 18 
 The secret spring discovering our retreat." 
 Dismal the grotto, though the lantern s light 
 They still had with them, taken in their flight. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 49 
 
 Speechless they hurried; winding farther in 
 To where the deeper depths of Earth begin; 
 With many turnings, and at times ascending, 
 Contracting, narrowing, then downward tending 
 Where chisel marks were seen,and showed that man 
 Had made it wider, where it was a span. 
 Some spacious caverns were adorned with bright, 
 Fantastic, basalt rocks, and chrysolite, 
 And hanging stalactites that sparkled high, 
 Like emeralds, or diamonds, or the sky 
 When from the milky-way, star-studded light 
 Beams down resplendent on a summernight. 
 In other places they were stifled, by 
 A lack of air, and felt about to die, 
 When from the creviced mountain, just above, 
 A breeze came wafted like a message dove. 
 
 O 
 
 Eestoring them to vigor once again. 
 
 Two miles of weary way were traversed, when, 
 
 Like hunted harts, each tired, listening ear 
 
 Heard sound, of falling water somewhere near 
 
 A subterraneous cataract, pent 
 
 Within the strata, until finding vent, 
 
 Where throes of Earth, the shaken rocks, had rent, 
 
 It foamed the cavern in its mad descent. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The sounds increased, as on they nearer drew; 
 Smoother the path ; the cavern larger grew: 
 More damp, and cool, and fresh, the air that blew. 
 Concealed by mist and foam, a passage lay, 
 Which should be crossed before the break of day: 
 
50 COZENZA. 
 
 A sheet of water, falling from a hight 
 
 Some fifteen feet, was dashing, foamy, bright, 
 
 Over a second fall, or precipice, 
 
 With noise tremendous into an abyss : 
 
 They stopped in blank amaze when nearing this. 
 
 Irresolute, a moment there they stood; 
 
 The path so sloping neath the frenzied flood, 
 
 Of swift descending water, now they viewed : 
 
 One step, made false were sure vicissitude. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Caldara first, with staff, went carefully; 
 Cozenza held his belt, and turning, he 
 Admonished order and attention last, 
 Each clasped the other s hand, and safely passed. 
 " Here, now for needful rest, you may abide; 
 Fll watch, the while you sleep," the faithful guide 
 Said thoughtfully, of their so late fatigue. 
 They rested; and, when silence on them came, 
 Cozenza s restless thoughts were on the League; 
 And, seeing that they slept not, he might claim 
 Their aid discussing the new action s plan. 
 It was so then devised, that ev ry man 
 Should form a Cormitato s separate ten, 
 Each one of whom in turn to other men 19> 
 Should bond and secret of the League impart, 
 But not the intimation of its start; 
 Thus strictest secrecy s profound regard, 
 Compelled as safety s watch, and faithful ward 
 Even inflicted torture could not claim 
 Knowledge of more than one, such leader s name. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 51 
 
 And, being in this way, confined to few, 
 Betrayal could not harm the whole League through. 
 Caldara s monks might traverse all the towns 
 Free of suspicion were their holy gowns; 
 What subtile strength ulterior motive tries; 
 Thus Freedom s strongest allies in disguise, 
 With ardent zeal, would aid the enterprise. 
 
 The sun had now illumed the morning skies; 
 And softly splendid were his gorgeous dyes, 
 Astream the vale, where sweet Palermo lies; 
 Halting, they found themselves upon a mount 
 Four miles of weary distance they might count 
 Outside Palermo, since the painful night 
 Of danger s chance and terror s secret flight. 
 Close by, a splendid frescoed, ruined wall 
 Stood in sublime decay. Here parting all 
 Cozenza counselling, their parting led, 
 And with impressive words in fervor said; 
 " Here part we in the name of God; 
 The peasants soon will be abroad, 
 And take strange note of what we do 
 This lonely place is full in view 
 The town of Morreale, each 
 Alone, an hour hence, may reach: 
 The patrols then will have retired 
 Keep bright the hope, so late inspired 
 Farewell ! Farewell! our oaths retain." 
 Some of them never met again. 
 
52 C O Z E N Z A . 
 
 XI. 
 
 Keturn we to Etolia, where she wept, 
 And all the long, long night its vigil kept ; 
 And vainly did her thoughts like billows toss, 
 Lamenting, more than ever, true love s loss. 
 She dared not ask a mother s grief to share 
 The woe that burdened her with keen despair 
 But strong relief in prayerful words she sought; 
 And thus alone poured out each anguished thought. 
 "Thou wilt forget me in my cheerless lot, 
 Cozenza, my beloved ! wilt thou not? 
 O God ! he will forget in hope s decay, 
 Though I may love, and watch, and weep, and pray; 
 Oh I must love thee ? through all ill and blame, 
 Though bitter fountains of mine anguish threw 
 Some drops upon the bright fire of thy name, 
 Still wert thou tender unto me, and true; 
 Beloved ! forever let it be the same. 
 A fate is on me, friend thy tribute sent 
 And from my grief in sep rate thy intent ! 
 Have I not won of thee some pow r to bless 
 My longing heart 1 to triumph o er distress ? 
 Father in Heaven ! only thou canst send 
 The light upon the darkness, till the end ! 
 My youth glides from me like a forest stream, 
 Darkly, and far, without the sunlight s gleam; 
 But once, through kindling boughs, thy love shone 
 
 down, 
 
 And lightened my lone soul with rapture s crown: 
 What dews of other paths, my life may keep, 
 Thy one, blent, burning stream flows to its deep. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 53 
 
 As grieved Properzia Eossi cut the veins 
 Ol marble, to a lovely image wrought, 
 So would I, in the future s sweet refrains, 
 Leave closes of the strain thy love hath taught ; 
 Something of me to live, for that bright sake, 
 Where other hearts may learn to live and break; 
 For this my heart shall know sublimities, 
 Under the fiery struggle overcome. 
 Loving in patience till I find its peace, 
 Like some deep, placid stream far from its source 
 Of broken spray, dashed rocks, and rushing foam, 
 Grown into calm, bright beauty on its course. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " My child, why linger long, and sadly here ; 
 
 Last eve you were the comforter, thy clear 
 
 And patient eyes, defying sleep and woe ! 
 
 Come with me ! Leave this place of death !" and low 
 
 The gentle mother drew upon her breast, 
 
 The -drooping head she tenderly caressed. 
 
 " Tell me what painful thoughts have so distressed 
 
 Of late thy chastened spirit ? child so dear ; 
 
 Confide them to thy mother without fear ! 
 
 Thy father s death? tis more ! I see it swell 
 
 Thy troubled bosom, like a restless spell. 
 
 When home at Olevano wilt thou tell 
 
 The secret sorrow to my heart, so well 
 
 Thy place of fond repose, thy refuge e er, 
 
 Dove of my lonely life ? and now prepare ! 
 
 The Cardinal Capano will return 
 
 With us to Naples." Ere the sun did burn 
 
 The sky at noon-day, they were on their way 
 
 Haste and discomfort, not more than delay. 
 
OOZENZA. 
 
 andiiit. 
 
 I. 
 
 Those classic roads of u Auld lang Syne," 
 "Well known beyond all pen of mine, 
 Where poor Lipari saltworkers 
 Came out, and did a few things worse 
 Than gath ring salt, (I mean of course) 
 They e en ignored a Cardinal s curse, 
 While going for his watch and purse ; 
 Or held him till a ransom came, 
 As eminent, as his Eminence name. 
 Although this way they often risked disasters, 
 The pay was much more than a few piasters, 
 The scanty earnings of a toilsome day, 
 On which they scarce could live. 
 
 II 
 
 The sunlight s ray 
 
 Is needed that a flow r may bloom in play 
 Of golden winds. The fervor of man s heart 
 Is governed by condition to depart 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 55 
 
 From brilliancy of purpose high intent ; 
 And, wilted, faded, bloomless, oft is bent 
 To blight s ignominy. A human life 
 Is but a gladiator in the strife 
 Of toil s arena. But where softly blows 
 The garden full of perfumes, round the rose, 
 Perceptible the influence ; and soon, 
 It lifts its balmy sweetness to the glows 
 Of morning, and of evening, and of noon. 
 The one, with effort, may still find defeat : 
 The other, cannot help but to be sweet, 
 If this be palliation, let it be 
 Atonement for the men of Lipari ; 
 And cite the judgments of defying caste 
 There still, must be a first, and still, a last. 
 This is as it should be: but the extremes, 
 Like torrents confluent, from rippling streams, 
 That in their separate beauty might be fair, 
 Submerge and overwhelm all, with despair 
 
 HI. 
 
 So; Capano being a Cardinal, 
 
 With carriages, outriders, in fact, all 
 
 Appurtenances of religious rank; 
 
 The other fellows hid behind a bank, 
 
 Desp rate with poverty s oppression, lank 
 
 And lean with woful want, inheriting the land 
 
 Of famed Tiberius infamous Ferdinand: 
 
 We cannot pardon but we understand 
 
 Why ev ry second man is a Brigand : 
 
 Rough fragments of the bright Brait s edges they 
 
56 COZENZA. 
 
 Still gems, though cut from the great gem away. 
 
 Capano heard the Countess tale of woe, 
 
 Having arrived that morn from Reggio, 
 
 And passing onward to a distant port; 
 
 He thus could give the ladies his escort. 
 
 Small boats were anchored where the Islands lay ; 
 
 To these, their journey easy, day by day, 
 
 Just taking needful rest along the way ; 
 
 Avoiding all the ills of civil strife 
 
 That darkened Naples, and Palermo life. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Capano was Caldara s uncle; that, 
 
 Accounts for things not mentioned but apparent ; 
 
 He had received the news from this knight-errant: 
 
 As for the rest he was good natured, fat, 
 
 A loyal, pious, old aristocrat, 
 
 Unconscious of his nephew s lib ral views 
 
 An old friend of the Count de Olevano, 
 
 Of whom, the late demise was startling news. 
 
 And much deplored by Cardinal Capano. 
 
 But now his friendly aid the journey taken 
 
 Had interruption rude, and cause to waken 
 
 Their thoughts from the late grief, and future plans, 
 
 "When captured, as they were, by the Brigands, 
 
 V. 
 
 They had gone onward to the mountains, east, 
 That circle half the city from the north 
 But now no hope of being soon released. 
 A special ransom, was Capano worth ; 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 57 
 
 And prudently, that morning he had come 
 
 His journey needed but a trifling sum 
 
 He could not, therefore, pay it then, but waited; 
 
 And loudly, the bandits, meanwhile berated. 
 
 We dwell not in Etolia s deep distress ; 
 
 And for her sake, her mother s not the less; 
 
 Soon they were hurried to a mountain cave, 
 
 With such respect and gallantry as have 
 
 A blended heritage in man s strong heart. 
 
 Even when chance and time have driven apart 
 
 The agitated links of tender thought, 
 
 Which love maternal, earlier had taught, 
 
 Into distorted things all fiery wrought ; 
 
 And melted idealities of youth, 
 
 Have paled to coldest iron bands of truth. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Salvator Rosa ! genius, who portrayed 
 
 The storm in the thick forest, that dismayed 
 
 Its utter silence j who, by stricken trees, 
 
 Waited to watch the lightning s mysteries 
 
 Transfix themselves in darkness, and the low 
 
 And thunder-trembled clouds blinding the glow; 
 
 Serenity, not there; the sleep of gold 
 
 That heaves in the soft sunset never told ! 
 
 So had st thou marked each darkly splendid face 
 
 Of desperate Salluzzi, and his band, 
 
 With painting s touch, some glory s mist to trace, 
 
 That lives in pathos, as another land. 
 
58 COZENZA. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Etolia trembling, softly walked beside 
 Her mother ; closely veiled, as if to hide 
 Hei grief renewed, and slightly fearful, as 
 A frightened child, who danger s paint must pass. 
 The Countess passive pale hands sought her cross 
 And Rosary " O child ! had we not loss 
 And sorrow comfortless enough, that this 
 Deserveless fate of fortune we might miss ?" 
 As the deep winds thrill over shattered chords, 
 The tremors of great grief disturbed her words ; 
 And on her wet, wan cheek of quivering pride, 
 The dignity and suffering vainly vied. 
 What said Etolia ? little she, too, wept, 
 Except some words ot hope, scarce firmly kept 
 She clasped the cold and yielding hand, and led 
 Her mother slowly, with unlifted head. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The home of the untoiling, free Brigand 
 
 Is, usually, the same in ev ry land : 
 
 From Meteora s grassy, hollow hills. 
 
 To where the shadow of Ciphissus thrills 
 
 The caves that Phidias cleft; the tumbled stone 
 
 Of gloried, lonely, ancient Selinon; 21 
 
 And near the tomb-built chamber of Theron: 
 
 There the black steed is tied ; and there the base 
 
 Of some weed-covered column, serves as place 
 
 For the repast at noon, the short light sleep 
 
 That, feared reprisal, keeps from falling deep. 
 

 A TALE OF ITALY. 59 
 
 tt. 
 
 Salluzzi Castrucci, was quiet, stern; 
 
 And seemed not what he was, one scarce would 
 
 turn 
 
 To note him twice: the short unrippling tress 
 Of glossy sable, touched his forehead less, 
 Than the great shadows of his painful heart, 
 That o er its blue-veined light, at times did start. 
 His hands were beautiful and small; and fleet 
 Might be his indolent and easy feet: 
 And much of latent strength and manly grace, 
 Endowed the robust shoulders. His sad face, 
 Despite the weariness upon it set, 
 Had brows like crescent night : a coronet 
 Could not have veiled his blue eyes secret gloom, 
 Nor madte the pale rose on his cheek to bloom. 
 He seemed, with nonobservance of things fit, 
 To be a king, though he was a Bandit. 
 He gave, with certain orders and detail, 
 Word to send onward to Mazara s vale 
 And there confine within Segesta s grot 
 The noble captives that were lately brought ; 
 That, all supliance of release, be nought, 
 Until the ransom should be paid, he sought : 
 And that, with all respect, and gentle care, 
 The ladies be conducted, safely there. 
 
 X. 
 
 Swartly and fierce, were many of the men, 
 Standing around a fireplace in their den: 
 Numerous bottles, claret and champagne, 
 
60 COZENZA. 
 
 The long and highly polished Board did stain ; 
 And some, with broken necks, were spurted at 
 The irate Cardinal who struggling, sat 
 In a large leathern chair, raised on a cask. 
 " Give us your benediction :" they would ask; 
 "You re the holiest target that we ve had ; 
 And, master of festivities, old lad! 
 Don t kick $ and we ll untie you by and by" 
 And here, some random cork would hit his eye. 
 Thus did, their festal time, the hours prolong 
 With toast, and revel 5 careless wit, arid song; 
 For not till midnight, would they journey take 
 To old Segesta, over dale and brake 
 And this, was only one of eight or ten 
 Lone mountain caves, resorted by these men : 
 Across a winding passage, was another, 
 And smaller chamber, warmly tapestried : 
 The chiseled rock, by soft rich hangings hid. 
 This was assigned Etolia and her mother, 
 
 XI. 
 
 The loving daughter, here again essayed 
 
 The task of comforter; with art, portrayed 
 
 The rest and rescue, a few patient days 
 
 Would bring. The moonlight s fall of silver rays 
 
 Fell on the divan where the Countess lay: 
 
 The daughter marked the hours ere coming day, 
 
 And then, the pillow, changed another way; 
 
 And, when with weariness the mother slept, 
 
 More easy grew the watch Etolia kept. 
 
 Near, was a window, or the rifted stone, 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 61 
 
 Through which the pale and purple starlight shone, 
 
 Need we. to tell to loving hearts that muse, 
 
 "What name, did then upon her thoughts infuse 
 
 Its deep, o ermastering power ? One more look, 
 
 To see if any wakeful tremor shook 
 
 The wearied mother lying now so still, 
 
 Eesting, and sleeping fitfully. " She will 
 
 A moment miss me not ?" self questioning; 
 
 Just then, a nightingale let fall his wing, 
 
 And in the dusty thicket stayed to sing. 
 
 She longed to feel the outside perfumes fling 
 
 Their starlit ambience on her cheek s hot flush: 
 
 She rose; and, with examining light push, 
 
 Parted the folds of heavy tapestry, 
 
 Through which streamed down the brilliant, 
 
 studded sky, 
 
 Disclosing interlacing shrubs and vines, 
 Around the rocks in delicate outlines ; 
 And these dividing with her hands, she stood 
 One moment more in the deep underwood : 
 And faint, the mirthful din and robbers shout, 
 Around the echo cave, came ringing out. 
 Standing in silence, ere she moved again, 
 Was that a woman s voice whose sweet refrain, 
 In that dread, lawless place, devotion sung, 
 With love s forgiving and impassioned tongue ? 
 Amid the revel, strangely, sweetly clear 
 Its aicful sympathy fell on her ear. 
 
COZENZA. 
 XII. 
 
 SONG OF THE BANDIT S BRIDE. 
 
 " Oh at a leaflet s breath to start, 
 
 And listen for thy step; 
 When from the mountain s rifted heart, 
 
 The torrent floweth deep ! 
 
 " Oft wild and weary coming back, 
 Not bough, nor wave, nor air, 
 
 Breathes aught of crime, or danger s track,- 
 Concealing danger s snare ? 
 
 "Upon the night, my soul would melt, 
 Though dark seawinds have scorn ; 
 
 Thy scattered leaves of rose, I felt ; 
 My heart kneels on its thorn. 
 
 * When in some mountain s hollow crest, 
 
 No banner s noble fold 
 To wrap thy bleeding, dying breast, 
 
 Thou rt lying lone, and cold: 
 
 " Or when from danger s daring tryst, 
 
 My happy footsteps sped, 
 As oft to meet thee, ah, when missed 5 
 
 They carry thee in dead ! 
 
 " mountain rover! this thy love 
 
 That reaches unto grief! 
 Thou canst not fly ! wounded dove ! 
 
 starlight bright and brief ! 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 63 
 
 4 Thou art not sunlight, though on high 
 
 Thou buruest pure and true ; 
 wounded dove ! thou canst not fly 
 
 From where the arrow flew !" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The song was over , and she waited still, 
 
 To feel its after silence tender thrill 
 
 And half unconscious, till a quick faint wail 
 
 She heard, and hastened through the shrubbery s 
 
 vail, 
 
 Into the rocky chamber. Oh what sight 
 Before her eyes ! or did she see aright ? 
 She did not know Salluzzi from the rest, 
 But by the star and dagger on his breast ; 
 And Ave Maria ! beside it pressed 
 Her lovely mother s white and stricken face 
 On which remained the cast of beauty s grace- 
 One startled moan ! she flew to her dear place : 
 "With incoherent questions answered not, 
 Even, the intruder s presence, she forgot 
 Chafing the languid hands, and kissing them, 
 With sobbing words of bitterest self-blame, 
 And calling often, on her mother s name. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Salluzzi, who till now half leaned, half knelt, 
 Back on the pillow, gently laying down 
 The fair form from which life seemed to have flown, 
 Upon the forehead and the slight wrist, felt; 
 And knitting his dark brows, his glance grew stern 
 
64 COZENZA. 
 
 With pains appeal to that, not coming back 
 The soul 5 decided, and resistless thing, 
 That, ere departing, lingered, fluttering 
 The eyelids that would ne er again upturn 
 The pale small lips strange speeches, murmurings 
 Asking, where was she ? on what unknown track ? 
 Then once more folding, like two weary wings, 
 And falling into short and broken sleep : 
 And thus the slow, long night away did creep ; 
 Salluzzi staid seeing Etolia weep : 
 
 xv. 
 
 Maiden, thou dost not ask wherefore nor why 
 Thy gentle mother is about to die ? 
 If I should let it happen, saying nought, 
 Thy misery would be more and overwrought. 
 She will recover, for a little while, 
 To reassure thee with her tender smile ; 
 To do me justice, and to tell to thee 
 What e er she wills of this night s mystery." 
 " Alas my mother ! she can bear no more ! 
 Though anger or surprise my heart o er come, 
 My lips before thee, Chieftain, still are dumb. 
 If I withhold reproach I do implore 
 The cause of this : I own thy fearful power 
 And yet, reliance place on thee, this hour." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Maiden, I knew thy mother ere thy birth ; 
 She was the one I loved the best on Earth : 
 But, as I loved her, even so, thy sire 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 65 
 
 Made her the star of his one hope s desire 
 He won her for his name and rank were higher. 
 Her proud parents turned the wavering scale ; 
 What was her yielding will my woe s avail: 
 I wandered : and the sun and moon seemed fire : 
 And never, since that day, did hope aspire. 
 Behold she lived for him beauteous girl ! 
 Fair was she, like thee lip, and eye, and curl ; 
 But now, there lying, like a faded pearl 
 Lost from its setting ; after many years, 
 She gives to me her death, and memory s tears. 
 I knew her when your captors brought her here ; 
 She saw not me; I did not then appear; 
 For what has happened, I had prescient fear: 
 And wouldst thou not that it should be alone 
 With none to witness it ? That trembling moan 
 Fortells that she revives I will be gone." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Countess never lifted her closed eyes: 
 Her murmuring lips gave incomplete replies, 
 Until three days were past: then Death, more light 
 And merciful, than life s long weary blight, 
 Released the patient sufferer. She died 
 In the lone cavern by the mountain side. 
 Let us pass by the nearest days that came 
 To poor Etolia: they were as when flame 
 Is quen ched by smoke ; but ever hath relief 
 Come unto youth in time what e er the grief. 
 
66 COZENZA. 
 
 GAlf? 
 
 he fflarrraae in the fl.atern. 
 
 I. 
 
 A horse of noble strength, and grace ; 
 A rider on a high sloped place ; 
 Whose beaten track for way-farers 
 Led on, to where sound rarely stirs ; 
 Far from the thicket s orange bush 
 Where night-birds thrill the evening s hush: 
 As nearer grew, the mountain range, 
 Immersed, his thoughts, with event strange 
 Till on the summit, turned, to cast 
 A glance at the bright scene, he d past. 
 
 II. 
 
 White Pyramids by Sulphur mines 22 
 Made sunset break in silver lines; 
 And golden gleams that shifting rose 
 And fell, like sudden firefly glows. 
 While thus absorbed, the awful sound, 
 "Non Senti? broke the stillness round ! 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 67 
 
 If it was here, or there, the shock, 
 He knew not: if behind the rock 
 A few feet distant captors near, 
 Then captive he, to bandits here. 
 He quick obeyed the dread command 
 To rein his horse, dismount, and stand ! 
 In husky tones, each cruel word 
 And ruthless hand, he felt and heard. 
 
 in. 
 
 ( Ho ? Ladrol hand your money, here, 
 Or die ! "Wait not one moment s fear ;" 
 "Oh hang him now,* one fellow said, 
 "Men tell no tales when they are dead !" 
 A dagger s point, his body felt ; 
 And, from its pressure, downward knelt : 
 He could not breathe, and lower lay 
 Where dust shut out the light of day. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Their careless hands his pockets tore, 
 
 Took watch and purse, and searched him o er, 
 
 Until they thought he had no more. 
 
 The captive, struggling to regain 
 
 His strength and feet, did not complain; 
 
 But cried aloud with high disdain, 
 
 What more you ask? What other call? 
 
 Release me now ! you ve taken all ! 
 
 And, when to safety, I succeed, 
 
 I ll send you more if more you need." 
 
 Then whispering some, they disagreed ; 
 
68 COZENZA. 
 
 The scene another aspect wore: 
 "I ll have it so !" the leader swore. 
 The captive trembling, heard j and then, 
 He found, his watch, put back again; 
 And, scarce believing, soon his purse 
 Replaced. Again: the same voice terse, 
 As though from those lips, it were well 
 A cataract stay its thundering swell 
 "A little while, move not: take heed! 
 Then mount your horse; and onward speed: 
 Since now we leave you, look not back. 
 Till distant far, your traveled track: 
 A ball shall whistle through your brain, 
 If heedless, to my warning plain. 
 Now promise that you tell no tales." 
 " I do, 7 he answered, " What avails 
 To swear, because, I swear not ever ?" 
 "Farewell ! I thank you here we sever ! ? 
 
 V, 
 
 The bandit steps receded then 
 The steps of more than twenty men ; 
 And, when around the mountain side, 
 Their parting echoes faintly died: 
 The captive rose from where he lay; 
 And mounted, rode he on his way. 
 His mind with trouble, troubled yet 
 But all things else portmanteau set 
 And strapped in faithful order, as 
 Before his venture in the pass : 
 Discordant, so the whole thing seemed 
 His brain felt, as if he had dreamed. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 Released, and once more on his way 
 
 It now was near the close of day : 
 
 Bat, Hark ! behind him hoofs astir !-^- 
 
 What sound upon the wind s swift whirr ? 
 
 A distant rider under spur 
 
 Had he more venture to incur, 
 
 Ere half a mile he scarce had gone ? 
 
 Should he more swiftly hasten on ? 
 
 The robbers had, on more debate, 
 
 Determined sure to end his fate ? 
 
 With these foredoomed anxieties, 
 
 Instinctively, he onward flies ; 
 
 And often strokes his startled horse, 
 
 And faster flies along his course: 
 
 To turn his head, he does not dare 
 
 Remembering the warning fair 
 
 He knew all that he had incurred, 
 
 And knew Banditti kept their word ; 
 
 Not always, others tis averred, 
 
 VII. 
 
 In midst of his conflicting thought, 
 His path beside, a horseman sought : 
 fi Vive Maria /" soft salute, 
 "The night is beautiful and mute ?" 
 u Yes; pleasant, very!" answered he; 
 " Is it less dangerous, if we 
 Ride on in friendly company ?" 
 The dead leaf with the caverned wind; 
 The sunset s glory, sealed and signed; 
 
 ^Xr^ 
 
 f 
 
 (UNI 
 
 V 
 
 A> s s v 
 
 OF THE r >. 
 
 UNIVERSITY) 
 
 OF / 
 
70 COZENZA. 
 
 The roadway trouble, left behind; 
 Now calmer, grew his startled mind: 
 Not sullen watch, but guarded care 
 Imbued this cautious wayfarer. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The stranger touched his falling plume. 
 In cautious speech, and did resume. 
 "Have you seen any on this road? 
 And are you armed? if so: tis good?" 
 * What should one meet in this lone place, 
 But scenic beauty nature s grace; 
 The solemn rock, the climbing goat, 
 The Cascade s falling sound, remote; 
 And as for arms, why should I draw 
 Upon their strength ? the firmest awe 
 That ever quickened fierce combat 
 A conscience good what more than that? 
 Menacing word, foreboding sign, 
 Each terrible, majestic line, 
 Leads after this one line of law. 
 The beam which parts the dawning frown, 
 Will see me at the nearest town 
 Know you ? No ! But, if right, I think, 
 As waters fall upon the brink 
 Of some familiar, fountain stone, 
 Beside which at some time I lay, 
 And watched the sky beyond its spray, 
 Your voice to me s a sound well known." 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 71 
 
 IX. 
 
 They now had reached a steeper hill 
 
 That rose upon their left. The trill 
 
 Of some embosomed, woodland stream, 
 
 Fell softly on the ear; a dream 
 
 Of peace, and moonlight, pure and calm, 
 
 Transfixed, the cactus; drooped, the palm: 
 
 The loaded orange, golden pale; 
 
 The muleteers adown the vale ; 
 
 And old Segesta s Temples bare, 23 
 
 Against the night, told where they were. 
 
 Here, the intruding stranger, showed 
 
 A path, which led from the main road, 
 
 Ascending, tortuous, and steep, 
 
 Where lay the rivulet asleep : 
 
 But in this fair Idalian grove, 
 
 Now sudden stopped the two, and strove. 
 
 x. 
 
 Quick as a flash, as quickly flew 
 
 Our halted journeyer, and drew 
 
 A pistol from the saddle bow, 
 
 And fiercely eyed his unknown foe. 
 
 " Come now what will ! We re man to man ! 
 
 This difference may change your plan ; 
 
 I do not mean to die, ere you 
 
 Find me avenged, and have your due !" 
 
 " Put by your weapon ! Had I thought 
 
 Of harm twere not your side I sought : 
 
 I am a friend, as you will see, 
 
 Ride close ! Eide on ; and follow me !" 
 
72 COZENZA. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Circuitous and narrow ways; 
 
 Ascending and descending maze, 
 
 Where borders of a deep ravine 
 
 Above a shallow torrent lean : 
 
 And here, the guide made him alight 1 
 
 For now all things between them right. 
 
 Who was he, for whom things amiss 
 
 Were thus made right, as seen in this ? 
 
 I need not tell Cozenza s name, 
 
 As he, to whom the stranger came; 
 
 I need not say the ambient cloud 
 
 Is gold, because the sun allowed ; 
 
 Nor, that the trembling,. emerald sea 
 
 Is deep with troublous melody : 
 
 The stranger felt unworthily, 
 
 So great his own humility ; 
 
 But knew the leader of his land, 
 
 And scarce did dare to touch his hand 
 
 While ready to go on, or stand, 
 
 No true respect could greater be 
 
 Such Brotherhood s Carbonari. 
 
 Thus he would live or die for him , 
 
 And said, while tears his eyes did dim: 
 
 " I know what you are ; and what I ! 
 
 You, live for right, for wrong I die !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 His boots, hid in a thicket lain 
 Concealed, he found a pair more plain : 
 With pointed nails, the soles were set 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 73 
 
 A man appeared, to whom, were let 
 The horses. Here the guide prepared 
 For perilous descent ; and shared 
 His steady foot-hold with his friend ; 
 Down, slow, together, they did tend. 
 
 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Still on precipitous, and softly down ; 
 At last, the torrent where a log was thrown, 
 Which made a passage to the other side 
 Cozenza following his friendly guide. 
 Impenetrable rock, smooth, dark, and steep, 
 Where low shrubs, and the trees, deep vigils keep 
 Once more, a rocky bank half way to climb, 
 And then Borghetto s tower tolled midnight chime. 
 At this lone spot, the guide with sure intent 
 Parted a heavy bush, that lowly bent, 
 Eevealing entrance to a grotto. Clear 
 He whistled; and a noise inside was heard 
 In answer; and an undistinguished word 
 And drawing of a bolt by some one near. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 His shoulder then he placed against the rock, 
 And slowly turned it with a little shock. 
 On entering, back the stone rolled into place, 
 And on the night outside left not a trace. 
 " Salluzzi is it you?" a woman s voice 
 Said, half in fear, too anxious to rejoice. 
 "Yes, good Concetta! Did Lavagna come, 
 And bring his prisoner ? How have you cared 
 
74 COZENZA. 
 
 The lady sorrowing and orphaned late ? 
 Here is a guest. Give him the silken room ; 
 And let a costly supper be prepared." 
 At all of this, Cozenza listening stared, 
 And marveled, silently, his changeful fate. 
 Cancetta was the singer, whose sweet song 
 Etolia s startled thoughts remembered long : 
 Arid this Concefcta was so good and kind, 
 To sorrowing Etolia, that her mind 
 Had, like a flower beaten by the rain, 
 Lifted from drooping, its sweet bloom again. 
 Here need we tell the reader, that they met 
 Who late were parted with such keen regret ? 
 And soon the Cardinal, his ransom sent, 
 Would haste to Rome with direful, deep intent. 
 Against Salluzzi and his mountain band 
 Forthwith exterminate them, from the land. 
 
 xv. 
 
 One day Salluzzi said: " I understand, 
 We have a little mystery on hand ; 
 Those two, that lately met here, lovers are ; 
 And you, Capano, are the lucky star, 
 Resplendent o er their fortunes, eh, my friend ! 
 To marry them, and all their troubles end ?" 
 "Holy St. Francis," said his Eminence, 
 Alas ! I feel departing my last sense 
 And ray of reason ! No ! I had decreed, 
 To take her with me, certainly, when freed : 
 She is a destined clausura, you know 
 For holy San Gregorio Armeno." 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 75 
 
 "No No! I think not," said Salluzzi, "try 
 
 What to all this, Etolia will reply." 
 
 And, strange as it may seem, whatever word 
 
 Faint and inaudible, Etolia heard, 
 
 In murmurs low, the day her mother died, 
 
 She had on stern Salluzzi since relied 
 
 No scorn or anger tinged her modest pride. 
 
 Etolia s tested heart, in trial just, 
 
 Some terrible avowal meekly made; 
 
 And questioned by the Cardinal, she must 
 
 Tell of Cozenza yea; and though afraid, 
 
 Confessed the wish to wed that renegrade, 
 
 Except that she forbore repeating all 
 
 The titles giv n him by the Cardinal. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And they were wed in that deep, Sylvan dell 
 No joyous herald or Cathedral bell; 
 But hospitable was the mountain chief 
 The tapers lighted, and the myrtle leaf 
 Twined for the festival, as though she were 
 His own beloved child so young and fair. 
 Her glossy hair, around the perfect head, 
 In braids entwined with pearl in many a strand- 
 Rubies, and emeralds, and diamonds laid 
 On scarlet velvet, for a zone whose band 
 Clasping her robe of satin pure and white 
 O er all a vail of lace, cast radiant light. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And she was a bride; yet her soft tears fell : 
 
 She thought of the mother who loved her well 
 
76 COZENZA. 
 
 Of the home so far in the mountain dell 
 Whose stately old halls were so silent now; 
 No echo had they of her low sweet vow : 
 In darkness the chambers where childhood played; 
 Now no festal garlands around them laid 
 But Olive drooped shadow, and sun, and dew, 
 And the heavens of Neapolitan blue. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The peace of her sweet face, and happy heart, 
 Happy at last with him no more to part 
 No more to part ? Alas ! how few the days 
 Of tender gladness, like a bird s sweet song 
 That only dews and flowery woods prolong: 
 Or, where on morning s upward glory flung 
 The lark s wing joyous, till his matin sung, 
 Within the brown grass on the earth, he lays 
 A tired, silent breast of pain and praise. 
 The lime leaves, and the roses, and the air, 
 Thrilled with the holy presence they were there : 
 They touched the silvery sands ; and soon the tide 
 Kissed them with veneration, as they hied 
 Foreve** hallowed to the deepest deep, 
 That sanctified, sweet memory to keep. 
 Let me be with thee when our rescued altars, 
 All lighted, greet thine eyes to victory won ? 
 Nay ; like the sun robed sea, my heart ne er falters. 
 From shore to deep, I am thy wave, O sun !" 
 
 XIX. 
 
 u Tt may not be, my love," Cozenza said; 
 "My country calls; and my sire s fallen head 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 77 
 
 Lifts from the sanguine dust a martyr s brow, 
 And looks upon the auspicious hour now. 
 Now is the revolution close, and all 
 The sons of Sicily respond her call ; 
 And when I bear thee to thy courtly home, 
 Thy liberator s name will risk its dome 
 Tis true; but with success at last I ll come, 
 And triumph shall resound with trump and drum: 
 To this thy gentle thoughts may always tend 
 Through anxious waiting, dear, unto the end; 
 And keep thy quiet counsel, like the dove; 
 Content with loving, thou hast wed thy love; 
 But let none know it till the days have past 
 Of danger: haply, soon will be the last." 
 
 XX. 
 
 Beyond St. Elmo, the great mountain s crown 
 
 Beyond the tomb of Virgil, nestled down 
 
 That is if doubt will spare its old renown; 
 
 The road to Olevauo from the town, 
 
 Beyond Marti no Fidelissima 
 
 Whose inmates rarely speak such is their law 
 
 Princely and priestly and in history famed 
 
 For fierce rebellions, and now scarcely tamed; 
 
 But if, as we are told, that golden is 
 
 Silence, there is no need to mention this; 
 
 But take their good example keeping mum 
 
 So much can be implied by seeming dumb; 
 
 Neither was Capri nor Ischia seen 
 
 From Olevano the great mounts, between: 24 
 
 But often on the balmy atmosphere 
 
78 COZENZA. 
 
 Vesuvius curling smoke seemed rising near : 
 And now Etolia, in her Fathers 1 Halls, 
 Moved mid the birds, and bees, and waterfalls. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Here a few radiant days, Cozenza stayed 
 And then the parting that was long delayed; 
 The curved and grieving lip, with quivering thrill, 
 Fondly entreated as a woman will. 
 Her pleading, failing heart adjured him oft 
 With hand upon his arm, and upward soft, 
 Imploring glances. " Love, why stay not here ! 
 Too much I love thee now thou art too dear; 
 I do entreat thee it is not too late 
 Compassion have on me, and heed thy fate ! . 
 Cozenza, in God s name, and by our love, 25 
 What was the sequel when thy father strove ? 
 Oh to some desert fly ! and take me there, 
 Still blest with love and thee no matter where." 
 
 v xxn. 
 
 And true it was all true the things she told 5 
 And beautiful their home that castle old, 
 With marble and fine stone in carvings scrolled. 
 To wander through its halls was like a dream 
 Wondrous with statues ; and the chastened gleam 
 Of treasured paintings every wall adorning; 
 The bannered ivy on the breeze of morning 
 Through the wide casements flowing darkly green; 
 And over keep and battlement, a screen 
 Of densely waving beauty and the arch 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 79 
 
 Made circular and pillars slenderly, 
 Like tall, cliff shadows on a sunset sea 
 And old, armorial bearings of the march 
 A semi-pointed delicate arcade 
 The library and drawingroom and laid 
 The ceilings and the staircases with gold 
 And silver ornaments of richest mold 
 So beautiful this Roman castle old. 
 And many stories of the ages gone 
 It might have told twas older than Chillon. 
 Beside the warder s residence a tower, 
 And grassy courtyard bright with tree and flower 
 For now no gathering warriors mailed went forth 
 To burning Syria or the chilly north. 
 The gate doors heavily cased with iron plate 
 Were massive works of art strong and ornate : 
 On right hand from this entrance was a door 
 To chambers never used since days of yore; 
 Albiet for all domestic purpose fit 
 The portal was bricked up none nearing it : 
 But let us dare to enter, list and seek; 
 And to adjure its ancient ghosts to speak: 
 Dark emptiness and silence here recall 
 Some old dim record serving to appal, 
 Nothing is apparent the Dining-hall, 
 And kitchen, and side rooms long vacant all 
 Except a swinging bell whose dinner chime 
 Called the retainers in the olden time: 
 But ah ! what other service did the bell- 
 Did the doomed prisoner note its clanging knell? 
 And why that moldy stircase of dark stone, 
 
80 COZENZA. 
 
 Leading to chambers darker yet and lone> 
 Downward beneath the Castle s whole right wing ? 
 We shudder, and draw back there is something 
 Weirdly absorbent in that stairs of gloom 
 We turn away in awe as from a tomb. 
 
 xxm. 
 
 Dear reader, say not that I have forgot 
 Etolia and Cozenza, I have not: 
 I only lingered still, their parting o er, 
 As they themselves did linger, and e ermore 
 As lovers will who part and who adore. 
 Heavy, the anchors lift that leave the shore 
 Each heart a treasure trove of memory 
 Never to come again from the deep sea. 
 Never again, Etolia, never again, 
 But then thou didst not know this dread sentence 
 pain. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 * 
 
 The last eve came. Within her chamber praying, 
 
 Etolia waited, her quick heart obeying 
 
 The sound of his approaching step. He came: 
 
 The silence was a pang at last her name ; 
 
 Lowly and with a sob its utterance fell 
 
 From his proud lips, yea, from his deep heart s swell, 
 
 As when from Heaven the angel downward swept. 
 
 It seemed to come that little word. She wept; 
 
 And falling on her knees, she clung to him ; 
 
 He covered his fond eyes so full and dim. 
 
 Ah ! let them part j and let us not behold 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 81 
 
 Those few last moments that entwining fold 
 Until, from claspings close he rushed away 
 Then, on her swooned eyes, still darkness lay: 
 He knew not this, and hastening, did not stay. 
 At outer gate, his faithful followers stood 
 Waiting to guard his journey through the wood. 
 Glowing, the Milky- way s translucent path, 
 The splendid midnight of fair Naples hath; 
 But what to him, the light of shore or sea, 
 "Whose thoughts were turbulent with memory: 
 The smoking summit, and the ruined streets 
 Of Pompeii, that near the traveler meets, 
 Were nought to him; his gloomy heart still turned 
 Back to Etolia: then would intervene, 
 Like meteors, through the darkness, brightly seen 
 The patriot s bounding hopes his blue Tyrrhene 
 Emblazoned, as with altar lights, it burned. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The mounted cavalcade proceeded slow; 
 
 For changed the night to darkness, from the glow, 
 
 As dark as Erebus the sheeted flame 
 
 Of lightning, on it momentarily came. 
 
 Hour after hour, they rode: at last, a small 
 
 Old hermitage they reached, alighted all. 
 
 Before the door, a few fine shady trees 
 
 This, the abode of hospitable peace 
 
 An old man s home. After the weary mules 
 
 Were cared, and he had offered rustic stools, 
 
 And all his little store of figs and wine, 
 
 He motioned to Cozenza with a sign 
 
82 COZENZA. 
 
 That in the room adjoining, there then lay 
 Three English travelers, who at dawn of day, 
 Would climb Vesuvius, that they might behold, 
 The sunrise of its glory, red and gold 
 But if there were some reason this was told, 
 I know not. Then he gave a packet-fold 
 With much significance of silent look; 
 And gave for autographs, his * Travelers Book," 
 As though the packet were Sisyphus Stone, 
 And he Sisyphus, to its usage known 
 The more he lived upon the mount alone, 
 And these were strangers come, soon to be gone. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Ah !" said Cozenza to his comrade true, 
 Caldara, whom, before my reader knew. 
 " Che nuovet" asked the others, "Master, 
 Give us your orders, and we ll travel faster ! n 
 "What news ?" they asked again. He answered 
 
 " Brothers 
 
 Tis true, we more must haste to join the others. 
 From Etna to the Alps, is every heart, 
 Ablaze with readiness to do its part : 
 But well beware of Satriano s spies, 
 And let us leave here long before sunrise." 
 All this, in whispers, with directed eyes 
 To the partition of the other room. 
 "Amice friends! Close is the day of doom! 
 The royal troops advance Palermo s fate ! 
 The people fortify in haste, each gate ! 
 The towns and villages are burned along 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 83 
 
 The royal troops red route of ghastly wrong ! 
 Five hundred of our men await me where 
 The mountain peasants gather, we ll be there ! 
 Not stronger burns Stromboli s riven heart 
 Than mine to meet them let us now depart !" 
 
 
84 COZENZA. 
 
 TOff 
 
 he ;uUmttU88Hri0. 
 
 I. 
 
 Return to Olevano ! The long days 
 
 Passed wearily; and oft Etolia s gaze 
 
 Would pierce the route he had departed by : 
 
 The gray came into the November sky, 
 
 As turns the silvery white Magnolia leaf 
 
 From its first velvet balm so brightly brief. 
 
 How were the lonesome days of sadness spent? 
 
 The Palace home was but an Arab s tent, 
 
 To her love-yearning heart that followed far, 
 
 Restless, she walked its colonnades, and leant 
 
 Over their casements watched the vesper star 
 
 Until her eyes with tears would fill; and she 
 
 Would turn, and play some pensive melody. 
 
 Again, with purpose strong, upon the page 
 
 Of national proud annals, would engage 
 
 Her newly centered thoughts. Thus she could 
 
 learn 
 His favored authors all, ere his return, 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 85 
 
 Botta, Santa Rosa, and other books, 
 
 That for a decade, had not left their nooks, 
 
 Great Macchiavelli, and Colletta, 
 
 For books are good things to make one forget a 
 
 Heavy sorrow; or at least to hide it 
 
 Many a one, besides Etolia, tried it ; 
 
 And many little tri-colors with skill 
 
 She worked, with secret smiles, at her own will, 
 
 To see that sign on gold and silver lace, 
 
 On cushions, hangings, and on every space 
 
 In those proud, ancient halls of royal grace, 
 
 That blazed with courtly lineage gone before. 
 
 Some little thought, perhaps, it cost; but more 
 
 Cozenza was to her "Love rules the Court/ 
 
 She did not know our English version for t 
 
 But then, she felt it: and the camps, and groves 
 
 Of all her lineage, were not more than Love s. 
 
 II 
 
 At this time, Satriano s dread police 
 
 Had learned the secrets of this home of peace; 
 
 If any home of peace could then be found 
 
 In all of hapless Naples, terror crowned. 
 
 Aiossa and his Sbirro, fierce Bruno, 
 
 Silently, constantly, as shadows go. 
 
 Watched their unhappy victims doomed; and slow 
 
 The Seclia ardente, the warm chair, 
 
 Pontillo placed for them : and vain the prayer 
 
 Of wife, or son, or daughter, each might die; 
 
 Or, by confession, wrung from agony, 
 
 Betray the heroism, betray the life 
 
86 COZENZA. 
 
 Still dearer than their own. Such was the strife 
 And dread alternative to the fond wife 
 Of troubled days, that, to his children dear, 
 The name of patriot father, though sincere, 
 Oft gave a double awe to love and fear. 
 
 HI. . 
 
 Turn to the page of record ! We are told 
 
 Of iron rings of torture, made to hold 
 
 Limbs dislocated from the beauteous mold 
 
 Of the good Creator extended arms 
 
 Turned in an instrument, which the base fiend 
 
 Luigi Maniscalco named; and screened, 
 
 Beneath his malice, mockery s alarms, 
 
 La Macchina Angelica twas called, 
 
 The deadly humor of the thing, appalled. 
 
 The old man, and the lovely woman who 
 
 Was with holy motherhood invested, 
 
 Suffered alike if e en suspicion threw 
 
 The name of patriot o er them, they were tested. 
 
 There is a special mention made of two, 
 
 At Morreale, who were stripped, and beat 
 
 Till they expired at their tormentors feet, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Neath thy cloud canopy, O Constantine ! 
 The Commissaries s cross, black fatal sign ; 
 And this, on Olevano s outer gate, 
 One morn was seen portentous of its fate 
 Under strict surveillance, this meant, beware ! 
 Etolia had received a letter, late 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 87 
 
 That very morn so glad and grateful, there, 
 Thanking the Grod of journeyers, that he 
 Had safely reached his own bright Sicily 
 Her husband ! her adored and loving lord ! 
 And long she lingered, reading every word 
 Of his dear message: and what secret, she 
 Would tell him joyous in its mystery 
 What might she promise, his return should see. 
 Mater admirabilis ! always thou, 
 A trembler in thy joy and love as now ! 
 
 But Hark ! The heavy iron ball that swings 
 
 At Olevano s gate, against it rings ! 
 
 Strangers, and clamorous with haste ! again 
 
 ^Repeating the quick summons, answered, when 
 
 They asked for her ! A party of three men 
 
 They were a sort of Hydra altogether, 
 
 The Commissario, Morbili, rather. 
 
 Morbili ! Heaven and Earth ! that fearful name; 
 
 Condemned synonym, of the blackest blame. 
 
 As a scroll withers in remorseless flame ; 
 
 As a frost falling, brings a flower blight : 
 
 So, on Etolia their dread summons came ; 
 
 And yet she met them with a footstep light, 
 
 And bade them seated be, with easy grace: 
 
 And firmly unperturbed, her lovely face. 
 
 Morbili and his spies yes ! there they sat ; 
 
 Each one, a species of colossal rat; 
 
 Morbili s eyes were set, and looking at 
 
 A paper lying on the table near. 
 
88 COZENZA. 
 
 " Signora, if you please, just hand that here !" 
 
 At this, Etolia s heart felt secret fear; 
 
 But there s a sort of courage giv n the weak 
 
 With dignity she rose essayed to speak ; 
 
 And gave the harmless paper he had asked, 
 
 The precious and sweet letter in her breast 
 
 Was safe concealed; and, for the first time tasked, 
 
 She felt her fervid soul a battery masked* 
 
 Though outwardly, so calm in gracious rest. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Th accuser s face was red, and round, and large ; 
 
 His voice pitched like the Boatswain s of a barge : 
 
 Another, sitting on the divan, read 
 
 The usual formula when making charge 
 
 Of conspiracy : some incipient dread 
 
 Had gathered all the servants round the door, 
 
 To listen while he read the charges o er ; 
 
 And then with cries and lamentations, they 
 
 Gathered about their lady, like the spray 
 
 That round a white wave goes to share its shock 
 
 On the relentless and reboundless rock. 
 
 "As for these servants let them all depart 
 
 Unto their several homes ; lest they too, share 
 
 The doom of treason s treacherous despair!" 
 
 Their desolation and her own did start 
 
 Upon Etolia s mind. "Your power is strong;" 
 
 Proudly she said; " their grief concerns me now. 
 
 You know that they are not accused of wrong ! 
 
 Why then bring sorrow on a guiltless brow ? 
 
 You need not crush ! Your word is strong to spare I 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 89 
 
 And cannot some of them remain with me?" 
 "No! No! not one?" replied Duke Morbili. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Concetta Lavagna was weeping low, 
 
 And kneeling, gently clasped her mistress hand 
 
 Beside Etolia s chair. Salluzzi s band, 
 
 Eedeemed, all noble patriots of their land 
 
 Had joined Cozenza, from their mountain Pass; 
 
 And poor Concetta, also here alas ! 
 
 To share misfortune where she loving served 
 
 Experience with danger, long had nerved 
 
 Her faithful heart, a heart that: never swerved. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 With such urbanity as he could use, 
 
 The Duke informed Etolia, that she must 
 
 Eegard herself that is, should she refuse 
 
 To make what statements he considered just 
 
 Under his authoritative arrest, 
 
 Unless her husband s plottings she confest. 
 
 He was a base insurgent, was he not ? 
 
 Now gone to Sicily to organize, 
 
 Against the king, another secret plot 
 
 But she might her own safety compromise 
 
 By giving information of his plans. 
 
 At this, the bright tears stood in her sweet eyes; 
 
 And sudden flushed her cheeks, then paled as sands, 
 
 The bright tide had bereft, and trembling some: 
 
 Morbili saw she was defiant. dumb; 
 
 More compliant, and with forbearing look 
 
90 COZENZA. 
 
 Or, a trite familiarity, he took 
 
 Concetta s hand; and lifting her, he said; 
 
 "Weep not, my pretty one, be not afraid ! 
 
 In your case, I will say, you may remain; 
 
 And, on your aid, I will rely to gain 
 
 Your mistress over, from her perverse mood; 
 
 And, for this purpose, she shall have some days- 
 
 Meanwhile, a guard shall hold this rebel place 
 
 Until I come again tis understood: 
 
 Signora, one thing more, the castle s plan 
 
 I have by me, avoid, as well you can, 
 
 The last appeal of justice. I resort, 
 
 (Here his eyes swiftly glanced across the Court.) 
 
 To the lone chambers long unoccupied, 
 
 And subtile horror his quick glance implied, 
 
 Meanwhile continuing with desperate haste, 
 
 As nervously his hand on hers he placed, 
 
 " Tis true Signora; I resort, I said, 
 
 Only to measures stern, when others fail 
 
 No doubt, those dungeons old have many a tale 
 
 Of fruitless warnings and of sequels dread, 
 
 Of warnings terrible; but none so strange, 
 
 So inconsistent to all fitting things; 
 
 I hope, Signora, that my meaning brings 
 
 Itself within the limit of your range 
 
 Of sensitive perception; now adieu, 
 
 Signora," said the wretch, and then withdrew. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And soon the days passed; but in vain she tried, 
 Sad, faithful prisoner who on chance relied, 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 91 
 
 To find some messenger. The servants all 
 Were searched with vigilance, and sent a way, 
 Like wanderers, in the outside world, to stray; 
 For some of them, since childhood, in that Hah 1 , 
 Had dwelt, and still in peace had hoped to dwell, 
 Changeless as those old halls, till life s closed day. 
 At first, Etolia thought, "it is not well, 
 That I this trouble, to Cozenza tell: 
 Charged with so much of import as he is, 
 How can I hope the tyrant s blow to miss 
 Through his protecting arm ; my sorrow less 
 "Will be, concealed from his so keen distress; 
 And even at the most, my sorrow s gloom 
 Must not precipitate my hero s doom, 
 Nor find weak refuge in my hero s tomb." 
 
 The bright crusading banners were not stirred 
 By Syrian winds ; and on the thrilling eve, 
 The Harp and Paynim trumpet were not heard. 
 It was the Revolution s mighty heave 
 Cowards in strongholds, well content to fire 
 Through the fair street, and o er the splendid spire. 
 All the night long, upon the city fell, 
 The detonation of the bursting shell: 
 Vain was all watchful care, the vandal deed 
 Struck in the household, childhood and old age; 
 Whoe er had strength to fly, in flight s quick heed 
 Bereft the weak ; and love s power to assuage, 
 Could but, returning wild, rush in again, 
 To find a mangled child, or parent slain 
 
92 COZENZA. 
 
 No roof secure j the stricken lambent flame, 
 
 From balcony and flowery casement came. 
 
 Around the walls, and sounding ancient shore. 
 
 All day, all night, the cannon o er and o er, 
 
 Unceasing sent its dreadful, muffled roar. 
 
 Eight steamers came at midnight, each a sting 
 
 From the great scorpion that some called their king; 
 
 Five thousand soldiers more, the bastioned gate 
 
 Of old Moutaldo s faithful fires, did wait. 
 
 Fearful the conflict ! vain, rampart and fort; 
 
 For step by step the people s fierce retort 
 
 Viva IS Italia ! the last words to bless, 
 
 Of dying lips, still cheered dear bought success. 
 
 While^om Montaldo rung the enfilade, 
 
 From house to house, through walls, the conflict 
 
 made 
 
 Indomitable way ; in ev ry room, 26 
 The bloody strife contested hand to hand : 
 Let me not dwell upon the slaughter s gloom ; 
 For all of valor s feats, you understand, 
 Since it was old Palermo, brave and grand. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Out on the mountains, the following day, 
 To meet more entering troops upon their way; 
 Hunger and thirst, through fierce long hours, they 
 
 stood, 
 
 Their numbers, still like an increasing flood ; 
 Sending, at last, the messengers for food, 
 Entreating, no bread came ; and then for water, 
 Resignedly, they asked, while still the slaughter 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 93 
 
 Reciprocal, endured until the eve, 
 
 Alas ! twas then discovered and we grieve 
 
 To tell the Comitato s treason they, 
 
 "Withholding promised succor, did betray : 
 
 A few hours more victory to decide; 
 
 But vain the earnest hopes of those who tried; 
 
 Though faint with thirst and hunger, still they 
 
 cried, f 
 
 " Down with the Bourbon," and, like heroes, died: 
 And then a royal amnesty withdrew 
 From out the valliant ranks, a dastard few 
 Who weakly turned submissive and untrue. 
 
 XII. 
 
 
 
 On mount Calatifini, the Brigands 
 Managed their cannon with devoted hands 
 Repentent and self sacrificing, who 
 Of all surpassed them, dauntless there and true 
 Piled were the dead, Salluzzi dared not count, 
 Round the tricolor on that signal mount. 
 At last he sought Cozenza, "Come remain 
 Not here," he said, " seek safety ! All is vain !" 
 " Never !" Cozenza cried, Behold the slain ! 
 My hope was with them ; and when now they meet 
 Reverse, with them shall be my last defeat ! 
 I led them on to this, they don t retreat ! 
 Hungry, but victorious, here, this morn 
 For treason and betrayal, see their scorn !" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 u Well, since you list not," said Salluzzi, " I 
 Will give you argument you can t deny, 
 
COZENZA. 
 
 Unless you would, like a sold traitor, die ! 
 
 Suppose a sum were offered for your head, 
 
 Alive, or else to murder you instead 
 
 General ! you** power and example have 
 
 Thwarted the enemy, aspired to save 
 
 The country. Knowing this, the traitors gave 
 
 A charge you should not see another day. 
 
 In these confused hours ; in this hot fray 
 
 How easy, pulls a[trigger, and the sum 
 
 I might e en name to you, now will you come?" 
 
 "None would accept it" said Cozenza; tl Hold ! 
 
 I have accepted it " Salluzzi bold 
 
 Beplied, and bargained for the deed in gold ! 
 
 This will prevent all others from the dire 
 
 And dastard act and now at once retire." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 e< No ! No !" Cozenza said, "thus saved attack, 
 To my brave fellows I will hasten back. 
 We ll wait here until dusk thereafter, soon 
 The signal lights will rise late shows the moon ; 
 And then, Salluzzi, watchful care and chance 
 Must see the men all ready for advance. 
 Surprise the garrison, Palazzo di Finance; 
 One hundred men from Borgo and Colli, 
 Commanded by Suchelli, will set free 
 The prisoners ; if failure meet their aim, 
 Their faithful service will be judged the same, 
 To keep the troops of Molo all the night, 
 Engaged, someway, in desultory fight, 
 And I, at Porta d Ossone, will stand 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 95 
 
 You know the mansion quarters, near at hand, 
 And thence, myself, go on to the attack 
 Upon Noviziato; you ll be back 
 More victory and success, we ll meet to tell 
 If not, then Camerata now, farewell !" 
 
 XV. 
 
 Again, to Olevano s let us go 
 
 And see what more, its storied days may show 
 
 The next time that Morbili came, he brought 27 
 
 Bruno and Pontillo, who first had wrought 
 
 The torture beams similar to a rack: 
 
 Another, too, accompanied them back 
 
 Her friend, the Cardinal, to comfort her, 
 
 And to advise her obstinate self-will. 
 
 She was not corteous for she did not stir 
 
 When his name was announced; but sitting still, 
 
 She seemed to nerve herself anew. He came 
 
 With fatherly regard, apparently; 
 
 And took her hand, and softly called her name. 
 
 "My daughter !" then he said, *<what fearful blame 
 
 Is this which lieth heavily on thee ? 
 
 And will you not confess it all to me ?" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "Father, you know I cannot hope to win 
 Your favor for, at first, you called it sin." 
 "And so I did, my child this undeniecl; 
 Commit not sacrilege with it beside, 
 Disloyal to your King of this accused." 
 Etolia, faintly smilin 
 
96 COZENZA. 
 
 His face, with meaning iooks, and gently said ; 
 
 You know Pm loyal to my king, instead; 
 
 But as for your king, I scarce understand; 
 
 Though I suppose that you mean Ferdinand." 
 
 He smiled in turn 5 her meaning he perceived : 
 
 Too late, he looked sincerely, deeply grieved; 
 
 And told her earnestly, he could not save 
 
 Her direst consequence, unless she gave 
 
 Account explicit of all secret plot. 
 
 Vain, was her strict assurance, she had not 
 
 The knowledge asked her: "They would not 
 
 believe," 
 
 He answered sternly; "nor could he retrieve 
 The suffering she would bring upon herself, 
 Ending, no doubt; and honored with a shelf 
 In the old vaults her ancestors long filled 
 And some of them, like her, had been self-willed." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Here poor Etolia looked at him, and thrilled 
 With trouble and foreboding. Quickly flew, 
 As unto heavy flowers their full dew, 
 The tears into her gentle eyes of pain. 
 He could not bear this ; and he said again ; 
 "Think of what I advise; and let me find, 
 On my return, such change of heart and mind, 
 As will, my child, restore all gracious trust 
 With our good Ferdinand, so great and just. 7 
 "Your Eminence, I will not change one inch ; 
 And persecution will not make me flinch : 
 Too well Fve learned the very doctrines you 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 1)7 
 
 Inculcate nobly ever to be true 
 
 To my dear Lord, even should martyrdom 
 
 From ev ry deathly horror on me come ; 
 
 And now farewell ! I cannot bear suspense." 
 
 Again her fine lip s curve grew close and tense, 
 
 As though made ready to endure all things: 
 
 Her friend departed amid whisperings 
 
 And anxious looks, that followed, of the Guard 
 
 Gathered in Olevano s old court-yard. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Three days elapsed; and then the Order was, 
 To have her up for trial formally 
 The Charge repeated, of offended laws 
 If so desired, she might send for, and see 
 Her husband or her friends 0, mockery ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In the lone chambers that had long been closed, 
 
 Morbili s Court held session ; and there sat 
 
 Pontillo, Del Caretto; and there dozjd 
 
 Old Cardinal Capano, just as fat 
 
 As ever, though, tis true, he fretted at 
 
 Etolia s strange perversity ; but sin 
 
 Had not the evil power to make him thin : 
 
 As for Etolia, she had lately grown 
 
 Like a swooned lily by a storm-wind blown. 
 
 When called, she answered; and she told her name, 
 
 Her station, and her lineage, whence she cumo. 
 
 At this, Capano waked, and wiped his eyes, 
 
 Grief had overcome him, or sleep, or surprise: 
 
COZENZA. 
 
 Reproaching her, he left her to her fate; 
 But, secretly, himself, he blamed too late: 
 Too late, he had advised; too late, he sought 
 Her youthful, wayward counsel ; and just brought 
 The culmination he could not avert: 
 The stern old fellow felt a little hurt, 
 And more alarmed but tried to justify 
 Himself she could control her destiny, 
 If she were not so perverse, and of mood 
 Intractable not easy understood. 
 Thus angered and distressed, he could not stay , 
 And ere the trial closed, he drove away. 
 
 XX.* 
 
 Etolia was remanded, till once more 
 
 She should be called. Wearily at the door 
 
 Of her sad chamber, entering she met 
 
 Concetta weeping. "Lady, you forget 
 
 What record awful, and alone I keep, 
 
 Some day, account to render ! Why not weep ? 
 
 Twere better I were dead, than live to tell 
 
 To Count Cozenza, of what things befell 
 
 My Lady, were she dead from torture s pain, 
 
 Or those o erwhelming troubles that obtain 
 
 Ascendancy. What would they ask ? tell all ! 
 
 Your telling it, will not make aught befall 
 
 The Count Cozenza he is safely far 
 
 A fearless destiny, his ruling star 
 
 Shielded by faithful hands of love, and hearts ; 
 
 Each, a defender, at his danger starts. 7 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 9S 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And thus the good Concetta, vainly tried 
 
 Propitiation that was still denied 
 
 Gently but firmly. " No, Concetta, friend ! 
 
 Your unremitting care may too soon end; 
 
 Go to Palermo, with your trust sincere, 
 
 And find him, if you can, whom I hold dear; 
 
 And tell him ah great God ! alas ! I fear 
 
 The death of battles in his brave career, 
 
 You will not e er have need he may not hear: 
 
 Firm still thy fortitude, as fondly brave, 
 
 At least, Concetta, try thyself to save : 
 
 Go quickly when they free thee, which they will 
 
 But tell him nothing hastily, until 
 
 Surmises of these things first come, as on 
 
 The sunset cometh night, ere tis begun : 
 
 You know, Concetta, not to give him pain 
 
 Sudden or terrible, but to refrain, 
 
 And wait his stricken evidence of woe: 
 
 Have you not watched the creeping tidal-flow, 
 
 The overwhelming and relentless main, 
 
 So like to agony s slow, boundless throe 
 
 That cannot be restrained ? No, No ! ah no ! 
 
 Concetta, tell him thus let fall the blow 
 
 Lightly as possible you know you know !" 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Her voice was hushed ! She did not speak again : 
 That day, they fastened a light, strong, steel chain 
 Around her beauteous arm: the castle rung 
 With hammer blows: a ring, in which was hung 
 
100 COZENZA. 
 
 The chain, was driven in the wall; and swung 
 The width of her apartment and no more: 
 She now was prisoner close within its door; 
 And of Concetta s constant care forlorn, 
 She waked to miss e en that the coming morn. 
 Her only food was now a little bread, 
 Having refused Capano s further aid, 
 Which gave her judges reason to believe 
 Her contumacy meant but to deceive 
 With vague, evasive answers for the truth : 
 They had no pity on her love or youth. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 After the first dread trial, when remanded, 
 
 She seemed a fragile wreck, storm-washed and 
 
 stranded. 
 
 She thus was kept, a few days in her room 
 The cruel chain still adding to her gloom; 
 But firmly patient, her calm apathy 
 Had almost overcome anxiety ; 
 The seals were broken on her founts of hope; 
 The sunlight, and the verdure from the slope 
 Had vanished; and, relying but on God, 
 Already, the dark valley s path, she trod : 
 Pressed deeply in by death and girdling grief, 
 She only prayed, their agony be brief. 
 Once more Morbili questioned her, and took 
 Occasion, holding judgment, to rebuke 
 Her reckless disregard of her own fate; 
 In many pompous words, assumed to state 
 The nature of the punishments when he 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 101 
 
 Lost further patience with obstinacy. 
 
 Vain was her terror vain his every threat; 
 
 Morbili was so angry that he roared: 
 
 She almost heard the sound of her heart s beat; 
 
 But seemed, above all terror, to have soared. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 tl Take her," he said; " and let her then be thrown 
 Into the dungeon, though she die alone ! 
 Even the guards could scarce suppress a groan, 
 Hearing this sentence. When the court adjourned, 
 She was not to her lonely room returned : 
 Drear as it was, it had both light and air; 
 But these had vanished when below the stair 
 Of cold, gray stone, that to the dungeons led, 
 Where she was taken, less alive than dead: 
 And still her food hard bread a little water; 
 Incredible, yet true; that nurtured daughter 
 Of delicate fine race, imprisoned lay, 
 Perishing by want hid from light of day. 
 Martyr of Justice ! even this, and lo ! 
 There is more yet to tell, thy final woe ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Next day, the Order was to take her up : 
 
 Morbili feared she d die, before the cup 
 
 Of bitterness was drained to its last drop. 
 
 " Where is she ?" said the seeking men : " Just stop 
 
 We ll call her, for tis dark as Hades here ! 
 
 She may be hid, or sleeping somewhere near." 
 
 They called; and nothing answered, save the sound 
 
102 C O Z E N Z A . 
 
 Reverberate of their voices, all profound 
 
 Dark stillness, through the damp, deep dungeons,, 
 
 round. 
 
 His minions sought her in the barathrum, 2 * 
 A pit below the floor the Tullianum 
 Of Rome was the original of these 
 Old prisons, or old cesspools, as you please. 
 For sometimes they conjoined the common sewer; 
 
 Arid those cast in, were never heard of more. 
 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 In one such horrible and Orcus place 
 Still groping, and still finding not a trace 
 Of her whom there they left, the night before 
 With careful hands, they touched the walls, the 
 floor : 
 
 At last " I see her," said one of the men, 
 There she is crouching in a bunch, I think ! 
 I guess she s not quite healthy in this den I 
 Perhaps, she s fainted, and should have a drink, 
 Or needs some one to fan her j the rose cloud 
 Of her soft cushion is not here allowed : 
 And she is sulky, is she not?" Each jest, 
 While she was all unconscious of their quest ? 
 Heartless and ghastly passed o er her deep rest; 
 For those were demons of Morbili s own, 
 Used to such scenes rare jewels of the Crown. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 They moved her, finding her so quiet; and, 
 When lifted up, they saw she could not stand : 
 They carried her, and laid her down outside : 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 103 
 
 The firm white lips were closed : the gentle pride 
 Of her deep, lovely eyes, was lidded down, 
 But softly quivered when the pure air, blown 
 Upon her face, revived her ; and she sighed : 
 And soon she murmured, "Light, so strange ! so 
 
 still ! 
 
 So beautiful ! What sounds, the sweet air, fill ? 
 Again I breathe ! My God ! have I not died ?" 
 As human nature varies kind good will 
 For scorn s indifference to outside things 
 No more compassion s sympathetic thrill 
 Alleviated her great sufferings : 
 None to behold them, whom affection moved; 
 The very guards who had, at first, so proved 
 Their deep remonstrance by, at least, a groan, 
 Had into use been hardened horror gone; 
 And gentle, mild respect had even flown. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 For now, so weary and so faded, weeks 
 
 Of woe had made her she seemed not the same. 
 
 Upon the fairest, harrowing care soon wreaks 
 
 His blows of iron; and her fragile frame 
 
 Bore evidence of this. Pontillo came 
 
 " You may be executed," he observed, 
 
 " If, for endurance, you are not well nerved : 
 
 You may, it so desired, bind up your brow : 
 
 It has become severest duty now, 
 
 Signora, to extort confession sit 
 
 On the ardente sedia, and fit 
 
 This iron band about your temples, please ; 
 
l l COZENZA. 
 
 Or I will have it done, if you permit, 
 I cannot help it,, if you feel it squeeze 
 And hasten; there s no use in such long prayer. 7 
 Absorbed, and answering not. Etolia there 
 ^ Was lowly kneeling; "Lord, my God ! to thee, 
 I offer up my life submissively ! 
 Save him for whom I die, since upon me 
 Hath come the sacrifice ! Cozenza ! Love ! 
 Perfect the struggle that my death will prove. " 
 
 . XXIX. 
 
 They seized, and placed her in the Enming-chair: 
 Her raiment that had been so light and fine, 
 Grew slowly scorched ; and on her temples fair. 
 The iron band s slow, tightening, dented line 
 Bled, and she moaned : then Pontillo cried, 
 
 "There ! 
 
 Take her outside, and let her have some air !" 
 They watched her for some sign s returning life 
 But vainly she was freed from further strife. 
 Stretched on the earth, her pale pure brow, marked 
 
 round 
 
 With the blue, bleeding line, the iron bound : 
 In vain they dashed cold water on her lace : 
 She stirred not from her finished, quiet grace ! 
 In peace, Etolia ! to thy resting place 
 Go now, sweet soul, for all is consummated ! 
 And better to have died unconscious thus, 
 Than to have lived to learn, what life still fated 
 More grievous to thy heart, than life s own loss. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 
 
 1 
 
 ".asteir a ffi are. 
 
 
 I. 
 
 Remember where Cozenza and Salluzzi stood 
 Together, near Headquarteis, in the mountain- 
 wood; 
 
 All was disaster that eventful night 
 Betrayal, panic, death, and wounded flight. 
 A tramping patrol found our hero, laid 
 Near Porta di termina some dismayed 
 Adherents, hopeless, fled, and left him there : 
 He was unconscious, bleeding; but with care 
 The patrols knew their prisoner what rare 
 Captive they carried to Castell a mare. 
 He wakened, wounded unto death almost; 
 And many days and weeks in fever, tossed: 
 His heart beat,and his nerves with grieving thought: 
 He felt, to execution, he d be brought; 
 All outside freedom he had left behind; 
 But civilly, the captain had consigned 
 Him to an officer on duty he 
 Was kept a prisoner, but yet was free 
 
106 COZENZA. 
 
 To walk at leisure. When he stepped inside, 
 He saw the bridges drawn that then denied 
 Him egress from that place; and he felt sure 
 There was no life for him beyond its door. 
 
 II 
 
 Along the ramparts, up and down, he walked; 
 And careless with the guards, unnoticed talked : 
 One day, at change of sentinels, he passed 
 The square where piles of guns and shells were 
 
 massed 
 
 In pyramidal rows a martial kind 
 Of armament: pond ring, he thought to find 
 The means of some escape : absorbed, he rose 
 With equal hope to projects; but all those, 
 Each after each, appeared impossible. 
 At last, as chance would have it, so it fell, 
 That, unintentionally, he ascended, 
 And reached the line made circular that ended 
 The rampart of the bastion by the sea : 
 At ev ry fort he crossed, he cordially 
 Returned the call, and said; "Your Captain s 
 
 guest !" 
 
 The guards were newly mounted, but had known 
 The kindness that their officer had shown 
 This prisoner their minds were quite at rest. 
 
 III. 
 
 Continuing his tour along the left, 
 
 He saw the windows of the Chapel where 
 
 The prisoners, condemned, of hope bereft, 
 
 Passed three days, previous to their last, in prayer, 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 107 
 
 Or any other way the notion took them 
 
 Twas just an incubus contrived, that shook them 
 
 With cruel horror till their day of doom, 
 
 Slowly and coldly, in that chapel s gloom. 
 
 He shuddered, and passed on; and soon he found 
 
 A sentinel who talked much, on his round, 
 
 About the weather, and the soldiers lives 
 
 In fact, the whole line of his genealogy, 
 
 And would have gone to Solomon and his wives, 
 
 Without the least remorse, or an apology, 
 
 But for an incident that then occurred, 
 
 And drew attention without further word : 
 
 A woman, holding on her arm a basket 
 
 Containing cakes and bottles, crying out 
 
 " Biscata, Zembu /" Though she did not ask it, 
 
 She seemed to claim attention: she was stout, 
 
 And was, perhaps, disguised : with this impressed, 
 
 Cozenza watched her, and when near, addressed : 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Signora, will you bring a flask of wine 
 
 Or a good cake ?" Instinctively, a sign, 
 
 As of some motion or ulterior aim, 
 
 She made : he started sure, she was the same, 
 
 His friend Concetta, whom he thought so far 
 
 Perplexity and fear made quickly war 
 
 Within his anxious mind ; he dared not speak : 
 
 She noted soon the pallor on his cheek; 
 
 And swiftly spoke, herself lest he might say, 
 
 Incautiously, some word that would betray 
 
 " If you will wait ten minutes," answered she, 
 
108 COZENZA. 
 
 Resuming where he stopped ; recovering, he, 
 Prompted instinctively, then quickly drew 
 Five pieces from his pocket; ere she knew, 
 He placed them with strong pressure in her hand : 
 Though both were silent, did she understand f 
 
 V. 
 
 She left him musing; and his restless mind 
 Waved like a night-bird in a stormy wind: 
 He sighed, and almost cursed his luckless fate 
 "When struck the hour, a-quarter-past-of-eight. 
 Fainter, the sentinels, each after each, 
 Answered, Allerta sta, along the line: 
 Beneath him stretched the sea, night s dismal reach; 
 But action, and not musing, must prolong 
 His life now menaced by oppression s wrong. 
 Of the late incident, what meant the sign 
 Concetta gave him ; and why was she here ? 
 Again his t heart thrilled with some startling fear; 
 Again appalling truth flashed on him chance 
 Alone could save him as a poising lance, 
 His purpose on the soldier he resumed : 
 To humor him awhile, his words were plumed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ere long the woman reappeared, and placed 
 
 A bottle and two tin cups on the ground; 
 
 And stood in such a manner, that she faced 
 
 Cozenza. Hurriedly, she glanced around; 
 
 And then, intently at him, and retired. 
 
 His very heart was striking ; he respired 
 
 With hard-won effort; each breath seemed a knell; 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 109 
 
 He dared not ask her aught; she dared not tell: 
 All these surmises and transpired affairs, 
 Were a few moments ; thus, when danger stares, 
 We feel and think intently, in a space 
 Much shorter than in any other case. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Cozenza, then, with forced light jollity, 
 Said ; 4< Cameraia, what say you, if we 
 Drink the king s health ?" " You know I cannot 
 
 thanks, 
 
 Signer! drinking on duty, and such pranks, 
 Place us upon retirement in the tanks !" 
 tl Come" said Gozenza; "Fm your Captain s guest!" 
 This " reasonable " reason seemed the best 
 Forthwith, this genial comrade of the ranks 
 Ignored such small offence of dicipline: 
 He thought not twice, but took the little tin; 
 Cozenza took the other, filled it up 
 "Here s the king s health !" he said, in whispered 
 
 tone ; 
 
 Then deftly down his shirt front, it was thrown. 
 The soldier drank, at once, the tempting cup 
 " Excellent !" he smacked. "Take another chum," 
 Cozenza graciously repeated ; " Come !" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Again he filled it, and the bottle tost 
 Over the rampart to the seething sea 
 Of all the many things of time, long lost 
 Not the least costly of its argosy: 
 
110 COZENZA. 
 
 A moment more, the soldier heavily 
 
 Began to stammer; soon he sank and slept. 
 
 To the aperture of the cannon, crept 
 
 Cozenza softly : as he looked below 
 
 There were the rocks the sea in turbid flow: 
 
 If, he should throw himself the certain risk 
 
 Twas thirty feet beneath the Cannon s disk. 
 
 The massive rocks that, piled against the wall, 
 
 Kept off the breakers, would receive his fall : 
 
 To shudder was to fail; the cups he threw 
 
 Into the Ocean, and his pistols too. 
 
 The night was pitchy dark, of blackest hue: 
 
 Heaven and Earth seemed joined in ooe dense mass: 
 
 The troubled waters sounded with the pass 
 
 Of strong harmonious winds. The tower s bell 
 
 Struck the last quarter cold his heart s blood fell, 
 
 Then came the cry from the first sentinel, 
 
 And answered through the line, the "All is well !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 But here, one guard lay senseless, at his feet, 
 Who should respond to make the line complete 
 Discovery, imminent the moments, fleet. 
 Again the Sentry s voice continuing, 
 The next to him should call it; and thus bring 
 The repetition to his post: the string 
 Of his large cloak he held, to gather close 
 The two ends in his hands, before he d spring: 
 He lingered; one more effort heard the call, 
 And answered then he leaped the bastioned wall. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. Ill 
 
 X. 
 
 Swift as an arrow shot from bended bow, 
 He disappeared upon the rocks below 
 No sound came from the turbid, onward flow. 
 Great Heavens ! who shall ask the dark repose 
 \V r as then his quivering form in death s last throes? 
 Or was he swept out on the tide s high swell, 
 The requiem of the deep his only knell; 
 He had commended to the God of woes, 
 His reckless spirit; and not yet did close 
 That passionate, strong life : his form arose 
 Above the dark abyss survived the leap 
 Some other awful destiny to keep. 
 
 XI, 
 
 His ample cloak, wide floating on the wind, 
 Seemed as a spirit of the gloom, consigned 
 To the deep halls of Neptune, there to find 
 Repose denied on Earth to all mankind: 
 7 Twas not that of Elias, nor the wing 
 Of the old Roman Eagle, fluttering; 
 But twas more adequate, if anything 
 For upward it sustained him in his fall, 
 As mostly, our own cloaks do, after all. 
 
 XII. 
 
 He fell upon the rocks, and seemed unharmed; 
 Though stunned a little, groping as one blind, 
 He almost felt as if his life were charmed : 
 Escaped he was ; and nothing heard behind 
 The castle all was silent unalarmed; 
 
112 COZENZA. 
 
 Then with redoubled courage, plunged to cross 
 The basin small, between him and the land. 
 Forward in struggle with the waves high heave, 
 Half vainly, did the desperate swimmer toss : 
 The water reached his chin , and ev ry wave 
 Smote like a thunderbolt against his hand; 
 And o er his head, with mighty roar, it fell 
 Upon the beach s smooth, extending swell. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 At last, he reached the shore; the boats were all 
 Drawn up, and formed a crest, or coronal: 
 His foot scarce rested on the laud, when he 
 Turned back his gaze appalled, upon the sea; 
 The rocks he had escaped; the Tower from whence 
 He leaped ; but lo ! what dimness closed his sense : 
 His wounds were bleeding fresh : he felt the warm, 
 Life-blood fast oozing from his breast, and arm: 
 He dared not rest there, lest alone he d lie 
 Unconscious all the night, or lonely die. 
 He dared not enter, through Porta Felice, 
 The city, lest he meet the dread Police. 
 Then, to the mountains he must go, though long 
 The road and, met at every turn, a throng 
 Of patrols: yet with cautious care he might 
 Hope to escape their notice, in the night. 
 Wearily on, some distance, toiled he slow, 
 Striving to justify his present woe; 
 Better it were to die, if die he must, 
 In proud defiance for his cause so just, 
 Such death were not defeat lonely but free, 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 113 
 
 And not the victim of ignominy. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Ah ! can we think of him in that dread hour ? 
 
 He was going to die each failing power 
 
 Left him with sinking faintness of the heart; 
 
 The long road silent, made each light sound start 
 His quiv ring nerves, and overwrought trembling 
 
 frame: 
 
 Each moment, he expected but to hear 
 The Castle s loud alarm, rung far and near. 
 Still on he walked, or struggled till he came 
 To a dense grove of Olives ; there he lay, 
 Not much unlike One of an ancient day : 
 He thought he rested; but a deathly faint 
 Came over him. Farewell, Cozenza, now! 
 Thy white face upward looked a soldier saint ! 
 The chilly dews were on thy glorious brow ! 
 Dying alone, with none to aid, or know 
 Not all alone: there was a form came near, 
 So light her footstep that he scarce could hear. 
 
 XV. 
 
 This was the battle spot of recent strife, 
 Vanquished with sacrifice and yielded life; 
 And here, Love sought the Dead, Lavagna s wife 
 Sought Lavagna ; aflection, more than fear 
 Where wild dogs feasted and were coldly strewn, 
 Unhurried, half the dead, beneath the moon. 
 Dimly in death, Cozenza scarce could see 
 Concetta. Did she know him ? Bending close 
 *8 
 
114 COZENZA. 
 
 Twas not the one she sought mid death s repose 
 
 Bat twas Cozenza; and she started back ; 
 
 A cloud passed o er the moon, and made it black. 
 
 " He dies," she said, "now he need never know." 
 
 Kneeling, she held his hand, and raised his brow, 
 
 And listened to the words he murmured low, 
 
 For he had rallied : he was finely strong, 
 
 And highly wrought, with effort ; and ere long, 
 
 From his cold, paling lips there came a name 
 
 To Love, and Life, and Death it was the same. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " My own Etolia ! named for happy skies ! 
 The anguish of the dying on me lies ! 
 Oh, for one look of thy adoring eyes ! 
 Then, as the brave from combats, would I go, 
 Thy pride and tenderness surmounting woe ! 
 Farewell, Etolia, my Beloved ! Farewell ! 
 Upon the waters, sank the crimson, swell 
 Of the last sunset I shall e er behold ! 
 Our bugles silent; and our banners gold, 
 Furling and folding in the purple gloom 
 Of the far distant mountains fitting tomb 
 For noble efforts vain. wife ! to-night, 
 The face thou lovest, will be cold and white ! 
 Around me are the dead, on altar rocks 
 Devoted hearts and brave, forever quenched 
 Their true and tried hands on their musket-locks, 
 Or on their broken bayonets, coldly clenched. 
 And when thy chains are falling, fair, dear land ! 
 Long will have perished, my love-daring hand ! 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 115 
 
 Once more, farewell, sweet wife! sweet Love of 
 
 mine ! 
 
 To thee and to my God, my soul I sign, 
 Red, with the Martyr s signet ! Oh, thy tears 
 I feel ; and thy soft voice falls on my ears 
 
 4 
 
 Like waters in Cascades whose music nils 
 
 Th embosomed beaut) 1 of our native hills ! 
 
 My heart s thrill, fainter grows! Take my lasft 
 
 breath 
 Etolia and Italia ! Love and Death ! " 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Unsanctified ? No, No ! yet he is dead ! 
 Vainly, yet so loved the oppressor s foe ! 
 The transport of his radiant cheek is fled, 
 As a wave s ripple, as a star s soft glow, 
 Submerged to gleam beyond, to shine below 
 Along the glittering water s distant flow, 
 When the enchanting clouds, disparting, blow 
 So lived, and died this one ! the glorious brave ! 
 His own blue Tyrrhene skies are o er his grave; 
 And Myrtle blooms, and Olive o er it wave. 
 O land ! whose lava streams poured out, turn cold 
 Still, from thy burning mounts, those streams are 
 rolled ! / 
 
 (UNIVERSITY 
 xvni - ^CALJF 
 
 Feronia, Goddess bright ! thy sacred woods 29 
 Shade not Soracte; but thy holy floods 
 Pour downward to the sea ; no votaries hands, 
 And faces fair now wash upon their sands: 
 
116 COZENZA. 
 
 For thee, twas said, the feet bare palmed, could 
 
 go 
 
 Across the burning coals, though burning slow, 
 Without the senses pain of human woe. 
 Fides! the oaths of honesty were kept 30 
 For thee, for whom first incense Numa swept : 
 But what of all this sacrifice of old ? 
 Italia ! are thy heroes now less bold ? 
 
 The water now is blood she sylvan chalice, gold I 
 Thy wings are upward , and with love sublime, 
 Thy martyrs hung their crowns on towers of Time,, 
 Expiring for thy glorious destiny 
 Upon their lips, assurance thus to thee, 
 ITALIA ! RISE EXULTANT, AND BE FREE ! 
 
 FAMA SEMPER VIVAT. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 117 
 
 ENVOY, 
 
 Keader ! if patient toil have brought 
 To thee, in verse, one pleasing thought; 
 Or thrilled within thy fervent breast, 
 One hidden chord from deep unrest 
 
 Of sacred love s sweet pain 
 Then shall the task, to me assigned, 
 Repay my weariness of mind; 
 And, ere we part a short farewell, 
 I seem to hear thy kind lips tell 
 
 Of efforts not in vain. 
 
 Take from Pactolus sands the little gold, 
 Take the bruised frankincense from desert lands; 
 O er all the rest time s ocean shall be rolled 
 How well I know, thy heart, this understands. 
 
 Bound with torments like waters of Sophene, 
 Bounded with waters of some blank despair, 
 Till death s strong trident from their shadows lean 
 To strike the lips that have no further prayer. 
 
 The snine of marbles in the summer sun, 
 The sway of grass upon the sunshine breeze; 
 This, the cold glory of the fair things done, 
 And the deep cadence of their after peace. 
 
118 OOZENZA, 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE 1. PAGE 20. 
 At Cannae, whose historic plain. 
 
 The scene of this terrible battle was the plain, between Cannso 
 and Anfidus, which was anciently called Campi Diomedis. Here 
 the consuls, jEmylius and Varro, made a desperate and futile re 
 sistance to the implacable conqueror Hannibal, on the 21st of May 
 216 B. C. 
 
 NOTE 2. PAGE 21. 
 Along Voltorno s vale, the rain. 
 
 The valley of Voltorno takes its name from Vulturnua, a river of 
 Campania, rising in the Appenines, and falling into the Tyrrhene 
 Sea, after passing Capua. The Bomans, at the battle of Cannae, 
 suffered additional disasters from the destructive wind which blew 
 from the side of the Vulturnus. 
 
 The valley is noted for its luxuriant fruitfulness; although its 
 cities, towns, and marks of ancient splendor, have nearly passed 
 away. 
 
 NOTE 3. PAGE 21. 
 Gaeta only lives in name; 
 
 The town of Gaeta is distant 41 miles north-west from Naples, 
 and 72 miles south-east from Rome. 
 
 This town owes its foundation to the Lsestrigones, and its name 
 to the nurse of 2Eneas, according to Virgil. 
 
 At this spot, around the famed Hill of Formae, the Lsestrigones 
 made their first settlement, on arriving from their fabled Sicilian 
 dominions. Homer mentions Lamus as their Capitol, which was 
 also trie name of their leader. The Cathedral of Gaeta contains 
 some curious and antique relics, one of which is the Vase in the 
 Baptistery, a singular specimen of antiquity. There is also a cele 
 brated CQlumn with twelve faces, on which are engraved the names 
 of the different points of the compass, in Greek and Latin, 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 119 
 
 Between Mola and Gaeta are the ruins of Cicero s supposed Villa 
 which he called the Foriuianum, a name derived from Forrniae the 
 Hill above mentioned, the more ancient name of Gaeta. In its im 
 mediate vicinity, Cicero was put to death by an edict of the Roman 
 triumvirate. 
 
 NOTE 4. PAGE 21. 
 
 Him who would gain Capua s gates; 
 
 About a mile beyond the present town of Capua, are the ruins of 
 the ancient and celebrated Capua, once the chief city of Campania, 
 of Etruscan origin. 
 
 Its first founders called it Yulturnus, by which name" they des 
 ignated the river upon which it stood. Its change of name was 
 effected by the Samnite conquerors. Here Hannibal made his 
 residence, after his great victory at Canna. On his departure, the 
 Eomans visited their displeasure upon the place for having made 
 him welcome; and nearly reduced the city and the adjacent country 
 to a desert. 
 
 At the time of Julius Caesar, the Senate thought of restoring it. 
 From this time it began to recover its former magnificence and 
 flourished till it fell, with the rest of the falling empire, on the in 
 vasion of the barbarians. It contained at one time, about 800,000 
 inhabitants; and its vast amphitheater could entertain 100,000 
 spectators. This city was once so opulent that it even rivaled 
 Rome, and was called altera Roma. 
 
 The most remarkable lemains of its buildings, are the ruins of an 
 amphitheater, of a subterranean gallery, and of a triumphal arch. 
 
 On the spot where it stood, has been built the town of Santa 
 Maria, remarkable for its royal chateau which is one of the most 
 magnificent in Europe, known as the palace of Caserte, whose 
 architect was Vanvitelli; it cost seven million ducats. 
 
 The modern town of Capua is noted for its Cathedral which con 
 tains some columns of granite taken from ancient buildings, some 
 good pictures, and various sculptures by Bernini. The church of 
 the Aunonciade merits observation; and under the piazza of the 
 Place des Juges, are several antique inscriptions; on digging the 
 foundations of the acqueduct for the above palace of Caserte, an 
 ancient tomb was discovered 90 feet below the surface, and sup 
 posed to be 2000 years old. 
 
 NOTE 5. PAGE 22. 
 Antony s mandate was fulfilled. 
 
 The enmity which Cicero bore to Antony was fatal to him. Dur 
 ing the triumvirate of Augustus, Antony, and Lepidus, the name 
 of Cicero was found upon Antony s list of proscription. The 
 
120 /30ZENZA. 
 
 emissaries of Antony pursued Cicero to Ms home near Gaeta. 
 
 Among them was Popilius whom Cicero had once defended upon 
 an accusation of parricide. 
 
 Cicero had fled towards the sea; and when the assassins came up 
 to him, he put his head out of the litter, and it was severed from 
 his body, by Herennius. 
 
 This event happened in December, 43 B. C., in the 64th year of 
 his age. The head, and right hand of the orator, were carried to 
 Rome, and hung up in the forum. Cicero was not only the first 
 orator, but he was, unquestionably, the most learned philosopher 
 of Rome. 
 
 NOTE 6. PAGE 22. 
 If thou Campagna, drear and lone ! 
 
 The desolation of the Roman Campagna is most oppressive. The 
 stations, between the sea and the " Eternal City," are eleven in 
 number; and nothing can surpass their lonely appearance. They 
 are, simply, little round hovels at alternate distances each sur 
 mounted by a wooden cross, imparting to it and the surrounding 
 landscape a tomb-like character of utter desolation. 
 
 A few tired and demure ponies, and a stray shepherd or two, 
 break the monotony of the view. 
 
 While the traveler may imagine his train drawn by oxen so 
 slowly does it advance over the buried ruins of antiquity, and past 
 the startled buffaloes .that depart at its approach the ferocity of 
 Sylla, and the stealth of Cataline are, perha,ps, the only harmless 
 suggestions, to fancy, that are left; and with the last rays of the 
 setting sun streaming their mellow light on the Campagna, " one 
 may arise from his seat, in reverence to departed greatness," while 
 entering the gates of Eternal Rome. 
 
 NOTE 7. PAGE 22. 
 If, from the Aventine s crushed dome, 
 
 The Aventine, though not the largest of the seven hills of Rome, 
 had upon it many important temples and many consecrated altars. 
 The temples of Diana, Flora, Juno, and others, were on the Aven 
 tine. 
 
 The sites of some of them, so numerous and ancient were they, 
 are now questions of remote uncertainty. The precise spot, where 
 stood the temple of Liberty, is not now known. The Bcma Dea is 
 supposed to have stood on the site, afterwards chosen by the 
 knights of Malta for their church, St. Maria Aventina. 
 
 There were, also, a temple of Minerva, and the sepulchre of 
 Tatius into whose hands the gates of the city were betrayed by 
 Tarpeia. Here was the cave of Cacus, the robber : the identity of 
 this retreat has become a question of debate as to which side of the 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 121 
 
 Hill it honored, and must be left to share the fabulous and classical 
 antiquity of the altars of Evander and Laverna. Cacus was the 
 terror of Italy until strangled by Hercules, some of whose cows, 
 Cacus had stolen and dragged into his cave. But the spot on which 
 Hercules erected an altar to Jupiter Servetor in honor of his victory 
 over the robber who while vomiting fire and smoke held a brave 
 contest with his adversary, and the spot into which the cows were 
 dragged, are places of equal, anxious inquiry, and classic com 
 mentary by the historian of to-day. Other antiquities, connected 
 with this Hill, are the altar of Jupiter Elicius, the fountain of 
 Picus and Famus, and especially the temple of Juno Regina built 
 and consecrated by Camillus after the capture of Veii. 
 
 NOTE 8. PAGE 23. 
 So tli on, fair Cumsean Sibyl ! 
 
 The Cumaean Sibyl seems to have been endowed with as many 
 names as some of our modern writers. She is known b\ the numer 
 ous and respective appellations of Amalthaea, Daphne, Manto, 
 Phemonoe, Deiphobe, Herophile and Demophile she may have 
 possessed the latter name in consequence of a suggestive analogy 
 now obscurely veiled in the records of Mythology. It is said that she 
 was seven hundred years old when JEneas came to Italy, and was 
 still doomed to live as many years as she had grains of sand in the 
 palm of her hand. She was endowed with the length of days by 
 some mysterious favor of Appollo who loved her, and sought in 
 vain from her a response to his passion. The doom of her refusal 
 was that the years, though given to her, did not reserve to her the 
 bloom and beauty of her lovable days. She pined in melancholy; 
 paleness and despondency succeeded cheerfulness and youthful 
 gaiety. She in turn destroyed two thirds of her own writings, be 
 cause Tarquin the second refused to accept them. When she offered 
 him the three remaining books, which at first had been nine in 
 number, he accepted them, regretting the loss of the others, and 
 cherishing those that remained with the greatest care. They were 
 called the Sibylline verses; and so great was the reverence of the 
 Romans for those prophetic books, that a college of priests was ap. 
 pointed to have the special care of them. 
 
 The fate of the Sibylline books is not actually known, They are 
 supposed to have been burned in some of the great conflagrations, 
 of which, I have mentioned the Alexandrian Library as being the 
 greatest. Some of those under mention may have been saved, and 
 collected after the burning of the Capitol, but this is not assuredly 
 known for, the books now extant called the Sibylline verses are 
 eight in number, and treat of much pertaining to the history of 
 Christ s Passion and the events of the Christian era; for this rea 
 son they are thought to be subsequent to the original, and therefore 
 
122 COZENZA. 
 
 spurious they are, however, full of sublime beauty, and surpass, 
 at least, equal the predictions and descriptions of Isaiah; and are 
 supposed to have been written as Sibylline in order to influence the 
 judgments of pagans in the first Christian efforts at conversion. 
 The cavern of the Sibyl consisted of one vast chamber hewn out of 
 the solid rock. It was dedicated as a temple of Apollo, and was 
 almost entirely destroyed in a siege which the fortress of Camse, 
 then in possession of the Goths, maintained against Narses. 
 " Maiden of Cumse ! Virgin, like Iphigenia, immolated for kings! 
 Thou didst receive the kiss of Apollo upon thy lips, the shadow of 
 the laurel on thy brow, the immortality of genius in thy bosom ! 
 Thou wert formed to intone a song of harmony which should vibrate 
 through countless ages !" 
 
 NOTE 9. PAGE 23. 
 "For relics of the proud Clev" 
 
 The efforts of England and the United States, to rescue from 
 silent destruction, the Egyptian obelisks, are so recent, that they 
 require but little mention ; However we may regret the removal of 
 those ancient monuments of art from their centurial places of 
 native repose, it is a matter of supreme relief to all lovers oi an 
 tiquity, that Cleopatra s needle was safely rescued from impending 
 loss at sea, during the comparatively recent transportation of the 
 one taken to England, from the shores of Alexandria. The modern 
 world is perhaps justified in this preservation or desecration since it 
 is probable that one at least, of the needles of Cleopatra, would 
 eventually have become burried in the sands of Egypt. More than 
 forty years ago Cummings found one only of them stood in Hiero 
 glyphic and lonely grandeur; an elegant single block of granite, 
 seven feet square, and fifty in height; the other lay prostrate and 
 already half burried in the sand of Egyptian Time. 
 
 NOTE 10. PAGE 26. 
 Deserted Pisa ! long each towering dome 
 
 The Pisa of to-day is truly called" Deserted Pisa !" although 
 her monuments are carefully preserved and renovated by modern 
 art. The solitude is impressive, despite the brightness of Italian 
 sunshine and the lively colors of the painted buildings. 
 
 Fine bridges built across the Arno, magnificent road- ways, an d 
 elegant houses, characterize the modern as well as the ancient 
 splendor of Pisa. 
 
 When we say "Deserted Pisa," we realize her sublime contrasts. 
 No more the enthusiastic crusader departs from her shores for the 
 fields of Asia: no more are brought in return the gold and ivory 
 and purple of the East: the saracens, who trembled on the coast of 
 Africa, fear not now her gleaming lances. 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 123 
 
 Where now the mystic painters and masters of mosaic, who en 
 riched her monuments with the brilliant stones of Constantinople, 
 and adorned her walls with the exquisite designs of their genius ? 
 Where now those men of finest perception John of Pisa, and 
 Nicholas who chiseled her rare marbles, and polished them to 
 splendor ? They Were to her as the "dawn ere the day," introduc 
 ing her era of inspiration. She is now, principally, the refuge of 
 the invalid who is soothed by her solitude, and protected by her 
 mountains from the keen winds of the north. Pathetically sub 
 lime, she is indeed, "Deserted Pisa." 
 
 NOTE 11 PAGE 25. 
 Grand Campo Santo s Sculptured arches claim. 
 
 The Campo Santo is the most beautiful solemnity of Pisa, and 
 appropriately located in its most lonely district. 
 
 It has been a cemetery for the last seven centuries. 
 
 It is a vast square enclosure, surrounded by high walls, with 
 severe narrow entrances; but within, it is dazzlingly splendid v>ith 
 marbles, and paintings and sweet foliage a dream of ecstasy to 
 the antiquarian, a shrine for the study of the artist, a place of medi 
 tation forever. Its architect was "John of Pisa;" and the holy 
 earth which first covered it for the reception of the Dead, was borne 
 in ships from Jerusalem. 
 
 There are four Gothic galleries covered in rich abundance with 
 luminous large frescoes. Some of the statuary and tombs present 
 varied and thoughtful contrasts. Here are preserved the pathetic 
 appeal, and response of the Renaissance : Endymion sleeps on the 
 marbles of Campo Santo, while Diana kisses his forehead with as 
 much devotion, as the cavalier of the thirteenth century who also 
 kneels upon the marbles and prays not to the gods of pagan an 
 tiquity. 
 
 The head of Achilles, and the Bacchantes with their empty cups, 
 and the Byzantine virgins, and the prophets, and the evangelists, 
 are here in artistic and innocent confusion. 
 
 Here is the Holy Mother of Love; and here is Venus, the grace 
 of Love : when the gods took refuge, for the last time, in the 
 Pantheon, they left some of their everlasting protests and appeals 
 to the Christian world, in the Campo Santo. 
 
 NOTE 12. PAGE 26. 
 The gorgeous festivals of Lupercal, 
 
 Lupercal, an ancient Roman festival, was observed on the fif 
 teenth day of February, in honor of the god Pan. 
 
 After the usual sacrifices, the bloody knife was touched to the 
 foreheads of two illustrious youths who smiled at the moment of 
 this performance; after which, the blood was wiped away with a 
 
124 COZENZA. 
 
 piece of soft wool dipped in milk. The skins of the animals sacri- 
 liced were cut into thongs which were made into whips for the 
 youths who were then stripped almost naked; and, armed with 
 the whips, freely attacked all whom they met in the streets. 
 
 There were significant blessings and observances attached to re 
 ceiving the lashes by special recipients, particularly, women. The 
 Greek name of Pan was Lycoeus, from Lukos, a wolf; and its origin 
 may be, therefore, still more remote than the Koman one under 
 mention. Pan, who was god of the shepherds in Arcadia, protected 
 the sheep from the rapacity of the wolves. 
 
 Plutarch mentions these festivals as similar to those of the 
 Lycoean festivals in Arcadia; and that they were first adopted by 
 the Romans in honor of Lukos, a wolf, which cherished Romu 
 lus and Remus. The priests who officiated in the Lupercalia were 
 called Lupuci. Pan was also one of the eight principal gods of the 
 Egyptians, worshiped under the form of a sacred goat; the death of 
 this animal was attended by universal mourning and a profound 
 fear; from which, the word panic is supposed to be derived. 
 
 NOTE 13. PAGE 32. 
 Bound as to Sethon, to his life that wrong, 
 
 Sethon was the king of Egypt after the death of Anysis. He was 
 attacked, and strongly bound by the Assyrians; but his mysterious 
 power was wonderful, owing to the fact of his being a favorite priest 
 of Vulcan: a number of rats came in the night, and knawed the 
 thongs which bound him. His powerful enemy found their arms 
 useless after one night, and their captive miraculously delivered. 
 
 In remembrance of this remarkable circumstance, a statue of 
 Sethon represented him with a rat in his hand, and bearing the in 
 scription: Whoever fixes his eyes upon me, let him be pious. 
 
 NOTE 14. PAGE 38. 
 Unto the Sylva, then they took him: Fate 
 
 The Sylva of the Dead, or the common cemetery, is, apart from 
 its customary awe, a startling and interesting spot of record in the 
 history of Palermo it being the place fixed upon for the culmina 
 tion of the Sicilian vespers. In those times, it was a place of 
 worship. 
 
 The Sylva is a large enclosed field, outside the town, regularly 
 planted with the somber and beautiful cypress, and containing an 
 elegant, little Gothic Chapel in the midst. 
 
 Before the cholera of 1837, it was used as the burial-place solely 
 of the poor; but, at this time, its undiscriminating and terrible 
 repose was varied by costly monuments of the rich. The partic 
 ular features of its arrangements previously, were 366 slabs, in 
 tended to be opened, one every day, and numbered for the days of 
 
UK1VERSITT 
 
 A TALE OF ITALY. 125 
 
 the year therefore, each one was opened only once a year. Here 
 were also some entrances to the chambers and galleries of the cata 
 combs, the principal of which led from below the chapel as des 
 cribed. 
 
 NOTE 15. PAGE 41. 
 The people of Messina fly to us 
 
 In this revolution, Messina was, of all the towns of Sicily, one of 
 the greatest sufferers it was reduced to ruins. The scenes were 
 terrible burning hospitals with their inmates panic stricken 
 fugitives, vainly seeking refuge on board the English vessel, to be 
 repulsed and sent back to the enemy. Two battalions of young 
 men, aged only from sixteen to twenty, sustained the first effort 
 against the enemy, falling one after another without yielding an 
 inch only eight remained out of two thousand." In the affecting 
 words of an eye witness: "I was moved to tears when they pre 
 sented themselves to the ministry, bearing their banner, saying, 
 Here is our banner ! we have been butchered ! but we have saved 
 our honor ! 
 
 NOTE 16. PAGE 46. 
 Those men of Fate! Palmerston! what use 
 
 The duplicity, and reactionary policy of Palmerston in those 
 momentous days, were wrathf ully deprecated by most of the Italian 
 people: he made them many sanguine promises on behalf of their 
 hoped for assistance from the English government, which he never 
 fulfilled; thereby, leading them to postpone eventful efforts at 
 propitious times, and otherwise misleading their expectations, and 
 throwing them off their guard, while he secretly opposed the Par 
 liament of Sicily that had declared King Ferdinand II and his 
 dynasty to have forfeited the throne of Sicily forever. This se 
 cretive and double-dealing play of confiding resources, and inter 
 ested opposing motives, cannot here be explained in detail. They 
 were, however, sufficient for the time being to controvert the 
 trusting patriots, and to render, subsequently, more deep and 
 bitter the determined efforts of the revolution for the union of Italy. 
 
 NOTE 17. PAGE 48. 
 Sbirri are knocking at the Sylva s gate: 
 
 Sbirri is the name of the Italian police. The chief of them, a fc 
 the period mentioned, was Maniscalco in Sicily and Satriano in 
 Naples. Pontillo, Bruno, and others whose names were the terror 
 of the country, were their brutal and remorseless assistants. 
 
 NOTE 18. PAGE 48. 
 
 They ll knock down all the dead, until they meet 
 
 The intricacies of construction displayed in the catacombs of 
 Home, Naples and Palermo, have been minutely described by trav- 
 
126 COZENZA. 
 
 / 
 
 elers. The peculiarity, here mentioned, of the stone niche con 
 taining the standing body of the dead, being so adapted to turn 
 on a secret pivot, is not uncommon : the interminable galleries and 
 subterranean corridors, sometimes expanding into wide chambers 
 or chapels, are often thus intricately connected by unexpected 
 door-ways, places of ingress and egress not generally known, and 
 not often used since the days of the Christian martyrs, except in 
 times of revolutionary disturbance, by the initiated as hiding 
 places, etc. 
 
 NOTE 19. PAGE 50. 
 Eacli one of whom in turn to other men 
 
 The organizations known as the Carbonari were divided, and 
 subdivided into comitatos of ten each man being the head of 
 another ten. In this way, the indefatigable and enthusiastic mem 
 bers were spread over all Italy, numbering thousands upon thou 
 sands, all secretly devoted to the one cause a constitution of the 
 people and the regeneration of Italy and owing a general amenity 
 to one head, or central coniitato. 
 
 NOTE 20. PAGE 51. 
 
 Halting, they found themselves upon a mount 
 
 Monto Cuccio, a mountain four miles from Palermo. It is said 
 to have been a volcano, but this is not certain. On the top of 
 Monto Cuccio, are still seen the ruins of a fine castle, built by 
 William the First. Its beautiful frescos remain on the lonely and 
 dilapidated walls. It is probable, that in former times, its inmates 
 had knowlege of, and access to the neighboring and secret entrance 
 of the catacombs. 
 
 NOTE 21. PAGE 58. 
 
 Of gloried, lonely, ancient Selinon; 
 
 And near the tomb-built chamber of Theron: 
 
 Skirting the picturesque coast of Sicily from Palermo to the ru 
 ins of Selinon, are many pretty little towns, winding roads, and 
 ancient quarries. The ruins of Selinon are also called Pi/eri, 
 owing to its numerous pillars and monumental aspect having the 
 appearance of a populous city when approached from a distance. 
 It is reached from Marsala, after passing through the smaller towns 
 of Mazara, Campo Bello, and Castel Vetrano. First, outside of 
 Marsala, comes the town of Luna, a stopping place for the mule 
 teers from Marsala, generally laden with Barilla and grain for 
 Mazara. They do not ride, but walk beside their animals from the 
 towns of interval along their route. These muleteers are a cheer- 
 ful ; adventurous set of fellows who are pleasant to fall in with, 
 beguiling the tedium of journey, with traditional stories and in 
 terludes of sweet, wild, mountain song. 
 
 San Giuliano is about half way from Marsala to Mazara : near 
 San Giuliano stands an old tower called Torre Silulina nothing . 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 127 
 
 more is known of its name or history. Here is also cape Fero, the 
 nearest rocky point to Africa. The white sails of the fishers boats 
 around the cape, can be seen when coming in fro m the fear of the 
 clouds. At this place, the coast is low on the town of Mazara. 
 The latter town is full of old ruins and relics of Saracenic interest. 
 The Saracens landed here in 828, under Alcamse who burned his 
 boats after landing. 
 
 Outside the walls of Mazara, is Castel Vetano. The traveler 
 may go in a Feendaco to the quarries in the neighborhood, from 
 which the stones were taken for the ancient town of Selinon. 
 
 Marshes in the vicinity of the sea render Campo Bello a sickly 
 place. In those remarkable quarries, short pieces and architraves 
 are still projecting from the banks of rock, as they were at first 
 left unfinished by the workers, twenty hundred years ago. The 
 compact, yellow stone of these quarries was called Latoima, by 
 the Greeks. Campo Bello is the barony of the Duke of Leone, 
 who lives in Naples. Eight miles more of rugged road, woody 
 country, and splendid sunlight on the sea, and behold the ruins 
 of Selinon rising from the solitary waste, but, as before observed, 
 appearing like a populous town when seen from a distance, and 
 called by the natives "Pileri di Castel Vetrano." The town of 
 Selinon was situated on two hills now interspersed with melan 
 choly fragments of great size. The eastern hill commands a view 
 of the place and the sea, with an abrupt incline towards the beach; 
 and displaying, along the plane of its summit, the prostrate ves 
 tiges of three temples which lie in a parallel- line from north to 
 south, distant forty feet from each other simple, massive, austere 
 Doric. Of those portions, fronting east, the one nearest the sea 
 is 190 feet long and 72 feet broad, with beautiful, fluted columns; 
 The center temple is less in size than either of the others. The 
 northeast one is the largest. The celebrated one of Jupiter Olym 
 pus has eight columns in front and seventeen at the sides. This 
 was mentioned by Diodorus, and Herodotus. It contained the 
 statue of Bacchus with head, hands, and feet of ivory. Parts of two 
 shafts, one in the portico and the other in the side, only remain 
 standing, of this great temple. Hannibal s fires destroyed Selinon. 
 A lonely watchtower stands by the sea, and a bridge, which were 
 built of stones from the temples. 
 
 Cactus, Palmetto, and thistles interspersed by the mule-roads 
 from the mines, cover this ancient district. Near by, is the river 
 Canna, and thedilapidated castle of Chiarmonte, and the sea to 
 the south, eight miles to the port of Girgenti, or ancient Akragas. 
 Four miles to the town, from the port, by a hilly road lined with 
 aloes and cactus and fruit trees. As the traveler leaves Selinon, the 
 golden light of evening falls over the rich brown masses of ruins 
 that crown the undulating eminences; and their splendid gloom 
 follows his meditative thoughts. 
 
128 COZENZA. 
 
 Theron was one of the earliest governors of Sicily, and was paid 
 divine honors after his death. His tomb is also one of the ancient 
 relics of this templed and picturesque coast. It is twenty nine and 
 a half feet in height, composed of two stones the lower one is of 
 pyramidal form, thirteen feet at the base, and nine, at the top; 
 supporting a second, decorated with Ionic pillars at the corners* 
 and a window in the center. Within, is a vault ground floor, or 
 Ionic chamber; and a small stairs of communication with another 
 chamber above. 
 
 When uninjured, with its inscriptions and ornaments, it was very 
 beautiful, as also its situation classic and solemn a grove of trees 
 in front, aud the temple of Concord in the distance. 
 
 NOTE 22. PAGE 66. 
 White Pyramids by Sulphur mines. 
 
 In some of the mountainous districts of Sicily, Sulphur mines 
 are numerous, their existence usually betokened by little mound 8 
 at their mouths. 
 
 Their appearance in the rays of the setting sun has a peculiar 
 and beautiful effect. They can be seen at a great distance, from 
 their sloping grassy expanse; and appear as though the golden 
 beams of sol had been carelessly thrown on those summits, and 
 lay there, glinting from millions of points, in reflective splendor. 
 
 NOTE 23. PAGE 71. 
 And old Segesta s Temples bare, 
 
 There is only one magnificent temple of Segesta, or JEgesta, re 
 maining. The other ruins consist of a theatre, broken pillars, 
 capitols cornices, and rubbish, overgrown with weeds. The road 
 leading to it from Palermo, from which it is distant some five or 
 six miles, passes Morreale, Calatifini, and other small rural towns. 
 .ZEgesta is mentioned by Diodorus, and Thucidides, who claim it to 
 have Trojan origin. Its temple seems to have been stupendous in 
 size, and possesses, at least, the prestige of thirty centuries simple 
 and grand, even after the lapse of ages. It stands on a slight eleva 
 tion surrounded by its ruins and overgrown with weeds and grass, 
 where goats that might be the very descendants of Pan, choose 
 their dainty footsteps through intricate places otherwise the lonely 
 desolation of centuries impresses all around with the gloom and 
 solemnity of death. Here, over broken pillars and fragments, a 
 city once stood. The temple is two hundred feet in length, seventy 
 in breadth, and sixty in height. It is now roofless, and is in form, 
 a parallelogram. The material of which it was built was a sort of 
 calcareous stone, though now so blackened and dimmed by time. 
 It was once, probably, freshly bright from the numerous yellow 
 quarries that abound in that district. 
 

 A TALE OF ITALY. 129 
 
 Thirty-six columns, each six feet in diameter, supporting an or 
 namental frieze, stood on four large steps. On another elevation, 
 or little hill, called Varvarro, stood the theatre, of which, the 
 foundation only, of the outer wall remains. Its area is also filled 
 with the relics of its fallen splendor now overgrown with wild 
 Thyme that presses out, beneath the footsteps, its pathetic sweet 
 ness on the desolate air. 
 
 NOTE 24. PAGE 77. 
 From Olevano the great mounts, between: 
 
 As a mere mountain, Vesuvius, the greatest of these, is not per 
 haps remarkable except for the awful associations of the ages which 
 belong to it. The great and terrible genius of death, so long silent, 
 with recollective regret, as it were, for his former destruction, over 
 the desolation of Pompeii and Herculaneum ! 
 
 Vesuvius is 3800 feet high ; and the fears entertained of its future 
 destructiveness give it a vivid and awful interest. 
 
 How dreadful to conjecture that Naples may one day, share the 
 fate of those cities of the past: may not the monster, so warily 
 slumbering now, be at the same time nursing his secret fires for 
 a more signal exhibition of demoniac wrath than he has yet dis 
 played ? 
 
 NOTE 25. PAGE 77. 
 
 Cozenza; in God s name, and by our love, 
 
 The devoted and heroic wives and families of the Italian patriots 
 have been, not the least, sufferers in the successive revolutions that 
 have consigned to the page of history, as traitors or martyrs, the 
 illustrious names of the contending inaugurators. From the days 
 of Fiesco and Doria in Genoa, to those of more recent strife, this 
 pathetic and secondary woe is inseparable from the radiance and 
 the glory of achievement, and ahke, from the despair of disaster. 
 
 NOTE 26. PAGE 92. 
 Indomitable way; in ev ry room, 
 
 The city of Palermo had been bombarded several days: the 
 banks containing the valuables of the poor had been burned; and 
 some of the most peaceful and religious of the people, were butcher 
 ed in their own convents. The street scenes were terrible ! Sometimes 
 a priest might be seen, raised on the shoulders of the people, curs 
 ing the king, exonerating, justifying, and blessing the people, and 
 advocating their continued efforts until a constitution would be ac 
 corded them, despite the lying subterfuges and delays of the arch 
 traitor, "king Bomba." Occasionally, a forty-eight pounder would 
 be discovered among the rocks near an old fort, or buried some 
 where. This, mounted upon an ox-cart, was dragged by the hands 
 09 
 
130 COZENZA. 
 
 of the desperate and enthusiastic people into the city. One such 
 was placed during the night on the bastion of Porta Montaldo, an 
 old bulwark of the city, which could enfilade the bastion of the 
 Palazzo Reale. 
 
 The 25th of January 1848 was a day of memorable conflict: the 
 Palazzo Reale was a large and handsome edifice a combination of 
 Saracenic, and Norman style. Its site was, formerly, the residence 
 of the Carthagenian, Koman, and Saracen governors. It lay on 
 the western extremity of the walled city, between the two gates, 
 Porta Nuova and Porta Montaldo. On the side, fronting the city, 
 there were at that time, flanking the three gates, two large forts, 
 armed with thirty six heavy cannons. In the rear were a rampart 
 and a moat. The large square in front contained the fortified 
 places; 8. Elis Abbetta, southward; Spealale Civico, eastward; and 
 8. Giacomo, northward. The people attacked these formidable 
 positions with ingenuity and sublime courage. As these buildings 
 were in continuation with others, holes were made from house to 
 house through the walls, every room being the scene of bloody 
 strife, while the soldiers contended hand to hand. 
 
 NOTE 27. PAGE 95. 
 The next time that Morbili came, he brought. 
 
 The duke Morbili was the ubiquitous Satellite of Del Caretto 
 and the king. He was also the terror of Naples, having risen to 
 favor through his assiduous and vile services : a fire or any other 
 calamity in those days of his malicious exertions, was not a less 
 welcome visstant to any one subject to his covert supervision. 
 
 NOTE 28. PAGE 102. 
 His minions sought her in the barathrum. 
 
 The horrors of the ancient Eoman prisons are indescribably 
 There was in some of them a sort of trap-door, or hole in the floor 
 of an inner prison made after the plan of the Tullianum and the 
 ancient prisons of Smyrna. In the acts of Pionius, and others, 
 these are described, where the jailors "shut them up in the inner 
 part of the prison, so that bereaved of all comfort and light, they 
 were forced to sustain extreme torment from the darkness and 
 stench. These pits or trapdoors were often nothing less than 
 openings to cess-pools, or the common sewer, and prisoners were 
 sometimes dispatched by being cast headlong into them. 
 
 NOTE 29. PAGE 115. 
 Feronia Goddess bright: thy sacred woods 
 
 Feronia, was principally the Goddess of manumitted slaves, who 
 obtained their liberty by being seated in her chair, on which 
 
A TALE OF ITALY. 131 
 
 these words were inscribed "Bene meriti servi sedeant; surgant 
 liberi." Her Temple was near Mount Soracte in Latium, where 
 there was a town called by her name; saercd woods were her par 
 ticular delight, and fountains in which her votaries washed their 
 hands and faces at solemn festivals. Those inspired with the spirit 
 of this Goddess, could walk barefoot over burning coals without 
 injury. 
 
 NOTE 30. PAGE 116. 
 Fides! the oaths of honesty were kept. 
 
 Fides was the Goddess before whom the Eomans registered their 
 oaths and made vows of Fidelity. Numa was the first who ordered 
 divine honors to be paid. 
 
 I am indebted for many of the details and descriptions in the 
 preceding notes to Castelar s "Old Borne and New Italy," "W. F. 
 Cummings , "Notes of a Wanderer," and to an old "History of 
 Sicily" London edition, by an English Army officer, its modest 
 Author s name or identity not otherwise given. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 
 
 REVISED AND ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 
AD VE RTISEMENT. 
 
 "Nonnenwerth, a Legend of the Rhine," is founded upon one of 
 the most beautiful and romantic traditions. The scenes are 
 laid in the latter part of the eighth century. The unhappy Hilde- 
 garde was the Lady of Heligoland, and was betrothed to Roland 
 the Nephew of Charlemagne. Roland was ordered to the wars by 
 his uncle the king : this was on the eve of their marriage which was 
 postponed until his return. 
 
 In vain she waited, and he came not: an occasional pilgrim s re 
 turn brought her only indefinite tidings. 
 
 The duplicity of Lupo and Hunald may, or may not, be true: 
 I have introduced it, to give some vivid realism to the cause of 
 Hildegarde s sad resolution. Lupo and Hunald are, however, the 
 real names of two remorseless enemies of Roland no doubt, the 
 principal of those at whose hands he afterwards met his death at 
 Roncesvalles. 
 
 The "Arch of Rolandseck" only remains of the once strong and 
 magnificent castle built by Roland. He chose for its site the pin 
 nacle of Roderberg overlooking the Rhine. From its watch-towers 
 could also be seen the lake, and the convent of Nonnenwerth in 
 which his promised bride, believing him to be dead, immured her 
 self previous to his long delayed return from the crusades. 
 
 Roland was the son of Milo, Count of Angiers, and Bertha, sister 
 of Charlemagne. The word "Paladin," or "Palatine," afterward 
 so common in poetry as a characteristic designation of the warriors 
 of Charlemagne, was first applied to Roland and his followers, by a 
 Saxon poet who wrote in the reign of the Emperor Arnulphus> 
 about seventy years after the death of Charles. In the dells of the 
 Pyrenees, is yet shown a flower called the Casque de Roland; and 
 a steep and rugged defile in the Crest of the mountain is pointed 
 out as the "Breche de Roland." Here, also, in the last century, 
 stood a small chapel, in the immediate neighborhood of Ronces 
 valles, which tradition affirms to be the resting place, of the chiefs, 
 who, together with Roland, comprising in all thirty knights of the 
 Palace, fell victims to that memorable and treacherous the attack of 
 the Gascons. Thirty tombs without inscriptions were to be seen in 
 the vicinity; and a quantity of bones was shown in a cave under 
 the chapel. I have retained the precise identity of this spot, 
 though three others in the locality are pointed out and severally 
 claimed as the burial place of Roland. What earth is specially in 
 corporated with the clay of the hero matters not, and is probably 
 unknown. 
 
1 Thy crumbling Arch yet stands, Rolandseck; 
 Far up the rocky steep, of Drachenfels ; 
 There thrills the music of the streams that break 
 Their broad paths down to where the blue Rhine swells." 
 
 Page 137. Stanza /, 
 
NONNENWERTH. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 
 
 I. 
 
 |HY crumbling arch yet stands, Rolandseck ! 
 Far up the rocky steep of Drachenfels ; 
 There thrills the music of the streams that break 
 Their broad paths down to where the blue Rhine 
 
 swells. 
 
 Cold are the craters of thy centuries ! 
 Where Palatines have marched,thy paths are peace; 
 And thy green willows are yet dense in dells, 
 Whence Charlemagne s gold banners and bright 
 
 shields 
 Went forth to glorious strife on Syrian fields. 
 
 n. 
 
 Fire-born the lava of thy seven heights ! 
 Along the river castled turrets rise; 
 There clings the ivy on the tinted blights, 
 Soundless and luminous in evening skies: 
 Repose hath starlight and the mingling wave, 
 Decay hath sunlight and* the voiceless grave ! 
 
138 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 While no clashed cimeter to shield replies, 
 No charger s footsteps near thy fountains fall, 
 No revel holdeth in thy roofless hall ! 
 Lonely and voiceless now, from time s recall. 
 
 ill. 
 
 How shall we bring the records back, of days 
 Glad with the laugh, and love, and eyes of life ? 
 The joyous brows that won their knightly bays ? 
 The free high worth of peace, the strength of strife I 
 The swan-like throats of music that have sung ? 
 The deep vein d, fine soft glances that have flung 
 Sweet souls into each other, and made rife 
 Their story with thine ages, freighted years, 
 So long since gone with tributes and with tears ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thy trees have fallen down to silent caves, 
 Thy floors of stone shut in the graves of men; 
 Rude piles make echoes from, the troubled waves 
 When winter night and storm return again : 
 These are of things not lost where Roland was 
 Roland of crest, and lance, and bannered cross ! 
 One of the kingly men who said to pain, 
 Thy tomb s a beauteous toy, and lo ! the stone, 
 That rolls away from thee, is called a crown ! 
 
 V. 
 
 The crystal key of contemplation turns 
 
 In the fine lock of auspices, create 
 
 With the old dust of time s uncovered urns, 
 
 Blown sea-ward unto thee, Golden Gate ! l 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 139 
 
 Not of thee, Shasta ! high, unsullied peak ! 
 
 No records hath it, of thy light pure snow, 
 
 No armor-laden rnen, grown faint and weak 
 
 There gladly lying down while life ebbed low ! 
 
 Thy grand Columbian barriers ne er fell 
 
 Before invading footstep; and there lies 
 
 No shield or corselet buried in the swell 
 
 Of thy proud, stainless waters where they rise, 
 
 That like a quick steed who abjures the spur, 
 
 Boundeth the rocks among on freedom s way, 
 
 Below the bending pine and swaying fir, 
 
 And the white feathery foam and dashing spray, 
 
 Down to the fields of wheat and valley grass. 
 
 Down to the widening shore past flowering meads 
 
 No fierce Thermopylae soiled any pass 
 
 With vain, dead-hates of conquests or of greeds. 
 
 VI. 
 
 So we are glad ! but as with deepening tone 
 Of low sweet music, and of garlands flung 
 Before some pale, sad cortege that alone 
 Treads a dark pathway, so have mourners sung ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 fllte ^Tamp*of Charlemagne. 
 
 The night had come ! Mons Jovis under snow ! 2 
 
 And the high calm s illimitable gldw 
 
 Of all the midnight heaven looked, as when 
 
 Hannibal rested with his weary men 
 
 Around the Temple whose dark walls then leaned 
 
140 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 Against the great acclivity, half screened 
 From the loud winds of Clusa while in sleep 
 All the still camp whose onward march would 
 
 sweep 
 
 O er Lombard cities, a dread destiny, 
 Verona s Pavia s sieges yet to be. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The king watched late while others slept: he 
 
 thought 
 
 Of the high plans his future actions wrought; 
 And at the morn, Duke Bernard s armor came 
 Across the mount which keeps his lasting name: 
 A grand reunion in the valley made 
 Each equal glorious march, a toil repaid, 
 With Charles, the greatest monarch of the Franks: 
 Villages, castles, towns, along the banks 
 Of Alps and river, on the path he went, 
 Rose not with moan of grief, or heart s lament, 
 Not as to despot on his rampart way; 
 But with most welcome gladness, gathered they, 
 Bringing the palm branch, and the rose, and bay: 
 Nor were they sullen at Mons Cinisus; 
 With anthems, him they met, and raised the Holy 
 
 Cross. 
 
 IX, 
 
 And here, with greeting, ere he pitched his tent, 
 Where the great mountains in the valley blent 
 An Envoy of the East, most stately, sent 
 In gold and silver garments, rich arrayed 
 
A LEGEND OF THE EH1NE. 141 
 
 Loaded with presents, while eight cymbals played 
 The hour, in which the King his audience made: 
 With brazen bells and heralds, the advance 
 Proclaimed a host, with pennon and with lance, 
 And gleamed their burnished spears, like moving 
 
 flame, 
 
 As slowly nearer to the camp, they came : 
 And standing, Haroun s envoy thus addressed 
 The mighty Emperor of all the West : 
 tl My voice, King, this hour, is Haroun s will 
 Not as to Christian, Hebrew, Moslem still, 
 To thy own greatness only, would he turn 
 As the Nile s lotus where the sun doth burn : 
 And to the worth of all thy famous deed, 
 Which many glorious ends may still fulfill, 
 This adulation is his gracious meed 
 That I bear unto thee, and here concede." 
 x. 
 
 This said, his servant drawing near unrolled 
 Fine silks, and talmas made of cloth of gold 
 Byzantine fabrics from the cities old : 3 
 Pure balms, and ointments, and most sweet 
 
 perfumes, 
 
 Made from the rarest flowers of Eastern blooms; 
 A curious bronze clock twelve bright balls fell, 
 In just the number that, the hour, might tell; 
 On a gold cymbal they were caught below, 
 As many as the dial marked did show; 
 Its figures, windows, through which horsemen rode 
 From some inside mysterious abode 
 Of clockwork deftly made it is presumed 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Y 
 
 s 
 
42 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 h 
 
 They were crusaders mailed and richly plumed 
 But what their separate titles, ranks, or names, 
 Since time remote, no deep conjecture frames; 
 But, by all this, we know that model clocks, 
 In this more modern day of mines and stocks, 
 Tell not more nicely, morning, night, or noon, 
 Than Charlemagne s clock did gift from Haroun: 
 So strangely wrought and finely gilt, the whole 
 That, of some magic life, it seemed the soul. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And last presented in her august grace 
 
 The guards wide parted to make clear her place 
 
 A large white elephant, as wholly white 
 
 As late-bathed plumes of swans at early flight : 
 
 Ah ! we can tell not of her perfect praise, 
 
 Taught, of the sun s warm travel, all the ways: 
 
 Endearing things they said along the line, 
 
 She seemed to hear; and shed, like beams of wine, 
 
 A wordless answer in her eyes and mien, 
 
 A sacred symbol there among them seen, 
 
 An Indian goddess of Tanjore s great shrine: 
 
 And she had for a present, a large tent, 
 
 On her soft shoulders, folded as she went 
 
 Remarkably constructed, its light form, 
 
 But most impervious to the sun or storm; 
 
 And, bearing it, she knelt before the King: 
 
 The canopy was costly she did bring, 
 
 In colors fine embroidered, flower and bird 
 
 And startled antelopes, a fleeing herd 
 
 And from the Koran, many a sacred word, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 143 
 
 Mid radiating rays of Persia s sun 
 
 And from the mountains, how the Ganges run 
 
 And Himalayan peaks of towering height, 
 
 Whose scintillating crowns of fadeless white 
 
 Seemed to touch skies of lambent sapphire light; 
 
 And starry-studded, rubies mingled there 
 
 And Houris listening to the moslem s prayer, 
 
 The kneeling suppliant s lifted eyes on high 
 
 "A thing of beauty" was this canopy: 
 
 The mosque s gold dome, from which Muezzins call 
 
 At sunset, devotees displaying all : 
 
 "Bismillali ! Come ye forth ! Harkeu, the chime ! 
 
 Mahomet is God s prophet for all time !" 
 
 The splendid spire and crescent s silver gleam, 
 
 Worked in its fabric, as in sleep a dream : 
 
 " This for thy war tent on the mount and plain, 
 
 King of all the Lombards, Charlemagne ! 
 And may st thou live forever to enjoy ! " 
 Thus ended the fair speech of the envoy, 
 
 As set, behind the mount, the sun s last beam . 
 
 XII. 
 
 The listening King was pleased. With quiet joy 
 He answered : "Tell your monarch of the East 
 That his fair message shall my thoughts employ: 
 In turn, I wish the Christians there released 
 
 1 will send back with thee a Frankish priest, 
 And many Counts of retinue and state, 
 Who will more definitely this relate; 
 
 And still assure him that as for the rest 
 Reciprocal regard, I do attest: 
 
144 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 He is as I, he hath most rapid zeal, 
 
 And energy as bold as that I feel 
 
 Magnificent designs, and mind as free, 
 
 For these, most high esteem he holds with me; 
 
 I greet thee in his name, high embassy ! 
 
 In my wide, jovial camp, take needful rest, 
 
 As may seem fitting to a royal guest 
 
 With recreation and all soft repose 
 
 That easy pastimes and thy will propose." 
 
 At this he bowed and turned : as he arose, 
 
 A Syrian monk that waited, now came near 
 
 His firm demeanor modest and not bold, 
 
 But with such mild obeisance as of old: 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "Sire, in thy favor wilt thou justly hear? 
 
 I seek thy gracious audience without fear 
 
 Thou listest all thy people may disclose : 
 
 They send thee greeting, where blooms Sharon s 
 
 rose, 
 
 And ask through me thy intermediate aid- 
 Now at thy feet, is supplication laid: 
 The journey s plaint I make, is sadly told, 
 Since seventy thousand dinars, tax in gold, 
 Each year at Bagdad for a bonded sun 
 In Syria shines, the tomb of Christ, upon. 
 Oh ! in the splendor of thy royal name, 
 State unto Haroun that tis cause of blame; 
 And for thy friendly care he will requite 
 Unto thy Christian sons, this tribute s right." 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 145 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With courteous words the monarch acquiesced ; 
 And, glancing o er his knights in earnest quest, 
 Singled out Roland from the pageant throng 
 Among the beautiful most fair and strong : 
 Had he such heavy brows as though the stroke 
 Of Jove s long-fallen bolt, there striking, broke; 
 While in the beauty of his grave lips peace, 
 Love turned itself as doth sweet sound in seas : 
 Forward he came with radiance just subdued 
 His was the fervor of that quiet mood 
 As of the Spartans, it is said, no sounds 
 Of drum or trumpet filled their battle grounds: 
 They needed not, to rouse their valor s will, 
 Aught but the touch of lyre, or lute s sweet thrill; 
 Because, within them, their own souls did fill 
 Strong harmonies, from deep confineless bounds: 
 With rested lance he bowed touching the mane 
 Of his fine charger, and arose again, 
 With ready hand upon the golden rein. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Then seemed the King to give command alone, 
 But much of tender pride its undertone 
 For this fair nephew was the favored one : 
 "Canst thou, Roland, find Anselmo, and 
 With ninety Counts depart for Holy land ! 
 Tell the good priest that I such message send 
 As you have heard ere now, unto the end 
 This to the mighty Caliph : that he move 
 His heart of mercy, for my heart of love : 
 
146 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 And give my Christian people, long denied, 
 The freedom of the gates where Jesus died. 7 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Three Squires gathered at a herald s call , 
 
 Amarin, Sarron, and brave Andiol 
 
 These were the leaders of Count Roland s men 
 
 By mountain fastness and Pyrenean glen 
 
 To whom he gave his uncle s orders: then 
 
 The day of journey with import arrayed 
 
 So long anticipated, often stayed 
 
 With still some unforeseen event, delayed: 
 
 Each cavalier s proud grace, each lance in rest, 
 
 Plumed helmet, visor closed, cuirass on breast, 
 
 And silken scarfs fair fingers had caressed 
 
 While twining o er the shoulder or the arm, 
 
 With tears and smiles of love, bedewed to charm 
 
 The pain of parting the dread change of chances, 
 
 Could these soft things protect from Paynim 
 
 lances 
 
 The hearts beneath them, beating fond and true ? 
 The daring hearts of Mowbray, Walter, Hugh, 
 Daubeny, Ralph, and Philip all Knights 
 
 Templar 
 
 Each one the flower of chivalry exemplar 
 Of deeds heroic on fame s after page ! 
 Its centuries a decade from their Age. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Peace to their ashes, under Syrian palms ! 
 There still the Arab rests to make salaams., 
 And cites the story-tellers, gone before, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 147 
 
 With coffee cups and chibouks o er and o er, 
 The great disastrous flight, Noureddin had 
 And here the story-tellers turn more sad 
 But telling always their traditions, right; 
 Alternate victory, defeat, and flight: 
 And so they tell, most sadly, truly, this 
 While sleep the camels near the oasis, 
 With faces westward to the very place he 
 Had come from Templar Knight, Gilbert DeLacy, 
 Who, while the darkness into blackness blent, 
 Surprised Noureddin in his mighty tent. 5 
 
 That night, Mahomet fiery angels sent 
 To bear Noureddin up to Paradise 
 
 Where Kouris wept o er him with tender eyes : 
 
 While swift the victor linking, like a wreath, 
 The broken cimeter upon the sheathe 
 
 Of his great Frankish sword he bore it far 
 Its jeweled hilt, bright gleaming, like a star, 
 A bloody trophy of the moslem war. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 and 
 
 |[hc Jjarthg of jplamt 
 
 But I have mused too long, o er foreign lands, 
 And told to soon, the story of their years 
 Forgetting the brave knights conjoining bands, 
 And their fair * Lady-loves" in smiles and tears ! 
 But while they gathered all, one rode apart, 
 Not least in valor, but most sad at heart: 
 We shall know what he did that eve he went 
 
148 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 To make a sweet farewell, when skies were blent 
 With the late day s deep purple and red gold, 
 And from the fields the lambs hied to their fold; 
 Almost inaudible his stepping steed 
 That bruised the dewy perfumes on the mead : 
 Into the mountains rode he shortly then, 
 Where the dark cypress waved in every glen 
 Each dun, dread precipice in sombre calm 
 Held the grapes ripening, while ethereal balm, 
 With gifts of fire, as hearts with visions blending, 
 Fed them from rocks, on which they grew de 
 pending 
 
 Like webs in winter, rock to rock enlaced; 6 
 O er the basaltic walls, the vine stems traced, 
 Where green their garlands in the summer hung: 
 Along the eddying stream their leaves were flung 
 Great terraces of gloom, or vernal sheen, 
 Above the winding river grandly seen. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A bridge across the Nahe near Bingen stands; 
 Beneath it, soft waves over shining sands, 
 With many arches pillared, grand and old 
 Onward from thence, the road to Niederwald: 
 Here Roland lingering rode and hastened not, 
 His pace in keeping with his saddened thought, 
 In fancy listening to each fairy grot 
 Below the little stones whose murmurs made 
 Indefinite, strange sounds that chainless strayed : 
 These were the haunting Gnomes of Whisperthal, 7 
 Dwelling in small cascades of pebbly fall 
 
1 A bridge across the Nahe near Bingen stands; 
 Beneath it, soft waves over shining sands, 
 With many arches pillared, grand and old^ 
 Onward, from thence, the road to Niederwald:" 
 
 Page 148. Stanza JTIJT, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 149 
 
 Their voices wierdly unto him did call: 
 
 " Return, delay ! O Roland, do not pass ! 
 
 The Lorch lies in the sun, Roland, alas ! 
 
 All the dreamy day in cymar of gold, 
 
 The Lurly maiden sits where cliffs are cold ; 
 
 Swiftly her white hands in the sunset shine, 
 
 With gleaming golden comb and tresses fine : 
 
 Thou knowest well the lifted eyes that haunt 
 
 Her wondrous, manifold, sweet, thrilling chant 
 
 Roland ! return, delay ! Oh, do not pass ! 
 
 The sounding falls are near, Roland, alas !" 
 
 xx. 
 
 But soon to silvery beechwoods he had come, 
 Where summery bee and flower with wings and 
 
 hum, 
 
 Changed the dark current of his thought s day 
 dream ; 
 
 A fading, dim perception it did seem 
 To an o er anxious passion of forethought, 
 With hope, and fear and tenderness enwrought. 
 "Ah ! such," he mused, "is the proud soul s dis 
 guise 
 
 Who will admit fate takes him by surprise ? 
 And we are pleased with such imaginings 
 To hold its wayward reins, to plume its wings 
 Or, out of long sweet sighs, to charm a strain 
 For festal, deep repeatings of such pain, 
 Some way to wear the soul, than it is worn 
 Yet always seen, the forehead and the thorn ! 
 Oh, I shall see her weep for this, I fear ! 
 
150 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 Thou, rose of fragrance, needest not a tear, 
 Since dew-falls, nightly to thy full heart come : 
 My fathers ! dare I wish these lips were dumb, 
 That oft with clarion deeds thy names, recalled ? 
 How shrink they now at this sweet love r appalled P* 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Gone are thine ivied years, sad, lone and fleet 
 And of their things, long lost, the bowered seat 
 Near a grey lintel, where sat Hildegarde : . 
 The lintel there is yet time-stained and marred ^ 
 And all the lofty Keep of Ehrenfels, 
 Whose roofless walls amid the forest stand 8 
 Their tumbled fragments dimly, darkly grand : 
 Near by, the beautiful and blue Moselle s 
 Bright, limped waves are flowing to the Khine 
 As though no note were kept of ruin s sign : 
 A peasant guide walks there to-day, and tells 
 How many hundred years have made it old, 
 In those dense oaken glooms of Niederwald : 
 Strangers oft rest beneath its beechen shade^, 
 To view the beauties found in every glade; 
 And to the chapel on the hill-side climb, 
 Among the vineyards of sweet Rudesheim, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 That freighted hour he feared ; his footstep stayed 
 Short of the moonlight on the open glade : 
 How should he comfort, in the sad ordeal, 
 The sorrow, half whose weight he too, must feel ? 
 Ah, but the interludes of thought s excess 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 151 
 
 These had not time to make it more nor less 
 Some fervor, held just close to consciousness, 
 Made Hildegarde perceive that he was near 
 His step- leaned forward, pausing she might 
 
 hear ! 
 
 And straight she waited, listened, saw him clear : 
 Then hastening, but why state with any word, 
 To those who ve mourned it, tis but anguish stirred, 
 Or as a touch rude on a sweet lute-chord 
 To those who have not known it, tis but fraught 
 In words, with meanings pale, like statues wrought. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Let us not linger o er what soon she knew : 
 At first, she scarce believed it could be true- 
 That they must part, that he should journey far, 
 O er pathways distant unto dangerous war, 
 Or as the knightly envoy of the king 
 But oh, what tidings might the future bring ! 
 Anticipating all dim, tear-wet lids, 
 Whose pride s supremacy, the tear forbids : 
 Then sudden quivering agony, all white 
 Forgetting pride s commanding sense of right 
 Quick pain, yea, quick, or it had killed her quite ! 
 What said he then ? no word , but his light hand 
 Rested on hers, as silent he did stand. 
 " Oh, I had thought, with lute and garlands, thou 
 Would st come, beloved, not, alas, as now !" 
 So near his restful shoulder timid yet, 
 Only her white hand on it lightly set, 
 She questioned not of love s repeated vow : 
 
152 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 With resignation s smile and griefs release, 
 She now had come from struggle, into peace; 
 And touching her soft lips to his fair brow 
 He kissed her with some quick, impulsive will 
 And then, she leaned her head down and was stilL 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Oh, shadowy vail s foreboding, not revealed ! 
 
 It breathed in his soft accents, and was sealed 
 
 In the firm, tearless glance of her dark eye, 
 
 The imposing calm s restraints of agony, 
 
 As those great, slumbrous banks of Indian palm, 
 
 Along the low coast of Coromandel, 
 
 The spray, their nurture, and the Ocean s swell 
 
 Are quiet near the coming of the sea, 
 
 Their deep roots in a reefs captivity, 
 
 While all the Monsoon s desert-laden balm 
 
 And burning winds sweep o er them utterly. 
 
 xxv. 
 
 " My dear, when I am gone, beware Hunald ! 
 Along the Spanish march, his deeds are told 
 Reckless and subtile ; violent and bold ! 
 And of his kinsman Lupo 7 too, beware ! 
 He gave me once a troth not free or fair 
 Let them not injure thee, my flowret rare !" 
 " Yea, sweet," she said, " resigning thee, I will, 
 In all high faith s collectedness, fulfill 
 Thy love s behest, each day and hour I live, 
 While slow the long months pass, or long years 
 
 grieve ! 
 Yea, sweet, I am content through burning ill; 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 153 
 
 My soul hath its completeness : love will fill 
 Immortal aisles of heaven, though this earth, 
 With sounding waves of sea and clouds of dearth, 
 Whelm all its quivering throbs; and never pour, 
 Upon its censor fires, one token more." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Thrilled with remembrance of his sweet caress, 
 
 Then in her eyes of gentle smilingness, 
 
 Some high resolve whose deep flush filled her heart, 
 
 As when the sunset on the sea grows less 
 
 To splendors gathered, ere it all depart : 
 
 Buoyant and transient, were this charming force, 
 
 But for dominion of the mind s resource 
 
 Its firmness and its tenderness one course, 
 
 Whose pause of love, these governed aspects bless, 
 
 Despite the heart s importunate distress 
 
 Of sweet contending powers, with wielding will 
 
 And some faint echo of the voice : " Be still !" 
 
 Eternal starlight in the trembling air, 
 
 Thou art alone forever, everywhere ! 
 
 His foot departed from the marble stair, 
 
 This loneliness was hers left standing there. 
 
 XXYII 
 
 But who were Hunald and the feared Lupo, 9 
 
 In Roland s anxious thoughts, forecasting woe ? 
 
 They were the aids of treacherous deeds oft done, 
 
 The wicked brother, and perfidious sou 
 
 Of Abu Taurus, Saracen Emir 
 
 Oft his Damascus blade s swift, fatal whirr, 
 
154 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 Struck vainly, Roland s mirror-polished shield 
 In many a mountain breach, and valley field 
 At last, twas Abu Taurus had to yield: 
 Then Pampeluna s jeweled medal bright, 
 Was struck for Roland s memorable fight : 
 The hostages, exacted, were these two; 
 Hunald and Lupo nearest son and brother 
 Than whom Taurus had given any other 
 With tribute promised and submission true. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 In secret not submissive : every line 
 Of his dominions, he had to resign, 
 Contested hard, each Pyrenean province 
 Their mutual valor well remembered since : 
 Yet, terms complied with, and rich tributes sent 
 By Abu Taurus to the kingly tent; 
 While many garrisons, had Charlemagne, 
 To keep submissive to his anxious reign, 
 The restless Emirs in subjection s chain 
 From Biscay s bay, to Lyons gulf, the whole 
 Of empire conquered had such armed control: 
 But still rebellious Lupo, and Hunald, 
 By Abu Taurus, to revolt, were called 
 Till at most bitter cost, all Aquitaine 
 Was finally reduced by Charlemagne. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 f v 4 
 
 rusaxlcr s Jjounug, 
 
 The soft unfolding purple of the dawn 
 Beyond the misty hills, like some vast throne 
 Beyond the utmost mounts whose hamlets kept 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 155 
 
 The previous night late vigils and now slept : 
 
 At day, the files of burnished steel, aflame 
 
 All musical with movement and the name 
 
 Of fair Jerusalem, advancing slow, 
 
 Like strong tides in deep unison, to flow 
 
 In one long segregated mass, the line 
 
 Their standards eastwards turned to Palestine: 
 
 What ardor or what sorrow there was pent, 
 
 The martial trumpets drowned, enhanced, or lent 
 
 A last, note of farewell none should repine 
 
 Bright waving hands, last looks on march they 
 
 went, 
 Kings, pages all the knightly tournament. 
 
 xxx- 
 
 How, in high reverence were there unfurled, 
 
 Bright banners, face ward to the Eastern world : 
 
 Behind them, silence and their parting tears; 
 
 Before them, effort and, perhaps, long years ; 
 
 The green shore s murm ring current, and the close 
 
 Of each long weary day to eve s repose ; 
 
 The ridge of rock, the story vale, the plain, 
 
 Some Gothic citadel the vale again: 
 
 The straggling line of horse, the strongest few 
 
 Contending swift ahead for the first view : 
 
 For every morn brought warmer skies more 
 
 blue 
 
 And holy scenes, historic childhood knew , 
 And, every eve, some blessed spring or well, 
 Beside whose grassy rim they camped to tell 
 How many leagues were passed, how many yet 
 
156 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 
 
 To Christian spire or Moslem minaret, 
 That, in the distance to their longing eyes, 
 Seemed with new hope replete or with surprise 
 Each step so fondly marked in Holy Writ : 
 After long hours of ride resting at last, 
 Dismounted from their horses, they might sit 
 In shady dells the Maccabees had passed, 10 
 Or view a castle old, twas said, they built 
 Beside whose shrine they knelt, and kissed the 
 Cross sword-hilt. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Mounted again again the stony vale: 
 They journeyed mostly then at twilight pale : 
 Still intervening hills there seemed no end: 
 The rocky landscape, up and down did blend : 
 Hills seemed to multiply beneath their feet 
 The horses sometimes weary, sometimes fleet: 
 At last, an ancient castle s towers they saw 
 They stopped a moment in subduing awe 
 Reined in their bridles gazing the first time 
 Upon Jerusalem, sacred sublime ! 
 Not easy to describe the emotions throng 
 Filling the Christian breast when, after long 
 And toilsome journeying, the olive shade 
 Gives welcome on the slopes of Gihon s glade 
 The pools of Grihon where a King was crowned, 11 
 The Bard of Canticles each storied mound 
 Commands the battlements that rise above 
 The long desired the city of their love : 
 " Jerusalem ! Jerusalem !" they said 
 
ITT 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE SHINE. 157 
 
 Not saying more : in transport s awe, dismayed, 
 Some wept in rapture on each other s breast; 
 And some, the sacred earth, low kneeling pressed. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 They entered by the Bethlehem gate at noon, 
 When parleying with the guards had ended : soon 
 They found sweet rest by fount and Olive shade, 
 After the toil and dust of journey made, 
 Within the Latin Convent guests they came, 
 With letters heralding their angust fame; 
 But nought they saw, after that first, far view, 
 Could with such awe s impress, their souls imbue : 
 Beside the roadway, on bright carpets spread, 
 Were groups of grave Turks sitting, each dusk head, 
 Bound with a turban rich of Persian stripes 
 In silence, dignified, they smoked their pipes; 
 And old, white-bearded Jews, beneath the walls 
 The glory of whose race, nought now recalls 
 Dilating to diciples, of its splendor; 
 And with imposing glance, raised sadly tender, 
 In deprecation to the terraced tower, 
 O er which the crimson flag of Turkish power, 
 Above the conquered city, heavy floating 
 The Christians, not less sad, the emblem noting. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Descending, from the convent, a steep hill, 
 At early morn they passed the holy door 
 Its Gothic front and steps, the same, are still, 
 Where the long tides of constant ages pour : 
 
158 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 About the courtway of the front and side 
 A throng of various people, occupied : 
 There wer3 some pious merchants selling beads 12 
 And crucifixes, and such holy ware ; 
 Some beggars in the court explained their needs: 
 Some early votaries were kneeling there : 
 The Turkish door-keepers had not arrived 
 They kept the Church-keys as they re kept to-day 
 So Eoland and his comrades then contrived 
 To make the hours of waiting pass away, 
 With much comment on such restriction made : 
 Their presents on the Sepulchre were laid, 
 Together, with some alms, meant for the poor, 
 By passing them through holes made in the door 
 This did the pilgrims too, who hither strayed: 
 The monks inside, received then}, with a word 
 Of prayer or blessing, softly outside heard: 
 At last, the door was opened helmets off, 
 And shoes; and turbans, did the pilgrims doff: 
 Mahomedan and Christian, Jew as well 
 An equal reverence, each act did tell. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 Those trains of worshipers are passed away 
 There, other trains of worshipers, to-day: 
 Pilgrim and priest, the holy slab, they kiss, 
 Is under hanging lamps, and polished is 
 With fine and sacred keeping; waxen light 
 Of three large tapers many feet in hight, 
 In front, and at the ends, the lustrous gleam 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 159 
 
 Of that which lies below reflects each beam: 
 On this, was washed for burial, they explain, 
 The glorious body of the Lord, when slain. 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 The place in which the pious Empress sought 
 The Holy Cross long hidden from all view; 13 
 When, with the crosses of the theives, twas 
 
 brought 
 
 Her anxious doubts, to know which one was true : 
 Pious Helena ! thou art not alone ! 
 The superscription broken off, and thrown 
 Into the town-ditch or a vault near by, 
 Too long forgotten, oft may careless lie: 
 But two were thieves crosses what verity ? 
 Only a miracle could testify, 
 The one cross holiest, the sacred one 
 Whose beam owned the inscription; thou did sttry : 
 And for thy sake, this miracle was done : 
 A noble lady sick and ill at at ease, 
 And long in suffering without hope or peace, 
 Thou did st make touch it ; and she was restored ! 
 A young man dead, and by his friends deplored, 
 Was ready, made for burial; but taken 
 Out and laid on it lo, he did waken ! 
 Forgive, all ye who may not this believe, 
 That I repeat it I would not deceive ! 
 Almost incredulous, perhaps, but still- 
 Still must the heart contend with reason s will, 
 These metaphysic miracles of truth, 
 I learned to love in faith s sweet days of youth ! 
 
160 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 To other holy places Roland went, 
 
 At every shrine his knightly knee was bent; 
 
 In dismal chapels ; over ancient tombs : 
 
 Where Arimathea s Joseph sleeps : the rooms 
 
 Built over these, so ancient holy spots, 
 
 Have not changed ought beneath them; the same 
 
 grots 
 
 Hollowed in Calvary s unmelting rock: 
 The fissure still shown of the earthquake shock 
 That Roland s eyes looked on, as so ours might, 
 The subterranean chapel s gloomy light 
 Not all concealing it as when Christ died 
 From floor to ceiling up the chapeFs side : 
 The stone on which the angel sat, when risen 
 The dead Lord, he had watched, three mournful 
 
 days: 
 
 The hall of flagellation, and the prison 
 Of Peter; and the hollow, rocky place 
 Where they laid Jesus this is rarely seen 
 A marble altar, built o er it, a screen. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Before all these his meditations blent 
 
 With prayer and silence, until called his tent 
 
 Was strapped for travel to the Caliph s Court: 
 
 When at the Convent gate, blew loud and short, 
 
 A herald s bugle note. (t Behold !" he said, 
 
 " 7 Tis Haroun comes himself through Grihon s glade, 
 
 With royal courtesy to wait on me: 
 
 My Squires! our journey s toil will needless be ! 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 161 
 
 Let us go forth to meet him, where he comes, 
 With our own noble banners and brave plumes ! 
 Not less must be our condescending state, 
 Nor less our consciousness of it !" Elate 
 And glad, the watchers viewing from the towers, 
 The royal traveler distant yet some hours, 
 They saw; then hastening, a selected band 
 Went forth to meet him Koland in command. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And lo ! what silver sheen neath azure skies 
 
 Glitters resplendent before Roland s eyes ? 
 
 Can he believe his sight ? An infidel 
 
 Eaising the Christian standard to the swell 
 
 Of the upfloating, balmy, summer air ? 
 
 He sees aright; in awful truth, tis there 
 
 Its silken model hung with garlands rare : 
 
 The Dead Christ on the cross, in wreath of thorns 
 
 This sign, tis known, the Mussulman ne er scorns: 
 
 The Heart of Mary, Mother seven swords, 
 
 Transfixed all there portrayed : some latin 
 
 words : u 
 
 Two silver, pendant chains together meet, 
 Where hang three golden keys signs complete ! 
 Ye mean the ransom of your sacred gates 
 Your bloodless glory, upon Roland waits! 
 
 xxxix. 
 
 " Behold ! O Prankish chieftain ! we are come 
 To give thee welcome, from thy western home ! 
 Here are the Keys of Olivet s high dome, 
 
162 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 Where solemn centuries have long reposed 5 
 And to thy hand, is given, to be closed 
 Or opened, at thy will, the Sacred Tomb /" 
 Roland, at this, bowed low his sable plume 
 Adoring awe shared on his face, sad gloom: 
 Haroun al Raschid knew, ere all expressed, 
 The pledged, devoted care that filled the breast 
 Of the fair, brave crusader his request 
 Was thus complied with, graciously and soon : 
 They pitched their tents then, at the hour of noon, 
 And lingering, joyous, did the camps rejoice 
 By marble-margined founts with cascade voice, 
 And shaded plats of Olive memories 
 Of sanctity and hospitable peace : 
 Yea, though a stranger, so his task was told ; 
 And Roland, faceward, turning to the west 
 All haply ended his so sacred quest 
 He then departed from the lands grown old. 
 
 XL. 
 
 To follow far the paths of deadly war 
 The strife of Catalonia, fierce Navarre ; 
 To dream by campfires in the Cevennes 
 Of home and Hildegrade, of Love and Peace: 
 4< Yet shalt thou meet with Lupo, Roland, when 
 The Saracen tumults give thee release ; 
 But dark the Pyrenees in every glen, 
 Be guarded with all care, and cautiously; 
 Thick woods in ambush may encompass thee : 77 
 This said the King: " shall not be hushed the sea, 
 Till all his rash affirms of wrath with me 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 163 
 
 Are well fulfilled, replete with dastard pain 
 Ha ! that he dares contend for Acquitaine ! 
 The turbulent, proud, vassal reckless still 
 Rebels, and so must feel my power s will I" 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Revolt was struggling still in Aquitaine; 
 Much effort, to the monarch, did remain, 
 To firmly organize each new-made state, 
 With judgment without triumph ne er elate 
 Was the great genial King o er the subdued 
 Providing loyal government, and good : 
 But, while arranging these details, some strife, 
 Impending on the Saxon north-frontier, 
 Divided his attention, there and here: 
 The Saracens collected, ever rife 
 For tumult s chances ; and, not having fear, 
 Since this dread news had called the King away, 
 They poured down into Arragon, that day : 
 ? Twas Roland, they attacked ; twas Roland met 
 The terrible onslaught, remembered yet, 
 Of Saragossa s fierce contested hours 
 Thousands of Saracens slain round its towers 
 The mist of history, dimly o er it lowers : 
 But that great victory of the valliant Franks, 
 To Roland de Roncevalles, owes equal thanks. 
 
164 NONNENWEBTH, 
 
 hrenfelg. 
 
 Elsewhere, what times of change did intervene 
 
 At Ehrenfels ? Fair Luidgarde the queen 
 
 Had come to dwell with her young maiden friend: 
 
 They now were three together, with the mother 
 
 Of Hildegarde, companions, to the end 
 
 In absence of the husband, friend, or brother 
 
 That separate loneliness might lessened be, 
 
 And days of hope, passed uneventfully. 
 
 t( Issem ! hang helmets on the towers, to-day; 
 
 Perchance, some pilgrim, hitherward may stray, 
 
 In weariness to rest, with palm and staff ; 
 
 Thou art not mindful of their needs, not half! 
 
 Look out, and see what rustles through the wood ? 
 
 Or tramples in the valley !" Issem stood, 
 
 A watchman on the battlements, in vain : 
 
 No golden spurs came over field or flood, 
 
 No crested helmet glinted on the plain : 
 
 Soundless the horn of Issem, every eve, 
 
 After the day passed, while she lived to grieve. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 "Change watch good Issem, until dawn: and lay 
 The lights along the ramparts he may come ! 
 Be not unmindful of who speed this way ! 7 
 Issem incredulous, of hope, seemed dumb: 
 So speaking, Hildegarde in patient gloom,. 
 Looked from the lofty windows of her room; 
 
A LEGEND OF THE EHINE. 165 
 
 And in her voice, once sweetness all there was, 
 The tone most over-sweet, grown querulous, 
 As of a falchion that is quivering thrown 
 Under the rider while the fight goes on, 
 Or like the heron s heart, in contest torn, 
 Beneath the falcon s wing in flight upborne: 
 Still, at the morn, the watchman s summoned word 
 Brought no news other than the eve had heard. 
 
 o 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 "Within the wood, my Lady, there s no stir; 
 No rider bends the branch, or tramps the bur; 
 No dust is blown, no feathers of a crest, 
 Or broidered cuirass of a warrior s breast !" 
 Silent she listened, silent seemed content; 
 Then slowly, oft not noting where she went, 
 Musing she walked, with veil and shawl wrapped 
 
 close, 
 
 Breathing the wan mists as they slowly rose 
 Mid transient shadows of soft, heavy bloom, 
 That made her faithful thoughts see Roland s plume : 
 Albeit, she did know, engaging thought 
 Was in the splendor of her fancy wrought: 
 By rippling stream and beech- wood, she delayed, 
 Until the evening star soft splendor made : 
 By Nixa s crystal spring and fairy grot 
 She passed alone, returning fearing not : 
 The light or shadow hovering on the grass, 
 Might be the sprite of Nixa dared she pass ? 
 Those childish fancies came not now, alas ! 
 And, ye stars ! if any feet have trod 
 Upon ye they were things she said to God. 
 
166 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 XLV. 
 
 * The gloom of night clings to the morning yet, 
 Where pearls of dawn amid the shadows met; 
 So I remember, though he may forget ! 
 Roland, though I should make sweet plaint all 
 
 night, 
 
 I could not tell thee all the wrong, the right, 
 The pain of loving thee. and the delight ! 
 Though I should break my heart till break of day, 
 What then ? what more, my Lord ? what shall I 
 
 say ? 
 
 This is as it should be and was alway ! 
 I tell thee of the day, not in thy sight 1 
 I tell thee of the night, when it is night ! 
 How many days and nights, like these, take flight: 
 With unclosed lips, I breathe faint little sighs, 
 And turn so still the wall hath no replies \ 
 At last I sleep when wakeful feeling dies !" 
 With such soft supplication, into sleep 
 She passed at last short slumbers, always deep : 
 With heavy faintness of what pain had been, 
 The roseate glow not on her pale cheek seen, 
 Despite of all prosaic things may prove, 
 She dared to live, and sigh, arid die for Love. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 He had not come that day, though now three years 
 Had canceled hope s reserves, and gathered fears: 
 Sometimes she wept, or with adjuring thrill, 
 Implored to weep restraint weeps not at will: 
 Tears, where are ye? Down in the deep heart s urn, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 167 
 
 And coming singly to the lids that burn 
 With strained anguish. Oh ! ye have a power 
 The peace of a resigned and tender hour ! 
 No Peri ever hailed ye, boon of earth ! 
 With half the longing your forbidden worth 
 Comes o er the heart whose proud, rebelling eyes 
 Would send ye back, all hushed, where bleeding lies 
 A carven mouth of grief beneath its wing 
 The refuge of barbed years a wounded thing! 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 He had not come; because a journey then 
 Meant passing like a dream, returning, when 
 The long months filled to years, and the lone seas 
 Brought dimly back the sails of shattered Peace. 
 She feared, but dared not question what she 
 
 feared : 
 
 Betimes, a herald from the King appeared, 
 And news from Saxon wars but, not from him 
 For whom, her cheek so paled, and eyes grew dim; 
 Soldiers and pilgrims, by the thousands, went 
 To those far lands where he had pitched his tent : 
 She knew, alas, that hardly half returned 
 More surely, fondly, truly her heart mourned: 
 The dust and lustre of wide plains at noon, 
 Made lingering rest and shade, the traveler s boon; 
 But the devoted palmer s cloak and stave, 
 Might find his journey s end, a wayside grave ; 
 For, in those days, the plague, contaminate, 
 Gave eastern journeyers a hurried fate: 
 Expectant love might through such absence wait, 
 
168 NONNE1NWEETH, 
 
 While long the hearts desire, so supplicate, 
 Could only answered be, with "Oh, too late I " 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 There is a mountain shrine St. Roch s where 
 
 All sylvan grandeurs mingle with sweet prayer. 
 
 The beechwood s verdure, and the fount, and thoro 
 
 Whose near white blossoms fall on breaths of morn; 
 
 All gay luxuriance whose genial breeze 
 
 Goes on the sunshine to the distant seas; 
 
 The sun s pure deeps of sapphire, and the fold 
 
 Of lambs all gather d, ere its last ray s gold : 
 
 With the rose-folded eyelids of sweet tears, 
 
 The beautiful, once only, of the years, 
 
 There, in the midst of those who offered vows ? 
 
 Knelt Hildegarde with gently shaded brows, 
 
 Over her pale hands bended to the rail 
 
 Only, as yet, her golden hair their veil : 
 
 Of late, she whispered secret mournfud things, 
 
 Touched with redundance of love s hidden springs: 
 
 "Lo ! the Lamb lieth on the altar s stone, 
 
 And I, O God, am here with thee alone ! 
 
 Can I not love TJiee ? O my God, above I 
 
 And thus forget the pain of human love ? 
 
 But no : the thoughts he shares, mine anguish 
 
 prove ! 
 
 Sometime, somewhere, beyond the clearest skies, 
 I hope to see again those dear, deep eyes 
 Look on me, after life s or death s surprise ! " 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KH1NE. 169 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 But we may tell when she had waited long, 
 For pilgrim s tidings, or for minstrel s song : 
 O er the far solitudes subdued and vast, 
 At last a day auspicious seemed at last, 
 A day ! it may be as an almond wand, 
 Where, with sweet surprise, a flower is found; 
 Or, like Arabian bee that from a rose 
 Feeds then with venom, and not honey, goes 
 To sting to madness, on the Kamsin s wind, 
 "When all the white, hot plains make gazing blind: 
 The long untrodden cliffs, two travelers climbed, 
 When slow, St. Eoch s bell for vespers chimed 
 Their quiet converse was most earnest toned ; 
 Its whispered theme, some subtle secret owned. 
 
 f * rMTTIJc * ^\ 
 
 "You watch her, and sing lays, while I explain," 
 This said the younger, "think of Acquitaine, 
 And let no pity of your soul arise 
 For wringing hands of hers, or tearful eyes !" 
 "I know" the other said, "how just is this : 
 But how malignant too, a question is !" 
 "I am exacting as the king Clovis" 15 
 His comrade answered with a careless laugh 
 "Who could not cut the Soissons vase in half, 
 And could not have it for his royal share 
 To give it back for good St. Remits prayer : 
 But when his soldier struck it with an axe, 
 To make it subject to no more contest, 
 
170 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 The 1 richest thing of booty in the sacks, 
 Less value then became than all the rest 
 Its beauty, to a battered mass, compressed: 
 Clovis said naught at what had been done to it, 
 But sent it back the prelate scarcely knew it; 
 But, one year after, levied was its tax: 
 The soldier in some dicipline was lax 
 1 Your shield ! your armor! spotted all with rust," 
 The king roared, as he threw them in the dust : 
 "/ strike as you struck Soissons vase that day! 
 It was wrought silver, and you are but clay ! " 
 One blow of thefrancisgtue, and dead he lay. 
 
 LI. 
 
 With careless jest and such light anecdote, 
 They sauntered till they reached the castle s moat; 
 But this much of their talk displayed an air 
 Of enterprise, and courage, learning rare 
 Not always found in pilgrims given to prayer : 
 Each shoulder marked, each shell-medallioned hat, 16 
 Donned it, the pilgrim s garb, malice like that ? 
 Lo ! in each eye, a fierce and dull gray light 
 Where sits the condor, bird of haughty flight, 
 On rugged Andes, beneath Pampas skies 
 Such is the spirit that such glance implies : 
 Under each cloak soft flowing, mailed and strong 
 Lithe limbs ; and, like the Torso studied long, 
 Carved shoulders of fine mould and massive grace 
 These the dread beauties of each form and face : 
 The gates were reached, a horn s blast sped their call, 
 And welcome, tendered by the Senechal. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 171 
 
 LII. 
 
 Effacing trace of trembling, hope and fear, 
 With glad expectance; what may she now hear ? 
 So deemed the castle maiden as with haste, 
 The banquet hall s full laden board, she graced : 
 Then eyes of furtive guile subdued their glance, 
 Looked down with semblance mild of pious trance, 
 And cautious watchfulness of manner some, 
 Waiting the questions, that they knew would come, 
 With answers ready, for love s queries, traced : 
 Queen Luidgarde, the lady mother all 
 Gave gracious welcome in the banquet hall; 
 And servants went and came with busy call ; 
 For those were men of note, it was assumed, 
 Though now in pilgrim garb not knightly plumed; 
 The Duke Friuli and brave Count Gerold, 17 
 Whose deeds, with Charlemagne, were true and 
 
 bold 
 
 In Hunnish wars of doubtful, hard event : 
 These lies were told with grace and compliment, 
 And heard with courteous faith, all confident. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Festooned, with mountain boughs of freshest green, 
 The armor-laden walls were brightly hung; 
 The shining rings of hauberks gleamed between, 
 In polished splendor, near great chandeliers 
 Whose lighted waxen-tapers, o er them flung, 
 A softened brilliancy like stars or tears 
 Though nothing added to ancestral years, 
 Whose glorious deeds, the bards had often sung. 
 
172 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 Of brave old warriors whose steel -armor now 
 Rested in radiance, under lamp and bough. 
 The daring visitants had secret fear : 
 For, Issem and his warders were outside ; 
 But naught of recognition did appear, 
 Or, had it there, at once, the culprits, died : 
 Their journey short to a deserving tomb, 
 There leaning, half concealed in the warm gloom 
 Of the carved, oaken mantel whose great hearth 
 Threw o er the festal-board its genial mirth. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 They watched the ladies waiting on the queen, 
 
 With curious eyes of interest not all holy 
 
 And inconsistent with the melancholy. 
 
 Most usual in such men of pilgrim mien : 
 
 There sat fair Hildegarde amidst her maidens; 
 
 The one who bore the water for her hands, 
 
 And twined her gold brown hair with jeweled 
 
 strands, 
 
 Was nearest, chatting, with the softest cadence 
 Of gladness and sweet hope in her young voice 
 They now might hear of Roland, and rejoice : 
 "Ask him, dear lady, and be not afraid ! 
 No doubt, he knows of Roland, why delayed?" 
 This playful importunity obeyed, 
 What Hildegarde s own wish had not essayed 
 As yet ; but, waiting till more unobserved 
 By others then, her purpose strong, she nerved, 
 With shy, sweet smiles, responsive to the word 
 Of her affectionate and faithful friend, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 173 
 
 Who knew that Roland s name was like the chord 
 Where the deep harmonies in music blend. 
 
 LV. 
 
 One of the pilgrims sung his sweetest lays, 
 As other troubadours, of love and praise, 
 That came from Holy Land in after days: 
 The joyous festival s glad, careless glee 
 Gave chance of anxious speech to Hildegarde; 
 And with some effort s cost of dignity, 
 Inclining gentle head, and smile s award 
 Though tremulous a little at the heart 
 She summoned him who stood in gloom apart, 
 And with mild courage said what seemed so hard, 
 
 LVI. 
 
 u And hast thou come from lauds, pilgrim, where 
 The lute, and lance, and corselet fall in prayer ? 
 And foremost martyrs fruitless not ? while low, 
 Their deep atoning hearts in torrents flow? 
 Is the dread crescent in ascendance yet ? 
 And the red, desert sun in triumph set, 
 Where the unaltered cross hath lowered stood 
 The share of sorrow, and the price of blood ? 
 And hast thou seen him, severed long from me ? 
 
 faithful journeyer, by land and sea ! 
 
 1 called thee pilgrim," here her grave lips fold 
 Parted with smiles, "and thou art Count Gerold?" 
 This asking, her voice fell more quietly, 
 
 While faintest flush of rose came o er her cheek 7 
 And, downward looking, she then ceased to speak. 
 
174 NONNENWEBTH, 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Adroitly, he evaded her last tone 
 Of question, as to what name he did own; 
 None could discover in the roseate dun 
 Of his cheek s fine mould Abu Taurus 7 son: 
 His mother was a Christian girl, most fair, 
 Of the Asturias mild, and balmy air 
 For, oft the rival race of Omar, there, 
 Turned into lovers wooing Moslem prayer : 
 Or, o er the wild stream of Abbassides, 
 Were shed, rose leaves of Christian love and 
 
 peace : 
 
 Not wanting in most chivalrous address 
 This Arab, Frank, did equal rights possess ; 
 So that our Lupo, as his preference ran, 
 Might be a gallant Christian Frank at times, 
 Or a descendant of Abderraman 
 His whole rights are not stated in these rhymes : 
 But his own tact and subtlety adjusted 
 The role that just then he had to enact ; 
 And Hildegarde confidingly entrusted, 
 Hope, credulous, to an illiterate fact 
 As he responded, with the mildest grace, 
 Apparent in each a ct of form and face : 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " Lady, the King s knight, Roland, I have seen. 
 
 Last in the towers of Capitdline : 
 
 We two oft watched at night, when stars grew 
 
 pale, 
 The fire-flies on the slopes of Arno s vale ; 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 17 
 
 And listened to the dulcet, chirping hums, 
 
 Or mystic movements strange unceasing thrums 
 
 Of the Cicada, in the barley-blooms ; 
 
 Where the dark olive and the bright pale vine, 
 
 Luxuriant, alternate, intertwine. 
 
 The classic mantles of Eomaic tombs ! 
 
 Far he had come, his valliant mission through, 
 
 Successful from where clouds of Syrian blue, 
 
 O er mount and plain of journey, warmly soar; 
 
 When, at the Tiber s mouth, a rested oar 
 
 Brought him late orders for a lengthened stay : 
 
 Of accusations made against Leo 
 
 The King would come to Rome, the cause to know; 
 
 And might need Roland s aid to strongly show 
 
 Impartial judgment to his friend, the Pope : 
 
 "Who vainly, with conspiracy, did cope ! 
 
 Stern but devoted, was the calm dismay 
 
 Of the Knight, Roland, at this new delay ! " 
 
 LIX. 
 
 "I know," she whispered, "and a holier tie 
 
 His pain and peril thus doth sanctify 
 
 To live for me as for his honor die !" 
 
 But this to her own heart whose subdued sigh 
 
 Gave little outward sign s anxiety. 
 
 "Stern but devoted," he continued, now 
 
 Be strong, O lady, I must tell thee how 
 
 Not with a vanquished Eagle he would come 
 
 Back to the hamlets of his mountain home !" 
 
 "Be strong ? Oh yes: for I have chastened well, 
 
 Erewhile my heart s surmises thou may st tell 
 
176 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 The unfaltering deed if, with royal right, 
 He died then, / have livsd, as infinite !" 
 u Yea: but I fear the words that may appall 
 Thee into dark despair, if I recall ! 
 Against Campulus and the base Paschal, 
 His active part was but disaster all; 
 And good Pope Leo, from conspiring strife, 
 "Was only saved at cost of Roland s life 
 Alas ! thou nearest this, his promised wife !" 
 
 LX. 
 
 Let not repeatings of the guileful speech 
 Through all her anguish its whole meanings reach: 
 There was a quick commotion sudden fright; 
 And joy ( turned to dismay the deathly blight 
 Of consternation; hushed was every tongue; 
 On inquiry expectant, each breath hung 
 For a few moments : white and still and cold, 
 She had swooned in deep woe life s chords 
 
 unstrung : 
 
 Cold as the stream, stricken at icy fold, 
 Of some great avalanche whose thundering swell, 
 From the high mount into the valley, fell , 
 And white as that lost wing that, at the gate 
 Of Heaven, was vanquished ere it flew to Hell 
 After whose whiteness, Death s blackness might 
 
 wait 
 
 The ensign-bearer of dread Azrael ! 
 Dear Hildegarde had heard what Lupo told 
 Lupo, the crafty, heartless Lupo, bold : 
 Oh, not in vain thy Roland s warning, meant 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 177 
 
 To shield thy trustful heart so innocent ! 
 
 Alas, alas ! in some far, fluttering tent, 
 
 Or in the strife of some contested field, 
 
 That voice of warning and that veiled shield !" 
 
 LXI. 
 
 i 
 From morn till midnight, tolled the castle bell ! 
 
 From midnight until morn, its muffled knell 
 
 Resounded sad, griefs tidings far to tell ! 
 
 And hollow grew the softly rounded cheek; 
 
 And pallid blue, the lips that did not speak 
 
 For many a weary day and weary week : 
 
 Her constant friend, the faithful Luidgarde, 
 
 The king s own wife all majesty, yet meek 
 
 Watched, by the bedside of her tender ward, 
 
 Till as the sunrise, through the dawn s dim streak, 
 
 Faintly perceptible at last appears 
 
 Life s consciousness came back with reason s tears, 
 
 The mild safe sea that, ships of sorrow, bears 
 
 Into the port of resignation even 
 
 When storms shroud earth and sky that port is 
 
 heaven ! 
 
 Tears, tears ! yea, tears : else it were madness then 
 To know that Roland ne er would come again : 
 " I fear she ll die " one said unto the other 
 The friend so loving, the more loving mother 
 And cautious were they, that no word was said 
 To wake the pain so 
 
 12 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 +>s/ 
 
178 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 LXII. 
 
 cents at 
 
 Though not all truth what Lupo s craft did say, 
 
 Roland was at Rome, that recorded day : 
 
 The shrines were robed, for it was blessed May : 
 
 In all the bannered streets, the populace 
 
 Rode in dense splendor; twas a day of grace: 
 
 The " Greater Litany s 7 sweet, solemn close, 
 
 By many chorists chanted, grandly rose ! 
 
 Past St. Sylvester s the long line, and past 
 
 St. Stephen s chorists banners Leo last: 
 
 From burning censer, floating silver cloud ; 
 
 The knee was bent, the reverent head was bowed; 
 
 In prayer and hymn, was Jesus holy name : 
 
 Then the chief Pontiff turned, and raised his hand 
 
 Tranquil in blessing or in mild command, 
 
 Which, was never known through the line there 
 
 came, 
 
 In hurried breaths and flashing eyes of flame, 
 Wild cries of blood a panic seizing all ! 
 Loud voices called, Campulus and Paschal ! 18 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 These very men, placed nearest to the side 
 
 Of Leo s august state, who yet defied 
 
 His solemn arid just right, had that same morn, 
 
 Irrelevant, concealing plots of scorn, 
 
 And waiting, chances future hours might own 
 
 Accepted marks of signal favor shown, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 179 
 
 And with such friendly tact, and consummate, 
 That Leo still suspected not his fate; 
 But, in that moment when his hand was lifted, 
 And that such call of voices loudly rose, 
 To scattered tumult the long line was drifted; 
 And he, at once encompassed by his foes. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Turbulent, traversing each open space, 
 
 Did lances streamers flash, and interlace ! 
 
 Hatred had slumbered, but it was not dead, 
 
 On unsuspecting kindness it had fed: 
 
 Too trusting Leo ! Close insatiate, 
 
 Arose the deadly cries, " Down ! Mutilate!" 
 
 With coward,trembling hands for crime is fear, 
 
 They bore him prostrate: " Hold, ye dastards ! 
 
 Hear i" 
 
 Roland s that voice; they halt to hear him speak, 
 The glow of his quick wrath hath dyed his cheek! 
 " Ye that with sacrilege would quench the light 
 In those pale, bleeding brows, defend your right ! 
 I come, conspirators ! Vengeful, I come ! 
 Say, are those pallid lips forever dumb ? 
 Those mute, mild lips that called you Brothers, 
 
 long ? 
 There in the dust, low lying, for your wrong !" 
 
 LXV, 
 
 Scene that was terrible ! Men desperate ! 
 
 They dared not stop, sheathed in the heart of hate; 
 
 A moment, and the glimmering dust arose 
 
180 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 With ring of helmets and with javelin blows : 
 There Eoland s violet mantle, floating high, 
 Cleaved a free pathway where the foremost die. 
 Match ye with this," he cried, "your plots of 
 
 harm !" 
 
 And fast and true, fell his descending arm ; 
 As tremor of faint stars o er fallen snow, 
 Shuddered the jeweled helmet on his brow, 
 So damp with ardor s haste so pale with zeal, 
 Appalling triumph ! this didst thou reveal. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 The almost lifeless Leo then was borne 
 To St. Erasmus; all the night till morn, 
 Each gallant enemy, and zealous friend, 
 "Watched, holding counsel, life and death impend, 
 Though he should be a prisoner, if his life 
 Were spared for further question in the strife : 
 Meanwhile, within the monastery, were found 
 Adherents whose devotion was sincere 
 His chamberlain, Albinus, closer bound 
 This strong co-operative aid; though fear 
 Imbued his every movement, not untried 
 He left each means and enmity defied : . 
 Down from the walls, in safety to the ground, 
 They lowered Leo at the dead of night, 
 When scarce recovered from his dangerous wound,, 
 And ere his enemies perceived his flight : 
 Before three days had passed, the King had come 
 With speed encamping near the walls of Kome; 
 There Eoland s tendered sword, the first glad gift, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 181 
 
 That charmed his smiling eyes, whose upward lift 
 At lighted altars, o er that sword austere, 
 Yea, wept in hallowed love, in pride and fear ! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 of y[ cmuntceril|. 
 
 Return, where never changed, the mists that hung 
 Moving like censers that are softly swung 
 Upon the mountains, or like robes .and feet 
 That, it was said, are beautiful to meet 
 Where Hildegarde, with white enfolded hands 
 That on her lap were resting and blue bands 
 Of silken ribbon on her tresses shining, 
 And head, upon her bosom, half inclining : 
 Thinking of Roland and, perhaps, repining 
 Traversed, in thought, the scenes of distant lands : 
 Wholly endowed with contemplation s sense, 
 She felt that love was prayer ; in her soul s deep, 
 Prayer and holy love a tryst did keep 
 A rapt resolve of some new thought intense. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Dark was her soul; but, like the falcon s flight, 
 That rises startled from the dews of night 
 Assuaging fear with lofty thoughts, like stars 
 That set before the hour of dawn unbars 
 The day unto the night. Rainbow and cloud ! 
 In all life s storms, ye are not disallowed ! 
 Though hope be all discrowned, and time not life, 
 Within the haunted breast, ye meet the strife ! 
 
182 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 When man s heart is a shoreless, soundless deep. 
 What floating flowers unfold and o er it sweep, 
 On, tide ward to the cliffs of some rock-tomb 
 That stirs not though the billows toss in gloom, 
 Glancing, like quickened pain, against the foam 
 Whose desolation shines beneath thy dome ! 
 As one such flower, along life s tide she swept 
 Saddest of all things on that path of dread, 
 Against the billows strength, vain conflict kept; 
 For, still a thousand tears her dear eyes wept, 
 And low unlifted her love-mourning head : 
 Still where was thrown the shadow of the past, 
 Her heart reached high a flame-enwreathed mast, 
 Whose sails were burning and whose bays seemed 
 
 fire, 
 
 The sight of shore to the wrecked hope s desire. 
 Proverbial love ! thou rt known by many names; 
 But thou didst come to her, with these thy claims, 
 In dreamlike harmony that had become, 
 Her full heart s patience, as with laden hum, 
 On slumbrous summer-winds, the voyager 
 Starts from the troubled rose, with wings astir. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Thy place of sanctity, Nonnenwerth I 
 Is now the chosen, peaceful spot on earth 
 Where I can bear to live," she musing said : 
 U 0h, I shall bind my brows, as one lain dead. 
 Where thy majestic bells, at eventide, 
 Along the waters of the pure lake glide ! 
 Roland ! Roland ! thy chimes will seem to call, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE EHINE. 183 
 
 Sentence and prophecy, I will understand ! 
 Roland ! Roland ! answering not at all 
 From o er the sea nor o er the mountain land ! 
 But, like the watched dove, I will lift my thought, 
 Far out of sad realms that on earth are sought ! 
 Eternal purpose ! serene to be fulfilled, 
 Forever irrevocable, strongly willed, 
 Nothing to expiate sacrifice alone 
 Love s truest offering when its will is done !* 
 
 LXX. 
 
 And here love s pain and tenderness, once more, 
 The balmy murmur of deep grief, did pour; 
 And well it was; for, as by Euphrates, 
 They sat and sighed for days forever flown 
 Patience rose softly on the plumes of peace, 
 "With songs of the true heart s harmonious moan, 
 The sorrow bravely borne, this sign, shall own : 
 "Let not the Lyre sleep/ unto them was said ; 
 They answered, looking up with eyes that plead, 
 * 0h yes ! unto our sorrow, we shall sing ! 
 There is, perhaps, some drop, ye did not bring, 
 That had made overfull our misery, 
 And given to mourners the sad right to die !" 
 How great, then, is the grief that doth deny 
 The last, blest peace of death the final sigh : 
 This death in life was hers like the Sybil, 
 To live and to remember fondly still : 
 Such song of consolation, such unrest 
 Inheritance forever, in her breast. 
 
184 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 "The sentence I have loved alas, alas 1 
 What end of anything shall come to pass ? 
 What bloom, what blossom dieth as the grass ? 
 Beneath my feet are those things now, my love 
 Doth lead my heart, and lift my eyes above I 
 But oft I know my thoughts will darkly brood, 
 Like shadows in the cedars of the wood, 
 Thy soul within them, Roland ! and thy name 
 Within them, ashes left when quenched the flameL 
 There shalt thou walk upon the slumbrous sea, 
 Thy power through darkness still sustaining me 
 The storm the waves the night of Galilee ! 
 It shall be known the darkness, fear, and pain- 
 Known that I watched for thee across the main a 
 And that my head upon thy feet hath lain ! 
 Dark are the Olives now, my love and lord ! 
 And near my lips, the chalice and the word 
 That Jesus uttered when the angel heard I 
 Dark are the Olives, and I too afraid, 
 As when the chalice to his lips was laid ; 
 And I too, list to what the angel said ! 
 I list to what the angel said for thou 
 Mayst no word say to me ! Roland, no sign 
 From thee ! I lie, as one at day s decline 
 May lie, in shadow of grief s mountain brow ! 
 Many a watch, like last night s watch, I ll keep 
 When the soft seals do not fall into sleep, 
 While lying dying loving thee I ll -weep ! 
 Angel of record ! take some note of this ! 
 Come down to me, through darkness, with the kiss 
 
All the dreamy day in cymar of gold, 
 The Lurly maiden sits where cliffs are cold ; 
 Swiftly her white hands in the sunset shine, 
 With gleaming golden comb and tresses fine." 
 
 Page 149. Stanza XIX. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 185 
 
 In dreams, somehow, of his sweet passion s bliss ! 
 
 Or bear me through the realms of earth and air, 
 
 Unconscious of my waking woe s despair, 
 
 And lay me in his sleeping bosom fair 
 
 There would I be with him at rest, somewhere ! 
 
 Impenetrable God ! what do I say ? 
 
 My life to thee one consecrated day ! 
 
 Feeling and thought of mine, Thy will shall sway ! :? 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 The basement, Gothic arches, and facade 
 
 Of Nonnenwerth to-day are not much changed, 
 
 Although in dreadful wars, twas often made 
 
 The scene where ruthless footsteps careless ranged, 
 
 It served as a hotel or hospital : 
 
 The sanctity of custom might recall 
 
 In vain old usage or its shelter fall 
 
 Upon the soldier doomed to couch and pall ; 
 
 And we may thus suppose that many a scar, 
 
 Together with the ravages of time, 
 
 Hath marked its walls, in peace as well as war, 
 
 A renovated ruin old sublime ! 
 
 In that past, ancient day, twas thus arrayed : 
 
 Within the chapel, richly overlaid 
 
 And gilded the high altar s balustrade : 
 
 The painted ceiling and sacristy door, 
 
 With decorative art, all covered o 7 er : 
 
 Bright leaves and cornices no open space 
 
 Not covered by the frescos of the walls : 
 
 Sts. Peter and Lorenzo each saint s face 
 
 A work of art by some hand o er which falls 
 
186 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 The veil of nameless time though sometimes fair, 
 
 Those frescos old are valued more as rare 
 
 Old relics of the early Christian art 
 
 Such as St. John, St. Paul, the Sacred Heart 
 
 Before the Renaissance did softly part 
 
 The folds of drapery that hid the morn 
 
 Of splendor, that its birth came to adorn. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Many of those old pictures were on plate 
 
 Of gold and silver all backgrounds of gilt 
 
 Though sometimes upon wood, with frames ornate 
 
 Of silver, set with jewels, as though spilt 
 
 In rich confusion; on the frame s bright marge, 
 
 Were precious stones of all kinds often large: 
 
 Those paintings, mostly Greek, and whether wood 
 
 Or plate, the outlines always hard and rude, 
 
 In size not larger than a foot or two 
 
 Said to be painted by St. Luke if true, 
 
 They were entitled to their dingy hue: 
 
 But some old frescos were of size immense, 
 
 And quite appalling to the startled sense : 
 
 The artists, evidently, used more skill 
 
 To portray satan s power of evil will, 
 
 Than to exemplify the angels all 
 
 The latter were left out, or made quite small. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But the chief devil, always very big, 
 Was made the hero of the awful scene, 
 Gnawing sinners, and caring not a fig 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 187 
 
 While he devoured them, whether fat or lean : 
 His teeth were marvellously long his mouth 
 Would serve a " carpet-bagger" going South, 
 Its powers of capacity so great ; 
 But judging the expression on his face, 
 He did not relish much the food he ate, 
 No doubt, disgusted with the sinful race 
 Though sternly, he fulfilled each victim s fate, 
 While standing to his middle in a pool 
 Made red to simulate the fiercest fire : 
 Alas ! Beholding this, is man a fool 
 To give his heart up to each base desire ? 
 No wonder, the old Saints ascetic rule 
 Made them be painted, on the wall, up higher, 
 A row of holy men, upon a bench, 
 To which no imp or devil could aspire 
 And, on the burning lake that naught could quench, 
 They looked, in grave solemnity, as though, 
 Were it not for the honor of the thing, 
 They d rather be disporting there below, 
 Where many little sinners, wild did fling 
 Themselves about in various attitudes : 
 An angel, at one side, carefully weighed 
 A few good-sized ones, in a pair of scales. 
 Appearing sad in judgment, and dismayed 
 At how preponderance of sin prevails 
 These were presented, in the interludes 
 Of Satan s feasting, as the last new goods. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 The fresco, as described, herein above, 
 Was painted, under a descending dove, 
 
188 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 In Nonnenwerth s large porch, so high and wide 
 It nearly covered all the space, one side: 
 Twas given the convent by Costanz Cloro 
 Whose wife became a convert first, then he, 
 They lived before Van Rhyn or Da Vinci; 
 And twas not painted by Fiamingo, 
 Or even Cimabue, or Albert Durer, 
 For they lived after, though so long ago 
 Its* gifted artist s name, no records show, 
 And speculation cannot make us surer, 
 Nor could it, then, have been by Tintoretto : 
 Such awful names have all this artist set oh, 
 It would distract one, the whole list, to tell 
 Tibaldi, Vasari and Raffaelle 
 I might continue, and their number swell 
 But since I name not this one, let them go 
 His name s the one I don t exactly know. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 The convent was not always Ursuline 
 
 Brendaine, perhaps if not, Benedettine; 
 
 The early annalists only combine, 
 
 To give accounts distinct and separate 
 
 Its orders had, each one, unequal date: 
 
 But, in those days, the nuns wore cloth of fine 
 
 White texture, as a flowing tunic made 
 
 In manner as a sash the head overlaid 
 
 With a Greek band of modest ornament : 
 
 O er Longobardo books of ritual, 
 
 At prayer and service, their mild eyes were bent ; 
 
 And all were ladies of the noblest birth 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 189 
 
 Who were admitted nuns at Nonnenwerth : 
 
 The long sleeves of the robes were made to fall, 
 
 A covering to soft bands of fairest grace; 
 
 And the Greek band, or forehead s broidered pall, 
 
 Was palely beautiful above each face : 
 
 If one should go at noon or eventide 
 
 To sit within the chapel there beside 
 
 The coro railings white, as if they died, 
 
 And there were statuesque and kneeling stitt, 
 
 The silence broken only by the thrill 
 
 Of the sweet chant, half prayer, half hymn, they 
 
 made 
 
 Some of them always in that sacred place, 
 Though all the church besides were empty space, 
 Or nearly so : perceiving this, afraid, t 
 
 Almost, would be beholders, at the scene 
 So purely passive, pallid, and serene 
 Those kneeling nuns, behind the coro s screen. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Among them there was one who was yet young, 
 Of all the coro nuns, she sweetest sung; 
 And oft sent messages to Hildegarde, 
 After the service, through the coro barred : 
 They had been fond companions in the days 
 
 Of childhood s happy studies and glad plays; 
 And Angiola, this was her sweet name, 
 Grieved for the grief that on her fair friend came : 
 u Be one of us," she said, "and bear thy loss ! 
 They too shall wear the crown who wear the 
 cross ! " 
 
190 NONNENWEBTH, 
 
 It needed little of such influence 
 Already had the world-resigning sense 
 Come over Hildegarde conclusively 
 The place, its custom, and its novelty, 
 Claimed her attention which she went to see 
 Walking the corriders beside her friend 
 The other nuns, that met them, light did bend 
 Each gentle head with smiles of mild salute 
 And welcome, low-voiced as a Dorian flute. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 While pleased with all she saw, through spacious 
 
 halls, 
 
 Refectory, and Dormitorio, 
 Th church, the gardens till the sunset glow 
 Sank o er the willow marge, and o er the flow 
 Of river-tide these earnest friends did go : 
 After the entrance, a commodious stair 
 Led to the topmost chambers, and the tower 
 Whose spire reached upward through ethereal air, 
 O er grounds of willow bloom, and garden flower, 
 And clear, bright windows, that looked on the 
 
 Rhine, 
 
 Whose distant, trellised hillsides of pale green 
 Nurtured the amethystic jeweled vine, 
 While the blue winding river flowed between, 
 Dimly far onward beautifully grand ! 
 The Rhine, the Rhine of that fair mountain land ! 
 Here might she dwell henceforth in blissful peace, 
 Apart from life, to give time s woe surcease ; 
 And then she named a certain day of choice, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 191 
 
 When she would, soon return, all this to share : 
 Her resolution made the nuns rejoice 
 The beat of the simandro called to prayer 
 Her visit she delayed, to join them there. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Soon after, she returned to Ehrenfels, 
 
 To make avowal of her new intent : 
 
 That day a message to the castle sent, 
 
 With kingly retinue and herald bells, 
 
 Informed the queen his majesty the king 
 
 Would wait for her, at Tours, that they would 
 
 bring 
 
 Her court and ladies, while he waited there : 
 At this time Luidgarde would go to Tours, 
 To seek some blessed waters 7 shrine of cure; 
 The dread disease that, after caused her death, 
 Was then oppressing her with faint, quick breath. 
 She welcomed Hildegarde s return, and then, 
 With courteous care, disposed the kingly men 
 To banquet; and, preparing to depart, 
 She pressed her friend, in fervor, to her heart: 
 "Lord give thee peace, my dear/ she said? 
 
 "I go; 
 
 With me life seems to fade; and yet, on me, 
 
 The fondest kingly love, its joys bestow 
 
 See how life s strange allotments seem to be ! 
 
 Abide then in God s will, we cannot see 
 
 What may be best for us what is grief s right ? 
 
 One flower struck at the root, one left to bloom, 
 
192 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 Must each have after-part of equal blight, 
 
 And may have bloomed and blossomed on a tomb ! " 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And then they spoke of many other things 
 
 Their friendship was like Iris 7 rainbow wings, 
 
 Or like the shield of Pallas, tried and true, 
 
 The sympathies so varied of these two, 
 
 And yet into one bow so lightly hung ; 
 
 For gentle Luidgarde was also young, 
 
 And very dear unto her kingly lord 
 
 This, tenderly expressed his message word 
 
 At that same hour, his heart with woe was wrung, 
 
 In fear of the impending loss of her, 
 
 And he had called physicians to confer 
 
 About her state of health. She now proposed 
 
 That both the ladies go with her to Tours, 
 
 In order, that no circumstance abjure 
 
 Their bond of sweet companionship disclosed 
 
 Must be the plan of Hildegarde, so late, 
 
 Made the intention of her future fate. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 That moment, Lady Heligoland came 
 Into the queen s apartment she, the same 
 Mentioned as mother of our heroine, 
 And eldest sister of the lovely queen : 
 " I will go with you, dear, she kindly said, 
 And preparation shall at once be made ! " 
 Then, turning to her daughter, she perceived 
 That with some hesitating thought, she grieved : 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 193 
 
 " Dear mother, loneliness will be, tis true, 
 
 As though thy rose of love, bereft of dew, 
 
 Missed, for the time, the sunshine that it knew! " 
 
 Then on her mother s bosom she did lean 
 
 "If I go not with thee and with the queen, 
 
 I can have favored time to try the vow 
 
 In the white veil " here bending her head low 
 
 "I wish to go to Nonnenwerth, you know ! " 
 
 "My dear, as you decide, it shall be so, 
 
 And with my blessing, I will let thee go ! 
 
 Yet. dear, with some reluctance, this I say 
 
 I will try not to miss thee while away : 
 
 My journey with the queen will then be good, 
 
 Since I will not be here in solitude ! " 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Days passed, and, in one short week from that day, 
 
 Where shadows darkled from the sun s bright ray, 
 
 There was a festa in the forest trees, 
 
 A festa of farewell by Hildegarde : 
 
 The village maidens gathered all around; 
 
 And after morn s and noon s festivities, 
 
 She took them to the castle court, or yard, 
 
 And dropping from the windows to the ground 
 
 Her silken robes and laces did award 
 
 To each and all of them, some present fair 
 
 Dividing equally, each share and share : 
 
 Pleased, they received them, but less pleased the 
 
 word 
 
 That they received with them of sad farewell 
 Some little sobs and tears there softly fell: 
 *13 
 
194 ; NONNENWERTH, 
 
 Each one, in turn, came near and kissed her cheek, 
 While with full heart she stood, and did not speak : 
 These were the maidens that with roundelay, 
 When Roland was a boy she, queen of May 
 At the rosalia, laid the garland-rose 
 Upon her girlish brow s pure, bright repose, 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 The next morn, all three ladies would take leave 
 Of Ehrenfels, though parting s last reprieve 
 With Hildegarde might be deferred a day 
 They would, at Nonnenwerth, make some delay, 
 Attending while bestowed was her white veil 
 By route of journey it was on their way, 
 A journey beautiful o er hill and dale. 
 The knights of escort waited in the glade, 
 With varied plumes and sashes, bright arrayed, 
 And pages held the stirrups, while they mounted j 
 They rode on horses, in a cavalcade, 
 Fifty knights-at-arms, in all, when counted: 
 But when the drawbridge fell, and Hildegarde 
 Lingering the last one, ere she passed beyond, 
 With foot upon the stirrup, thought how hard 
 To part with childhood s things, associate, fond, 
 She stopped to give them one, last, farewell glance, 
 And bear them still onward in remembrance. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Her bower-window, whose Eolian chord 
 To the spring zephyr made responsive thrill, 
 The woodland park, the stream and rocky ford, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 195 
 
 The softness of the sunrise on the hill, 
 
 And the low murmur of the distant mill : 
 
 Absorbed she gazed , when sudden, the old ward, 
 
 With hand upon the bridle rein, stood near 
 
 In deprecating tenderness half fear : 
 
 li My Lady, have I looked so long in vain, 
 
 That thou wilt never view these towers again, 
 
 That were my posts of watch ? " As the tide 
 
 strands 
 
 Eeluctaut yield their bright waves to the sea, 
 He seemed overwhelmed with his strong agony; 
 Kneeling, he clasped her robe, between his hands, 
 Tightly, and to his lips he lifted it: 
 " In my old age, so desolate, I ll sit 
 To see thy face no more thy face no more ! " 
 At thought of this, convulsive bending o er 
 The hands he pressed, restrainless grew his woe, 
 As the red star of tempest on the flow 
 Of midnight waters in the gloom below : 
 As he had watched for her o er mountain lands, 
 Her wishes, to affection, were commands ; 
 Oft he had borne her o er the torrent sands, 
 To keep her delicate, small feet from damp; 
 And when she was afraid, as children are 
 When twilight lades, and rises the night-star, 
 Twas always Issem that had borne the lamp. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 She laid her hand upon his aged head, 
 
 " Weep not, O Issem," she then sadly said : 
 
 " I go where in the choir s sweet melodies, 
 
196 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 Thy lute songs of old time will softly rise ! 
 Issem, I too, feel quiver in mine eyes, 
 The tears of kind remembrance, and now there 
 I see myself a child with clustering hair, 
 The spring s breath free upon a sunny brow, 
 And mildly, as I bless thine aged one now ! 
 Thy hand light as a fawn s foot, e er to mark 
 The opening flower, the path of upward lark 
 These things shall still go with me to a shrine 
 Of undimmed beauty, as devout as thine ! 
 Then covering her eyes, she said no more ; 
 But hastening, joined those who had gone before. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Departing, all were on the journey then 
 Along the river side, by rock and glen, 
 Till reaching Nonnenwerth, they had such rest 
 As glad reception gave the welcome guest 
 The escort-knights and queenly court were made 
 Encampments in the ground of willow shade, 
 Finding not room for all within the walls : 
 The chapel, hung with ivy coronals, 
 All was made ready for the lofty theme 
 Of praise and sacrifice the altar s gleam 
 Burned with soft luster the attending train 
 Of sweet-voiced nuns upraised a soft refrain, 
 And friends were gathered, and a solemn Mass 
 Was chanted, while in order they did pass 
 Around the rail to gather at her side, 
 When she avowed herself the white Christ-bride, 
 That mystic hour accepted and denied : 
 
A JLEGEND OF THE SHINE. 197 
 
 Her hair was garlanded each separate tress 
 Of seven tresses, touched upon the end 
 With melted wax : a box, that held the dress 
 Of white, was brought then kneeling, she did 
 
 bend, 
 
 The robe was given to the priest to bless 
 The abbess cut the tresses, one by one, 
 And placed the white veil on her all was done. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 After, the glad acclaims of welcome made, 
 
 The day was passed with the rejoicing guests; 
 
 And all the other nuns, vicing, essayed 
 
 To show the rose-bloom of the soul, that resti 
 
 Longest upon religious eminence ; 
 
 Imagination that becomes intense, 
 
 And finer, the perception* of each sense 
 
 The violent contrasts of solitude: 
 
 The mind, reliant on itself, imbued 
 
 With efforts, purposes all vainly strewed 
 
 Beside the green shore and the current s lave, 
 
 Mid roses wild that grew upon a grave, 
 
 Accepts what hope presents, and calls it good, 
 
 Because, but partially, tis understood 
 
 For, knowing things too well, we are not pleased, 
 
 Nothing on earth will satisfy the heart j 
 
 Here is the secret of the thought released, 
 
 To seek, beyond the earth, the better part. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 There was one thing that happened very strange, 
 Just at the moment when she bowed her head, 
 
198 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 And that bestowal of the veil was made, 
 The abbess then reached forward to exchange, 
 With Hildegarde, the taper that she held 
 When lo! as though by unseen hands, twas 
 
 felled 
 
 It dropped and quenched, its swiftly passing flame 
 Catching her veil a moment quickly red 
 Her lambent cheek, as the bright flame that fled, 
 And soon, as whitely paled, as one just dead: 
 Newly asleep that night in a strange place, 
 Her dreams were troubled one familiar face 
 Haunted her memory, and she waked, and heard 
 A low, soft bell that on the midnight stirred 5 
 Then, waking her companion from repose, 
 She asked the meaning of the deepening tone- 
 Who, trembling as in fear, or one alone, 
 Crossing herself, proceeded to disclose 
 To Hildegarde the meaning of the bell. 
 " San Benedetto, sister dear, would tell 
 How pleased he is upon the choice you ve made ! * 
 And yet, she shuddered still as one afraid 
 There was a custom of the olden time, 
 San Benedetto tolled a midnight chime 
 Of deep, unearthly sweetness, whene er one 
 Was added to the convent a white nun : 
 This was to tell her that his great desire 
 Was her continuance of purpose high 
 From the first trial, that she still aspire, 
 And lift her hopes, to Immortality. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 199 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Thus letting her fond heart fold in its blight 
 Ah me ! the fleeting months whose veil was white, 
 Testing the soul that might not choose aright : 
 What sorrow had she missed ? What destiny ? 
 The prayers of yielding hopes surrendered will, 
 Xo tender, last reprieve did them delight 
 The changeful future, who can e er foresee : 
 Hushed, every strong unrest s repining thrill, 
 Only the curving lines grew quivering deep, 
 Where citadels of feeling softly sleep, 
 On the lip s pure rose the brow s Madonna 
 
 grace 
 
 With all that heaven may seek, and earth efface. 
 A year s novitiate of such peaceful balm, 
 The past now dead to her the future blank 
 The final vows, could they bring deeper calm? 
 Or, were they like a towering cloud s dark bank ? 
 
 xc. 
 
 When formed a purpose, we may never know 
 
 What may the sequel of its future show: 
 
 As the deep " Cherr! Gherr!" of the honey-guide 
 
 That leads to shadows of the mountain side, 
 
 Where, following, is found the bees full comb 
 
 If still unwearied will the hunter roam: 
 
 But, for all that O wanderer, beware ! 
 
 The honey-guide may, with the self-same care, 
 
 Lead those who follow into bush or snare, 
 
 The sleeping tiger s, or the lion s lair, 
 
200 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 Or to the under-growth whose cobra hides, 
 
 And where the stealthy panther s footstep glides : 
 
 The day came of the last decisive lt yes," 
 
 " What is thy purpose ? n asked those whom she 
 
 met, 
 
 " Or hath the year brought unto thee regret ? " 
 She shook her head and smiled : they answered, 
 
 " Bless 
 
 Thee, sister dear ! and may thy hopes be true, 
 And sweet as precious frankincense whose dew 
 The desert sands have gathered through the night, 
 And yet, behold ! it bloorneth at the light, 
 And in the blazing heat of the noon-tide, 
 It does not perish , trampling hoofs shed wide 
 Its soft, rich perfume on the desert air, 
 Imperishable ever, it is there. 
 
 xoi. 
 
 Again the church was filled ; invited guests 
 Crowded the portico ; and rich bequests 
 Were given ; and the grand, pontifical, 
 High Mass was chanted by a cardinal: 
 A sheet of parchment, with gilt arabesque, 
 The oath of formula, lay on the desk; 
 And on the floor was a black carpet, spread 
 Prostrate upon it, on her face she lay : 
 A funeral-cloth thrown o er from foot to head, 
 Upon it neither flower nor fragrant spray, 
 But in the center was, embroidered white, 
 A human skull, betwen the torches light 
 That burned at the four corners; while a bell, 
 
A LEGEND THE RHINE. 201 
 
 With muffled cadence on the wind s deep swell 
 Was tolled, the cardinal her thus conjured 
 With hope immortal, beyond earth, assured : 
 <c thou who sleepest in cold death, awake ! 
 God will enlighten thee, for his own sake! " 
 
 XCII. 
 
 At the first invocation, the nuns drew 
 
 The black cloth off; and, at the second, she 
 
 Arose upon the carpet, on one knee : 
 
 Again one light went out a sharp wind blew 
 
 Into a doorway opened some, that knew 
 
 The cause of her resolve, made strange remark, 
 
 How omen- like it was, the taper dark 
 
 A second time " Come back, appear, reply," 
 
 It surely asked against her destiny: 
 
 As it was newly lighted, so sublime 
 
 It gleamed, a signal of the future time : 
 
 At the third call, arising to her feet 
 
 The abbess, with the black veil, came to meet 
 
 Her then she signed the oath of formula, 
 
 While all was breathless silence, and hushed awe: 
 
 And, robing o er her tunic the black veil, 
 
 Her pale, fair face seemed more serenely pale, 
 
 She was enveloped in life s somber pall, 
 
 And bound by final vows, without recall. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Hildegarde was now a devoted nun, 
 
 Her life on earth and Koland s death were one 
 
 In her absorbing thought; her patient heart 
 
202 
 
 jSped to eternal hope, after a time : 
 First bends the yielding bow wherefrom the dart 
 Seeks upward flight and far the chapel chime 
 Found her, each morning, midst the lovely throng, 
 Going through garden-path and corridor; 
 The while, she smiling, looked up to the strong, 
 Bright castrle of her father, watching for 
 The loving parents who had come to dwell 
 In sight of her, for greeting, or farewell: 
 At morn and eve, her brightly waving hand, 
 They might seek out from all, and understand 
 As we in days of God a thousand years, 
 From that time unto this, may see her tears: 
 Martyr and advocate ! behold, tis well, 
 Protest and supplication thou mayst tell ! 
 
 XOIV. 
 
 Return of ftolanrl 
 
 Meanwhile, on Saxon borders, Roland stayed, 
 
 But now, alas ! too long, too long delayed ; 
 
 For, sometimes in Arragon or Navarre, 
 
 Swift was his post changed, with revolting war, 
 
 To this place and to that, of battles din 
 
 Incursions, devastating also, wherein 
 
 The Saxons were aggressive, while the Franks, 
 
 In fierce retaliation, sought the banks 
 
 Of all their boundary rivers, to repress 
 
 Holding dominions, by each strong fortress, 
 
 Till permanent subjection, at his feet, 
 
A LEGEND (ft THE RHJXE. 203 
 
 Made, everywhere, each strong success complete 
 
 To Charlemagne, whose measures were defense, 
 
 And not ambition violated sense 
 
 Of barbarous craft on part of Wittikind, 
 
 Who robbed, and who destroyed who did not 
 
 bind 
 
 Himself with honor s pledge that had been given, 
 Though profuse to submission mean, when driven , 
 But winter s barriers of ice and snow, 
 Made each, in interval, his plans forego : 
 Then weary, homeward, Roland turned, at last, 
 When coldest blight had reached the innocence 
 Of the love, watching long, that called him thence ; 
 Many a peril, he ha.d risked, and passed 
 His banner heavy, with a shadowed world, 
 Soon in his ancient halls it might be furled. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Alas! the return, along the peopled shore, 
 Of Roland the welcome he would meet no more ! 
 Alas ! the day that, on the breeze was borne, 
 The blast rung sweet and loud from one clear horn, 
 When maidens, singing, had with garlands come: 
 But why, too, were tears ? why were stern lips 
 
 dumb? 
 
 Issem, whose answers low, were sad, and brief, 
 Told the strange story to his stricken chief: 
 How can the deadly dread that words control, 
 Make molten barrenness of life s one goal ? 
 Like a staute, beside his steed he stood, 
 And felt, had he died, ere that hour, twere good ; 
 
2 4 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 Then low drooped on the sable mane, like lead, 
 All the utter strength of his proud, young head; 
 Oh, let us not ask if she ever knew 
 How truly he lived, and how fondly true. 
 
 xcvi. 
 
 There was feast at the board, and welcoming, 
 With the bards, the guests, and the noble king; 
 But for one who had wandered out alone, 
 A minstrel chanted this solemn, sweet tone: 
 
 the j|ui8tKel0 rfhani. 
 
 Never on earth ! 
 
 Never on earth ! 
 
 To meet any more, but to live apart, 
 Each passing day, like a veil o er the heart ! 
 Oh, never to feel the exquisite soul, 
 Like the bird set free to its wingward goal ! 
 
 Never on earth ! 
 
 Never on earth ! 
 
 Though the light go out of the West each day, 
 Full of harvested hours the season s May, 
 Coming and going, a cycle between, 
 Dividing sad hearts and that which has been ! 
 
 Might it be yet? 
 
 Oh, vain regret ! 
 
 The change of a bitterness turning sweet, 
 A life with its greatest crown at your feet 
 Might your dear hands fall in their own loved way, 
 Ah ! those lips are dumb, and those still eyes say: 
 
A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 205 
 
 We live as dead ! 
 
 Joy s roses fled ! 
 
 But, dear, though there never may come replies, 
 To the faithful heart, wearing only sighs, 
 Still twilight shall fall into purple haze, 
 And mornings shall long fill their golden days ! 
 
 Forgetting not! 
 
 What e er life s lot! 
 Though forever far, beyond portals pale, 
 Are the sworn abiding, and sweet avail ! 
 Until death shall come where hope hath striven, 
 Love will live on, until blest in heaven ! 
 
 Forget me not ! 
 
 Forget me not ! 
 
 When the dust is over the brave, bright brow, 
 As the blight is over thy fond, sweet vow ! 
 Ah ! thy footstep, bruising the green-sward bed, 
 Shall not waken my veiled and slumbering head ! 
 
 xcvn. 
 
 With the burning stars and his lonely mood, 
 
 The singer then left him well understood 
 
 Pain s thought was as strong as a chainless flood; 
 
 Roland hid and wept in the underwood : 
 
 Honors were vain that the faithful king 
 
 On him lavished affections offering 
 
 All the crowns, his renowned young years should 
 
 bring, 
 
 Were truly the ashes of roses now 
 They might coldly fade on his lonely brow; 
 
206 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 For he turned once more from his mountain home, 
 And journeyed to pray at the shrine of Rome, 
 And knelt at the feet of the friendly Pope: 
 " O Father, displace from me this great woe ! 
 Let the life, I saved, give me love s one hope ! 
 Or, let me but wish the assassin s blow 
 At thy feet, had laid me, never to know 
 Refusal, thy clemency may not show ! 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 tl They said she is given to God, my son ! 
 
 To God be content let his will be done ! 
 
 Nay, for we cannot since the veil is black !" 
 
 So, disconsolate then, he journeyed back, 
 
 If his skiff went ever across the Khine, 
 
 If he dared to seek her with word or sign, 
 
 If he dared to ask of her own heart s moan 
 
 Of all this now, there is little known : 
 
 Love s lore is lost in a thousand years, 
 
 But the cost is kept of its faithful tears ; 
 
 Yea, sometimes, a little, as it appears : 
 
 And though these are of things not now known 
 
 well 
 
 Yet the vague, dim hints of tradition tell 
 That for years, alone, in Kolandseck tower, 
 He lived, letting wither life s love in flower. 
 
 xcix. 
 
 What more or less of it records state 
 
 That Eoland would watch in his window-chair 
 
 From his castle, o erlooking the convent, where 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 207 
 
 He had built the towers still standing there, 
 Till the sunset fell to the evening late, 
 Strict abnegation Oh yes ! it were well 
 But well he loved her, and love would rebel : 
 When the glow of the gloom and the dusk fell, oft 
 Up and down the Rhine went his oar s dip soft ; 
 In the garden path, she might just delay- 
 He should see her, though no word he might say; 
 And he often watched till the dawn of day. 
 
 c. 
 
 One day she was missed, and he heard the bell, 
 
 O er willows and waves, a requiem swell 
 
 Twas thought that he died in his chair, with pain 
 
 Of his stricken heart, but he roused again, 
 
 To go back to the wars, and drown his woe 
 
 In the crimson tide of the battle flow, 
 
 To perish, to ask of the grave its rest, 
 
 Midst the conquering brave, foremost and best ; 
 
 How he lived and loved, how he died we know; 
 
 How he sought the end in the Pyrenees, 
 
 While careless of all life s immunities, 
 
 And glad to seek death from the grief of life, 
 
 Yea, glad to seek death on the fields of strife: 
 
 "Once more, once more ! " pealed his trumpet s 
 
 clear call, 
 
 "Come now gallant knights ! Come to Eoncevalles! 
 Let me find thee, O death, somewhere, someway ! 
 Farewell, Rolandseck ! fare thee well, to-day ! 
 She is dead, my beautiful ! She is clay ! " 
 
 ^^T 
 
 TJNIVERSITT 
 
208 NONNENWEBTH, 
 
 01. 
 
 With still undying love of liberty, 
 Treacherous Lupo, Duke of Gascony, 
 Submitting tribute unto Charlemagne, 
 Had all this while been suffered to retain 
 His Duchy in the Pyrenees so slight, 
 Under the Crown of France, must tenure be : 
 Its fastness in the mountains, near the sea, 
 Gave it position and ancestral right 
 Conceding little to contending might : 
 Only when armies made obedience sure, 
 The king s authority became secure j 
 But Lupo s fierce ambition still denied 
 To Charlemagne the mountain s southern side, 
 Only acknowledging his sovereignty, 
 When, distant, unexercised its rule might be ; 
 And yet, on every side, surrounded, he 
 Perceived himself, while mad, ungoverned rage 
 Still prompted him, the futile war to wage, 
 Miscalculating effort to engage 
 In further outrage now against the king: 
 In this continued feud and suffering, 
 Each member of his family, defeat 
 Disastrously incurred and woe complete. 
 
 OIL 
 
 But yet, he was not warned ; and when he knew, 
 The ravaging, wild Saxons, on the North, 
 Imperatively called the monarch forth, 
 Who, late confiding in his promise true, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE EHINE. 209 
 
 Left but the garrison armed with a few: 
 Lupo, from his mountain fastness, saw 
 How slow the heavy horses, forced to draw 
 The baggage and the treasure, up the steep 
 And shelving footholds o er the torrents deep 
 Of rocky buttressed hills, involving woods 
 All trackless and defiles, and mountain floods; 
 Or, if a road the skirting hillside s base 
 Above the rugged precipice, its place 
 Where ambush and concealment might beset, 
 The way, on every side a wary net. 
 
 cm. 
 
 Then Lupo s purpose did in thought awake; 
 
 How easy it would be to undertake, 
 
 The prompt destruction of the king s rear guard, 
 
 With probable success rapine s reward 
 
 Was sure, he knew, and punishment remote: 
 
 As flame-like, ghastly lights, o er marshes float, 
 
 His wild thoughts quickly flashed, and then grew 
 
 faint ; 
 
 The consequence the king s wrath he might paint 
 In vivid colors to his wavering mind; 
 But who hath reckless will, that is not blind 
 And then the chance, and the revenge so near, 
 Were cherished most, and dominant o er fear. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 The king was suffered, undisturbed, to pass 
 With the first great division of his host 
 The weight of baggage made the second mass 
 *14 
 
210 NONNENWEETH, 
 
 Linger behind; and its commander s post 
 Was Roland s dangerous, as he might dare : 
 Anselm and Eggiard, cousins, did share 
 His watchful duty and unceasing care 
 All doomed to suffer, most from unforeseen 
 Disaster terrible where darkly lean, 
 Even to-day, the deep and dense high wood 
 Where long, and vainly strong, Roland withstood 
 The onslaught of the Gascons: sudden life 
 Seemed bristling all the hillsides, and the strife 
 Of distant arrows, quickly sped, that fell : 
 The Franks were forced down to the bottom dell 
 Of Roncevalles; and still the Gascons pressed 
 Triumph insatiate, that death confessed. 
 
 cv. 
 
 There the brave Franks, in iron-armor, driven, 
 Embarrassed by their arms, confused, and riven 
 From the main body, fought with desperate zeal 
 But nothing could their ambushed fate repeal ; 
 And, knowing not the road-ways, they were blind 
 With blood, and with their doubts, comrades to find 
 From foes inveterate : thus Roland s friend, 
 Truest and dearest, Oliver the brave, 
 Did, in such sudden madness, o er him bend 
 Who gladly offered life, his friend s to save, 
 A thousand times, as they fought, side by side. 
 With valor equal, and with equal pride; 
 Now, blind with his own blood, he felled a blow, 
 On the bright brow twas Roland he struck low, 
 Who, reeling faint, rebounded quick again, 
 
Af LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 211 
 
 His sterner ardor now enchafed with pain : 
 The nearest knights clung round him, and the fold 
 Of his rich standard staunched the wound that bled; 
 One glance he gave its broidered arms of gold; 
 Then, like a stag at bay, he shook his head, 
 And once more to the centre, forward sped, 
 O er many a Gascon pillowed on his shield, 
 And many a brave companion of the field, 
 That in the equal conflict would not yield. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Maddened, he saw not, if the glittering hoof 
 Struck on the cuirass of some pulseless^heart, 
 With sparkling, ruthless speed where death was 
 
 proof, 
 
 No pang of crushing steel could make them start 
 Swift bounding o er them his dread pathway lay: 
 Hopeless, he knew the desperate, fatal day, 
 And sought his last stand in the thickest fray: 
 In the dense ambush of the deepest glade, 
 Close ranged the spikes of iron palisade; 
 And yet, the narrow stream its pathway made 
 Down through the center of the long defile, 
 Whose steep declivity reached o r er a mile : 
 Bold each sharp pinnacle sublime and bluff, 
 Oppressed with grandeur we behold enough : 
 A fortressed castle on the southern end, 
 Its narrow, deep-set windows, gleaming, send 
 Slant light into the darkness, weaving shapes 
 Their hollow, muffled veils strange beauty drapes 
 Around the wild flowers and the mountain ash, 
 And where the torrents o er their barriers dash. 
 
212 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 CVII. 
 
 x 
 All the high woods still bristled into life 
 
 They came the Gascons to the bloody strife: 
 Many, entangled in the fray, once calling 
 Defiance or farewell to friend or foe, 
 
 Swooned to the bottoms, where the wrenched rock 
 falling, 
 
 Drowned their last struggles in the surge below 
 The stream was red with battle dark with death, 
 And soundful with the pangs of parting breath 
 A disentangled rest for foe and foe : 
 Then here, at last, Lupo and Koland met, 
 The tide of battle not determined yet: 
 Lupo had stormed the fortress, and had won 
 The outer gates resistance nearly o er: 
 " Sons of Abu Taurus ! one blow more, 
 And the proud effort of achievement s done ! " 
 But at this moment rose a mighty shout 
 That changed the fierce, long struggle into rout : 
 " Turn to the utmost, craven ! a V entrance ! 
 Turn to the closest point thy gleaming lance ! 
 Here are my fellows only thirty left 
 That through thy net of ambush, pathways cleft ! " 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 As meteors burn that burst in midnight skies, 
 Lupo, on Roland, turned his blazing eyes 
 In wrath s defiance and in half surprise 
 Giving no response, asking no retreat ; 
 Knowing at once that death must share defeat, 
 He felled his cimeter, flashing and fleet: 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 213 
 
 Swift as the lightning that in storm-clouds play, 
 His lance, a hundred glittering fragments lay; 
 Roland s last vengeance might retaliate 
 But no, he played with chance, reserving fate; 
 Partly, because he wished revenge to sate 
 Its last, deep justice on his dastard foe, 
 And that he might, himself, some final blow 
 Receive for. all the anguish of his soul 
 At sight of Lupo, stirred its deep control. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 He parried quickly, and still held the strife, 
 A moment, sometimes at the point of life, 
 Till Lupo s horse with one loud, anguished neigh, 
 Falling in struggle, on his rider lay: 
 Roland dismounted on the bloody soil, 
 And helped his enemy to rise u No foil 
 Or accident shall bar our mutual hate ! 
 We stand together, now defend your fate ! 
 There, still your sword, and here still flashes mine, 
 Our lives the vantage, and strong death the line 
 Of stern, divided strife ! the Red-Cross sign 
 And thy pale Crescent well are matched, Lupo, 
 And in one grave, to-night, must slumber low ! " 
 Again their swords crossed, but the sanguine flow 
 Of Roland s wounded brow warned him, that faint 
 Cessation must come o er him soon : no plaint 
 Stirred his proud lip, till staggering he paled : 
 Lupo perceived this chance, and quick availed 
 His lifted cimeter to end the strife ; 
 
214 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 One keen, relentless thrust but Roland, rife 
 
 "With latent energy in death s last throe, 
 
 Gave him, in turn, an unexpected blow : 
 
 The Gascons were the victors in that fight ; 
 
 But Lupo never knew his triumph s might 
 
 Dead, beside Roland there they lay those two: 
 
 Above them, that same nightj falling the dew 
 
 Alike on each; the enmity, they knew, 
 
 Beneath it coldly quenched the false the true. 
 
 ex. 
 
 "Was it at sunset or at dawn of day 
 
 This battle terrible no records say; 
 
 So great was the defeat, so dear the slain, 
 
 That history withheld, much of the pain 
 
 Of its recital while lived Charlemagne; 
 
 And, after the great life of that great king ? 
 
 So much romance and record to it cling, 
 
 That we are left in wonder wondering. 
 
 Roland threw oft his helmet, ere his fall ; 
 
 And where it dropped, the grass took crimson stain; 
 
 And ever since, a flower s coronal, 
 
 In sweet remembrance of it, doth remain, 
 
 Blooming in that deep dell of Pyrenees, 
 
 And called for it, in tryst of his last peace, 
 
 The lt Casque de Roland/ bright in sun and breeze; 
 
 And on the mountain there is shown a rock; 
 
 Hollowed, indented by the riving shock, 
 
 When there he struck his great sword "DurandaP 
 
 To shatter it what hand could e er recall 
 
 The valor that had wielded it ? alone 
 
MJNIVERSITT) 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE KHINE. 215 
 
 It perished in his hand cold as a stone 
 The fiery flint that magic steel must own : 
 And this is why that rocky cleft, to-day 
 A curving line across the mountain s way, 
 Is shown the " Breche de Roland/ so they say, 
 
 And at his horn s last, marvelous, sweet sound, 
 The forest birds fell dead for miles around ; 
 Its long, clear peal of agony intense 
 Startled the king, and thrilled his fear s quick sense, 
 Who heard it at St. Jean : (i I must go hence," 
 He said, " that sound is Roland s dying blast, 
 And his defeat and death it doth forecast ! " 
 
 And so it was : there, shivered, near the stream, 
 His bright blade long invincible bereft 
 
 Of all its valiant ardor ; and the gleam, 
 
 Through the dark sedges of the strong shield, cleft, 
 
 Its gilded arabesque, from crown to base, 
 Once the fond care of armor-bearers now 
 Lending its lustre to the pallid face, 
 
 And lying heavily upon the brow, 
 
 That, it had shielded oft o er that wild spot, 
 
 The eve closed and the combat he forgot. 
 
 We see him in the red dust, where he fell; 
 
 We know how throbbed the high heart s parting 
 
 swell ; 
 
 How tight the broken hilt in his closed hand, 
 How firm the closed lip from its last command : 
 
<> NONNENWERTH, 
 
 Among the slain, the fairest and the best, 
 
 Close to the sanguine sward, his pale cheek pressed: 
 
 How soft the starlight and the moonlight rose 
 
 After the tumult, o er the dread repose 1 
 
 No sob, no sound upon the evening s close; 
 
 Love, that had mourned him, was where weeping s 
 
 stilled: 
 Night deepened, and soft winds through pine 
 
 boughs thrilled: 
 
 Wrapt in his own cooled blood a crimson pall 
 Amidst the woods and hills of Roncevalles 
 Dear dead and beautiful ! and that is all ! 
 
 CXIIL 
 
 The Convent of Nonnenwerth still is seen 
 From Roderberg s height where the turrets lean: 
 And nature, who deviates not her way, 
 Is still as she was in the olden day : 
 Still the rays of morn, over Kolandseck, 
 On the Lake of Nonnenwerth, softly break; 
 And the Convent windows reflect the light 
 From the basalt pinnacle, steep and bright j 
 And green is the Isle, in the Island stream, 
 As a radiant emerald in its gleam : 
 Still the Vesper bells of the Convent ring, 
 And the fringing willows their shadows fling 
 Dusk-waving willows, full of trembling gloom, 
 Where strangers linger near her quiet tomb ; 
 And there she sleepeth, for a thousand years 
 Her sweet eyes closed upon the troubled tears: 
 Surely, God gave, at last, the just reward 
 
Still the Vesper bells of the Convent ring, 
 And the fringing willows their shadows fling 
 Dusk-waving willows, full of trembling gloom. 
 Where strangers linger near her quiet tomb; 
 And there she sleepeth, for a thousand years 
 Her sweet eyes closed upon the troubled tears." 
 
 Page 116. Stanza CA III. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 217 
 
 Of her blessiDg lost, unto Hildegarde ! 
 Let us hope, her joy had in Heaven birth, 
 Beyond the sorrow she had known on Earth ! 
 
 cxiv. 
 
 She looks, no more, up to the tower height ; 
 She looks, no more, upon love s flower blight 
 Where the Arch moulders, and the peristyles, 
 In the last radiance of the sunset-smiles ! 
 In despair s surcease Roland built that tow r 
 Of love s watch lingering, hour after hour, 
 When his faithful heart lived and wept, alone, 
 In bitter anguish that is dead and gone ! 
 Fair is " Rascida Vallis " far and fair 
 The " Casque de Roland " is still blooming there ! 
 Should you walk beside its bright, crimson bell, 
 Sit down and list to what the maidens tell, 
 For I have told it, not one-half, so well ! 
 There s the " Breche de Roland " its fissure deep; 
 And chapel where he lieth, long asleep! 
 And may its memories thy kind heart keep ; 
 For true this story, though the fate so hard, 
 Of faithful Roland and fair Hildegarde ! 
 
218 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE 1. STANZA V. 
 Blown seaward unto thee, O Golden Gate; 
 
 "Blows with a perfume of songs and memories, 
 Blows from the capes of the past over sea to the bays of the 
 present. Swinburne s Hesperia. 
 
 NOTE 2. STANZA VII. 
 The night had come! Mons. Jovis under snow, 
 
 Mons. Jovis was the ancient name of Mount St. Bernard. A 
 temple of Jupiter formerly occupied the site of the present famous 
 monastery. 
 
 NOTE 3. STANZA X. 
 Byzantine fabrics from the cities old : 
 
 There-was a sort of cloth known to the ancients, and called 
 Bysus, the quality of its texture is not now exactly known, 
 whether cotton, linen, or silk is a matter of dispute. 
 
 NOTE 4. STANZA XI. 
 An Indian Goddess of Tanjore s great shrine; 
 
 The magnificence of the East Indian temples is well known to 
 the reader, particularly those of the Deccan, and the more southern 
 portion of India: Their structure is peculiar; in many instances 
 they are excavated out of the rocky hillsides, as are those of Ele- 
 phanta, and Kenneri, and the great cave of Carli; spacious, lofty 
 and richly sculptured. The pyramidal temples called Pagodas, are 
 also numerous in the south of India; but in grandeur and beauty, 
 they are all eclipsed bythat of Tanjore, a city long celebrated as 
 the most learned and opulent in the south of India. Previous 
 to 1833 Lord Valentia gave a cursory account of its wonderful tem 
 ple, although he was not allowed to enter its sacred precincts, but 
 from the door he obtained a view of the interior, which contained 
 the gigantic figure of a bull, in black granite; this revered animal 
 was a favorable specimen of Hindoo sculpture. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 219 
 
 NOTE 5. STANZA XVII. 
 
 Surprised Noureddin in his mighty tent, 
 
 Gilbert De Lacy, Knight Templar, was one of the Crusaders 
 possessing English fiefs : He accomplished this dangerous feat in 
 the reign of Stephen; I have inserted it, although occurring a cen 
 tury or two later than the theme of the poem with that desire 
 of adding to romance, historic incident, and with perhaps a little of 
 the pardonable pride, of a great precedent, Sir Walter Scott, who 
 introduced his ancestral name of Scott, in his "Lay of the last 
 Minstrel." 
 
 NOTE 6. STANZA XVII I. 
 Like webs in winter, rock to rock enlaced; 
 
 The banks of the Arno on either side, are flanked by plantations 
 of the olive and vine, the deep blue green of the former contrasting 
 strikingly with the light verdure of the vine leaves. They are 
 planted in alternate rows; and the intervening soil frequently 
 made to yield a crop of barley. Towards evening we saw a few 
 fireflies, but these beautiful and remarkable insects do not appear 
 to flourish in Europe as in the East, where they convert the whole 
 atmosphere into a galaxy of twinkling stars. The cicada made a 
 prodigious chirping by the road side; almost the whole way from 
 Home it kept up an incessant noise, scarcely audible when the car 
 riage was in motion, but sufficient to stun the ear the moment of a 
 halt. Notes of a Wanderer W. F. Gumming, M. D. 
 
 NOTE 7. STANZA XIX. 
 
 These were the haunting Gnomes of Whisperthal; 
 
 The Whisper is a small tributary ef the river Rhine, regarded by 
 the inhabitants with awe, on account of its voiceful cadences. The 
 Stone of Lorch is not far from it, on which the Gnomes are sup 
 posed to sacrifice young ladies unless they are rescued. 
 
 NOTE 8. STANZA XXI. 
 Whose roofless walls amid the forest stand 
 
 The ruins of Ehrenfels are lonely and beautiful, in the forest of 
 Niederwald. The Chapel of St. Roch is above it on the hill, and 
 the views in the neighborhood are in keeping with the sublimity 
 of the Beech and Oak shades of Niederwald. The luxuriant vine 
 yards of Rudesheim are in the vicinity. 
 
 NOTE 9. STANZA XXVII. 
 But \vho were Hunald and the feared Lupo ? 
 
 Eudes, the father of Hunald, had leagued with the Saracens, 
 against Charles Martel, who still triumphed, and forgave his apos- 
 tacy, and his enmity. After the death of Eudes his territories were 
 
220 NONNENWERTH, 
 
 divided between his three sons, and his repugnance to the French 
 was transmitted with his territories ; Hunald, who was the oldest 
 of the sons, received Aquitaine for his portion, but was soon 
 forced to submit to Charles, though the spirit of revolt still existed. 
 Hatton was blinded by his brother, Hunald, in order that he 
 might acquire supremacy; but disappointment and remorse the 
 continued defeat of his efforts at revolt, made the courage of Hun 
 ald sink, and in disgust he gave a temporary farewell to the world, 
 resigning his Dukedom to his son "Waifer, he retired into a Mon 
 astery. Waifer was equally turbulent and so it went, Hunald sub 
 sequently leaving the Monastery, and again calling all Aquitaine to 
 arms. Lupo was the cousin of Waifer, and the nephew of Hun 
 ald; whether Abu Taurus was the other brother of Hunald is a 
 question, but Lupo was really the nephew of Hunald. The early 
 accounts of those personages vary, according to different authorities 
 I have, perhaps, taken advantage of this as far as some slight 
 changes of time, place or character, allowable to historic romance* 
 in some of the statements. Abu Taurus was really a Saracen emir, 
 and whether Lupo s family had intermarried with the Mohammed 
 ans is not on record, but merely supposition, on the grounds that 
 such marriages had become occasional, especially between the 
 Christians of the Asturias, and the Saracens, the latter having gain 
 ed supremacy over them. There is recently published a new edition 
 of the original Eginhard s life of Charlemagne, but I have refer 
 ence to the version of G. P . R. James, whose notes from Egin- 
 hard are very extensive, together with notes from the annals called 
 Loisclani, and others. This is also true as to the remarks in the 
 preface of Nonnenwerth about Roland s parentage and place of 
 burial, 
 
 NOTE 10. STANZA XXX. 
 In Bhady dells the Maccabees had passed, 
 
 The ruins of this castle are on the road from Gaza to Jerusalem, 
 and the more modern village of Kobab is not far from it. Near by, 
 are the remains of an ancient Christian church, the castle and 
 church are mentioned by Cuison, and must have been still in good 
 preservation, during the eighth century. 
 
 NOTE 11. STANZA XXXI. 
 The Pools of Grihon where a King was crowned, 
 Solomon. 
 
 NOTE 12. STANZA XXXIII. 
 
 There were some pious merchants selling beads, 
 
 Although the Rosary in its present form, was not used so early 
 as the date mentioned, yet, a sort of chaplet for numbering 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 221 
 
 prayers was in existence. Pebbles and other things were used for 
 the same purpose. The Mohammedans use a Rosary something 
 like that of the Christians. 
 
 NOTE 13. STANZA XXXV. 
 The Holy Cross, long hidden from all view. 
 
 The Holy Cross, and the crosses of the two thieves, after the cru 
 cifixion were thrown into the town ditch, or as some accounts 
 state, into an old vault near by; here they were soon covered by 
 the refuse of the city. The Empress Helena made a pilgrimage to 
 Jerusalem, in her old age, and threatened all the Jewish inhabitants 
 with torture and death, lif they did not produce the Holy Cross from 
 the place where their ancestors had concealed it, one old fellow 
 who was said to possess authentic information, was nearly starved, 
 in prison, when he consented to reveal the secret. The Legends 
 of the Cross are numerous and some of them poetically beautiful. 
 The old Jew mentioned, petitioned heaven, whereupon the earth 
 trembled, soon a sweet odor issued forth the soil in that spot be 
 ing removed, the three crosses were discovered, together, with the 
 superscription belonging to the principal one, whose identity then 
 became a fresh anxiety to the Empress, giving rise to those 
 numerous speculations that are since extant, and so full of mystic 
 analogy. 
 
 NOTE 14. STANZA XXXVIII. 
 
 Such was really the impressive and princely gift of Haroun Al 
 Raschid to Charlemagne the keys of the Holy City and the 
 Christian standard. 
 
 NOTE 15. STANZA L. 
 I am exacting as the King Clovis, 
 
 The name of Clovis is remembered as much on account of the 
 vase of Soissons, as for any event of his reign. It is thought, this 
 elegant vase belonged to the Sacred buildings of Rheims which 
 were despoiled of many articles of value. It was of immense size 
 and exceedingly curious workmanship. St. Remi, the eloquent 
 and talented Bishop of Rheims, whose fame jjat this time was 
 spreading through Gall, had influence with Clovis, and asked him 
 to restore the vase. "Follow me to Soissons, " replied the King 
 to the messengers, "there the booty is to be divided, and if it be in 
 my power, the prelate s desire shall be gratified." On their arrival 
 at Soissons the troops assembled, and the mass of the plunder lay 
 in a glittering heap, waiting to be portioned off, each man accord 
 ing to his lot. The King turning to the soldiers whom he had so 
 often led to victory pointed to the magnificent vase and desired 
 that it might be assigned to him; many of the soldiers at once con 
 sented, but one, jealous of the invasion of the usual custom, or 
 
222 NONNENWEKTH, 
 
 hoping to obtain the prize himself, raised his axe and dashed it 
 down on the vase, exclaiming in answer to the King s demand, 
 "thou shalt have nothing here but that which fortune shall give 
 thee by lot." For a moment all was silent consternation, but the 
 general voice assigning the vase to Clovis, it was returned, 
 although so sadly injured, to the messenger of the Bishop. It may 
 be supposed a barbarian monarch would find it not easy to suppress 
 his resentment at so great an outrage and provocation, and his 
 power and popularity were sufficient to uphold him in any meas 
 ure, however extreme against the culprit, but with strong self con 
 trol, he maintained that composure to which he owed his suprem 
 acy, and power over his subjects. One year after, at the general 
 assembly of the people, in the Champs de Mars, when according to 
 the custom, all the warriors presented themselves before the mon 
 arch to show that their arms and equipments were kept in good 
 order, the young soldier who had broken the vase presented him 
 self with signs of negligence in the condition of his weapons, in 
 any event, such accusation could easily be made for slight cause, 
 and when he stood before the King, the latter exclaimed in wrath, 
 "None show themselves here with such arms as thine, thy lance, 
 thy battle axe, all, are disgraceful to a soldier !" The young man 
 stooped in silence to pick up his axe from where the King t had 
 thrown it, but as he did so, Clovis with a blow of his weapon 
 called a francisque, smote him to the ground never to rise again, 
 saying, "so did st thou strike the vase of Soissons." 
 
 NOTE 16. STANZA LI. 
 
 Each shoulder marked, each shell.medallioned hat, 
 A scallop-shell on the front of the broad brimmed hat, and the 
 red cross embroidered or braided on the left shoulder of the cloak 
 destinguished the returned pilgrim. 
 
 NOTE 17. STANZA LII. 
 The Duke Friuli, and brave Count Gerold, 
 
 Heric, Duke of Friuli, commanded an immense and willing 
 army against the Huns, for Charlemagne, and returned with the 
 largest booty that had ever been ceptured by any of his armaments, 
 a portion of this was taken to Eome by Angelbert. Count Gerold 
 was another of Charlemagne s officers, who with the Duke of 
 Friuli commanded the forces on the frontier of Saxony; he was 
 slain while addressing his army preparatory to a general battle . 
 The Duke Friuli was also subsequently led into ambush and killed 
 with all, his followers. 
 
 NOTE 18. STANZA LXII. 
 Loud voices called Campulus and Paschal, 
 
 The hatred which Campulus and Paschal, the two disappointed 
 aspirants to the Papacy had conceived against the more successful 
 
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 223 
 
 Leo, had slumbered, but was not extinct. The ecclesiastical sit 
 uations held by the two factions of Romans and the favor with 
 which they were regarded by the unsuspecting Leo himself, gave 
 them many opportunities of revenge. They hoped by a mixture of 
 boldness and art to escape the consequence of their crime. The 
 moment they chose for the perpetration of their design was while 
 the Pope, attended by all the clergy and followed by the 
 populace, rode through a part of the city performing what they 
 called the Greater Litany. Paschal and Campulus were placed 
 close to the.person of the Chief Pontiff, and are said to have receiv 
 ed from him some new mark of kindness on that very morning. 
 All passed tranquilly till the line of the procession approached the 
 monastery of St. Stephen and St. Sylvester, and even then, the ban 
 ners and crosses, the clerks and chorists which preceeded were 
 permitted to advance till suddenly as the higher clergy began to 
 traverse the space before the building, armed men were seen min 
 gling among the people. The march of the procession was ob 
 structed. A panic seized both the populace and the clergy, all fled 
 but Campulus, Paschal and their abettors, and Leo was left 
 alone in the hands of the conspirators. The Pontiff was immedi 
 ately assailed and cast upon the ground, and with eager and trem 
 bling hands for crime is generally fearful the traitors proceeded 
 to attempt the extinction of his sight and the mutilation of his 
 tongue. It is possible that the struggles of their unfortunate victim 
 disappointed the strokes of the conspirators, and that his exhaustion 
 from terror, exertion and loss of blood deceived them into the 
 belief that they had more than accomplished their purpose; 
 dispersing the moment the deed was committed, the chief conspira 
 tors left the apparently lifeless body of the prelate to be dragged 
 into the monastery]of St. Erasmus. See Life of Charlemagne by G-. 
 P. E. James, Esq. 
 
WHERE SHE SLEEPS IN SANTA CLARA. 
 
 stately and pale, my Lady, you sleep, 
 First falling leaves of the winter wind sweep 
 Down on thy fair feet, and over thy head; 
 Thy sensitive lips have not a word said, 
 Of the cold or the rain for many a week: 
 Can it be I still would list them to speak, 
 And they do not ? from thy bonny brown eye 
 A glance never more, I lean tenderly, 
 Where I only may see, oval and dark, 
 Thy bed hollowed out in the wild-wood park, 
 Where the bird shall linger, that comes in spring, 
 A sad sweet singer who will lift his wing 
 And leave more lonely the spot of thy rest, 
 As trembles his shadow across thy breast : 
 There are walks where thy feet^o more may tread. 
 Like the mid-summer rose, thy bloom is fled: 
 We kissed thee, and covered, and called thee dead. 
 
 The author s mother, who died October 18th, 1879. 
 *15 
 
226 "ET ELLE EST MUETTE." 
 
 But to thy freed spirit, are other things 
 Than the birds that droop with o er-wearied wings, 
 Or the autumn sun s dim, declining rays, 
 O er thy burial-place after vanished days, 
 Not so vainly sweet as the cross and wreath, 
 We left there to perish the first lone eve ; 
 Serenely secure now thy hope and faith, 
 While, alas 1 forever we love and grieve ! 
 
 CHEISTMAS EVE, 1879. 
 
 " ET ELLE EST MUETTE." 
 
 POWERS GEEEK SLAVE. 
 
 [HERE is no quiver in the grace that lies 
 
 Across her downcast eyes : 
 And out of marble hath a chisel made. 
 The quiet, pallid hands so languid laid 
 Naked, and with your eyes upon her set, 
 "Et elle est muette." 
 
 The fine round wrist where hang the modeled links, 
 
 Stirs not, throbs nqj;, nor shrinks ; 
 
 No glow of glorious rose burns in her cheek 
 
 Donato s could not, neither can she, speak ; 
 
 Is she thy love ? sculptor desolate ! 
 
 "Et elle est muette." 
 
"ET ELLE EST MUETTE." 227 
 
 "Marco, par che non mi parli ? " * Ah, no ! 
 That Mark did never answer Angel o ! 
 Powers ! fame is thine o er all the earth : 
 But from her lips no sound of grief or mirth, 
 Thy spell of silence there, unbroken yet 
 "Et elle est muette." 
 
 REMEMBRANCE, 
 
 sKjfcfoOW, the blue light of manly eyes 
 
 Stirs in my heart no grieved surprise, 
 
 If passion s veiled in their sweet grace, 
 
 I only see thine absent face. 
 The footstep that could hush my heart 
 To hear, is thine ; so far apart. 
 
 I know, I say, so like to him, 
 
 And with sweet tears my eyes are dim ; 
 The hurt of human feeling, worn 
 As though thy rose had dropped a thorn ! 
 
 * One of the bronze statues of Donate de Bardi, a St. Mark, 
 vras so admirably executed that, on first seeing it, Michael Angelo 
 addressed it in these emphatic words: Marco, par che non mi 
 parli ?" Mark, \vhy do you not speak to me ? 
 
INSCKIBED TO MBS. K. 
 
 The pearl and purple of thy gentle eyes, 
 
 So wistful, asking me for song or sign : 
 
 What thoughts, my friend, my dear, shall I entwine 
 
 For thy demanding heart ? What true replies ? 
 
 Shall I say that thine eyelids drooped, and strove 
 With the blind, bitter tears that fell between ? 
 Wherefore, I need not tell thee what hath been, 
 So well thou knowest, Lady of my love ! 
 
 Or might I tell of the sweet interspace, 
 Wherein thy bright lips sighed and grew more pale r 
 Though wearing smiles, not less sweet, for a veil 
 But through all still beholding What rare face ! 
 
 The curled waves of the gold sea in the sun, 
 Are the same garments of the shoreward tide : 
 He, too, gained Paradise, who had denied; 
 Belief and disavowal are they one ? 
 
 Sorrow and joy, my dear are they two things ? 
 The coral-footed dove that doth alight, 
 Is she not just the same that taketh flight, 
 Afar, afar, on her white lifted wings ? 
 
LAMENT OF 
 
 LEONORA D ESTE 
 
 AN ANSWER TO THE "LAMENT OF TASSO." 
 
 It is now generally considered, that the suffering and imprison 
 ment of Tasso, at the hands of Alphonzo of Este, the brother of 
 Leonora, were owing to the unhappy love of Tasso for Leonora; 
 there is much speculation existing on the parts of J. H. Wiifen, 
 Foscolo, and some refutation on the part of Serassi as to the regard 
 of Leonora for Tasso; and Byron seems to accept the conclusion 
 that Leonora loved Tasso, while she dared not give much testimony 
 of this regard. It may be supposed that a princess of the house 
 of Este would not seem to encourage the poor poet, but the latter 
 in a conzone to her, appealingly said; "Chi mi guido?" "What 
 star guided me hither and promised me hope?" All the presump 
 tions of probability and all the arguments of reason concur to answer 
 Leonora. Such are the opinions of Wiffen and Foscolo, whom he 
 quotes. Byron, also, who turned when at Farrara with more in 
 terest to the prison cell of Tasso in the hospital of St. Anna than 
 he did to the monument of Aristo, seems to be convinced of Leo 
 nora s responsive love; even while he makes Tasso deprecate her 
 reserve in the famous "Lament" he expresses the existence of some 
 secret hope as witness the following : 
 
 "I told it not, I breathed it not; it was 
 Sufficient to itself its own reward, 
 And if my eyes reveal d it, they, alas ! 
 "Were punished by the silentness of thine; 
 And yet I did not venture to repine." 
 
230 LAMENT OF 
 
 The italics are introduced in the present quoting to show Byron s 
 accredited opinion that Tasso was convinced ia his secret hopes, 
 whatever may have been the expression of his discontent at the 
 adversity of circumstances. And again he makes Tasso say: "And 
 thou, Leonora; thou who wert ashamed that such as I could love, 
 who blushed to hear-r-." Byron, in his researches of old Italian 
 manuscripts and libraries had perhaps a better chance than either 
 "Wiffen or Foseolo of forming an opinion on this subject. In the 
 above lines he expresses that peculiar fear which accompanies the 
 responsive love of a woman so placed as Leonara, without which 
 there would be indifference and not love, and in the presence of 
 which there is love, trembling and true. Again, a few lines lower 
 down, so sure does Tasso seem of Leonora s suffering in common 
 with his own that he incites Leonora to go and reproach her broth 
 er with their mutual misery 
 
 "Go tell thy brother that my heart untamed 
 
 By grief, years of weariness, and it may be 
 
 A taint of that he would impute to nie, 
 
 From long infection of a den like this 
 
 "Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss, 
 
 Adores thee still: and add that when the towers, 
 
 And battlements which guard his joyous hours, 
 
 Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot, 
 
 Or left untended in a dull repose, 
 
 This this, shall be a consecrated spot. 
 
 But thou when all that birth and beauty throws 
 
 Of magic round thee is extinct, shalt have 
 
 One half the laurel that o er shades my grave." 
 
 This prophecy is now incontrovertible, not less from the pen of 
 Byron than from the sorrowful forethought of Tasso, and since so 
 many have tendered sympathetic tribute to Tasso in this: the 
 following lines are in the same spirit inscribed by their author to 
 the memory of Leonora of Este : 
 
 >E thou at rest, where silence folds her wing, 
 
 My dove, in "clefts of rock," by strange seas 
 broken ! * 
 
 I speak or smile, I dream awhile or sing : 
 And yet to thee, send never word or token ! 
 
 * "My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hollow places of the 
 wall, show me thy face." Solomon s Canticles. 
 
OF THE 
 
 X7NIVERSI1 
 
 LEONORA D ESTE. 231 
 
 Say, love, they re censer fires with lid unraised 
 Or Druid wands with mystic leaf and meaning! 
 
 He was not spoken to, whom angels praised 
 
 His throne is veiled, whereon are seraphs leaning ! 
 
 But I will know thee, in the dreamy close 
 
 Of music 7 and the drench of water-flowers 
 In the high dome s imperial repose, 
 
 When day is turning into twilight hours ! 
 
 And, oh, when sobs break on some midnight 
 
 sleep, 
 Sweet love its tryst shall keep ! 
 
 What though, with pealing glory of renown, 
 
 My dark bereavement yet should crowned be, 
 Still would I gaze far up to where thy throne 
 Is out of reach, brow, that beams on me ! 
 Some earthward angel s pinion, widely spread, 
 Its glory, on thee shed ! 
 
 O gentle brow of rarely templed thought, 
 
 Avails it now to breathe o er thee this pain ? 
 Hath thy soul, casements whose deep stillness caught 
 The radiance of strange hours that pale and wane, 
 Till one might deem their marble chaplets, not 
 The flowers a sculptor wrought ? 
 
 Speak, I would say to thee, but that I fear 
 
 I could not bear this weight of yearning ; then 
 
232 LAMENT OF 
 
 Too dear thou should st become, too doubly dear 
 And such a prince of woe, my Lord of men ! 
 
 How could I bear it, so ? this life apart, 
 With but the voiceful linger of thy breath 
 
 On some chance hour thine eyes fire all my heart, 
 Till day is misery and night is death ! 
 
 Alas ! that I might say, wake not this pain ! 
 
 My slumbrous soul is half contented now! 
 Think ! the world s sentence would but call it "stain, 7 
 
 My kiss, too happy on thy lover brow ! 
 And yet, pride falling from its stronger morn, 
 
 Over that altar of fair majesty 
 Would dare, in clustered roses, any thorn 
 
 To pierce the wayward feet that strayed to thee ! 
 
 I do believe thee, love, so kingly wise, 
 
 Turned on me fondly, almost deified ! 
 I do believe thee raised are drooping eyes 
 
 To question if, for this, was love denied 
 To question if, for this, was love long tried ? 
 
 That herein I may find it, changed, transposed, 
 Life s marvel doubted, till the wounded side, 
 
 All of its mystery and truth, disclosed ! 
 
 Deity, doubt, pain, life all stand confessed 
 Sorrow, so silent for its just reproof 
 
 Faith s late, sad surety that had been blessed, 
 Had it believed not trusting, stood aloof ! 
 
 Speak to me, love ! Though silent, I adore thee ! 
 E en when I do not lift mine eyes to meet 
 
LEONORA D ESTE. 233 
 
 Thy looks, so veiled ! sacred shrine before me, 
 Silence is peace yet, were assurance sweet ! 
 
 Speak to me, then, when near me, at some fall 
 
 Of night, upon the lonely, lonely sea ! 
 When thy dear presence is so near that all 
 
 Its majesty of stillness shadeth me ! 
 Till I could kneel, in my excess of feeling 
 
 And voiceless happiness, close to thy side, 
 For the dumb answer of the bliss, revealing 
 
 How I had hoped, and had not been denied ! 
 
 Oh, I would speak to tliee ! Oh that I might ! 
 
 Love, wilt thou hear me, in this voiceless pain ? 
 I am alone, and the still pall of night 
 
 Is over all things the deep, low refrain 
 Of spirit music, on the wandering wind, 
 
 Haunts earth s broken places, like the thoughts of 
 
 thee, 
 Seeking for rest within my heart to find, 
 
 Only the billows of a troubled sea ! 
 Ah, dost thou make this sweet and heavy thought 
 
 My heart already weary this deep sigh, 
 That finds its echo mid the things unsought, 
 
 Because of their deep dread ? Ah ! mournfully, 
 Twill hover round thee ever,* music made 
 
 To thy soul s symphony ! The unseen throne 
 
 * No power in death can tear our names apart, 
 As none in life could rend thee from my heart. 
 Yes, Leonora, it shall be our fate 
 To be entwined forever but too late. 
 
 Byron s Lament of Tasso. 
 
234 LAMENT OF 
 
 Of heaven, its bright splendors burn and fade 
 
 In lonely human hearts, with none to own ! 
 Oh, that thou wert near me ! that I might weep 
 
 Upon thy bosom and be not afraid ! 
 Oh 7 then, methinks, that I could calmly sleep, 
 
 And yet, the very thought s with dread arrayed ! 
 Although there is no peace but in the deep 
 
 Of thy gentle eyes, there, fond fancies lead, 
 And I am quiet, until time unbroken 
 
 Wreathes me a garland till the moments speed 
 To where falls the real, and the fair token 
 
 Is borne away, where I may see it never, 
 With the lost life-beats of the heart s wild fever ! 
 
 Oh, this is over me, as mystic sleep 
 
 That is not earthly sleep, nor earthly waking, 
 Where voices whisper soft, and dark eyes weep, 
 
 Arid lips grow pearly o er the heart s deep breaking 
 Though I have said forget me, it is well 
 
 Though thou hast said forget me, as its knell, 
 That we should never meet, and never part 
 
 To risk that anguish, where a tide may swell 
 Its surge of waves, to each o er beating heart ! 
 
 Full of thy deep, deep love the waters wail ; 
 And so I fear not, though it mournful be, 
 
 For in the mist that shrouds thee, like a vail, 
 I see my Lord s hand raised o er Galilee ; 
 
 "And then I know," He said, "that this should be ! ? 
 But when thy voice told me I should forget, 
 
 And thy dear hand had silenced hope s sweet key, 
 I hushed the thrill that murmured with regret, 
 
LEONOBA D ESTE. 235 
 
 And made my soul obey thee, silently ! 
 But oft it waked with haunting voices fraught, 
 That whispered e er of thee Forget me not ! 
 
 Thou wert not doomed to ever be forgot 
 
 Yet, didst thou say to me a low good-bye, 
 With trembling words whose meaning was unsought 
 
 Of the sweet spirit in thy heart and eye ! 
 And thou didst leave me with a last look taken, 
 
 Like that, the soul doth take in changing dreams 
 Vainly to realize I was forsaken 
 
 And yet, I was remembered as the streams 
 That trill their mournful music on the ear, 
 
 All listless, lying where the woodland teems 
 With unblessed words of mysteries as fair 
 
 As the soul of the dreamer lying there ! 
 But I was happy heavy though it were 
 
 To dwell on earth, of thy dear love unblessed 
 For haunting melodies gave promise rare, 
 
 And light in thy dear eyes, I ne er had guessed^ 
 When all earth s shadows shall in quiet rest, 
 
 Morning and night, upon each pulseless breast ! 
 
 I dreamed of thee, methought a temple fair 
 
 Was o er us, and its lighted aisles were teeming, 
 And pale and sad thou wert, lone standing there, 
 
 In a dense throng, but to my fond eyes, seeming, 
 Noble in proud grace, as I know thou art ! 
 
 How trembled my glad heart even in dreaming 7 
 As a rose-cloud at eve, that zephyrs part ! 
 
 Thou didst not see me, in the crowded maze 
 
236 LAMENT OF 
 
 Where stood so many whom I did not know ; 
 
 Soon fire swept round us, and the fearful blaze 
 Undermined the frail timbers neath our feet: 
 
 Then seeing all my danger the great woe 
 That swept thy fair brow, to my heart, was sweet ! 
 
 No word thy pale lip passed a silent look 
 Gave me alone the meaning of its sorrow, 
 
 But though the hope of life my heart forsook 
 Knowing that night of fire would have no morrow, 
 
 Born of that hopelessness thy faithful love, 
 That look of thine a life might never prove ! 
 
 I did not perish, and I tried to win thee, 
 And rocked my feet upon the swaying pile; 
 
 But many glided in the throng between thee 
 And where lone I stood, gazing down the aisle 
 
 My eyes still saw thy sweet, pale lips compressed, 
 I wakened, yearning for thy silent breast ! 
 
 Why did I look upon thy radiant brow ? 
 
 Though so blest my eyes, gazing on its light ; 
 But weeping bitterly, my heart s voice low 
 
 Then claimed from me some lost, forgotten right ! 
 I dare not think or feel what this may be, 
 
 Life s hope and death s indifference lie there, 
 A lonely wreck upon a drifting sea 
 
 To look on its abyss, I do not dare : 
 Oh, let me strive while linger hope and prayer ? 
 
 I could not see my God! for oh, I fear, 
 There is a cave rock-bound, which he forgot, 
 
 Where the mad surges lash the rocks so drear. 
 That chaos dirges ever "He is not!" 
 
LEONORA D ESTE. 237 
 
 Oh, I dare not listen I turn away ! 
 No rest, no rest ! for hand, or foot, or heart ! 
 
 Turmoil and strife must ever be their sway ! 
 I ask, ye winds, which gains the victor s part ? 
 
 Eternal life, or Lethe s unseen deep ? 
 Ye moan and mourn, but still ye answer not 
 
 Still unrevealed, that pale and mystic sleep ! 
 Shall the heart s beatings be all then forgot ? 
 
 Oh, no ! I cannot give them up ! their love 
 Is all too torturing too thrilling sweet ! 
 
 Their living restless throes immortal prove 
 The soul that makes the heart thus wildly beat ! 
 
 Oh, I remember when my proud heart reigned, 
 
 Like an immortal dove, within my breast, 
 But struggling long, her heavy wing hath strained, 
 
 Since o er the waves, long sought no place of rest! 
 A passionate appeal I make to thee 
 
 Should that deep moment come, when all soul-worn 
 Dark waters may come rushing over me ! 
 
 Oh ? give me death with that sweet peace whose 
 
 morn 
 Will rise in unknown splendor o er the sea ! 
 
 Hide me in its waves, ere the night of scorn 
 Set ever round me by one look from thee ! 
 
 When my eyes close upon thy bosom s deep, 
 Kiss them, forever, to eternal sleep ! 
 
 For thy love s sake, Tasso, for thy love burning, 
 And for the closed behests of waiting years, 
 
238 LAMENT OF 
 
 Kept in the patience of a tried heart mourning, 
 Under the arches of its quenchless tears ! 
 
 Think of me, darling, when thy soul s deep hushes 
 Grow wakeful in the light of some slow hour 
 
 Between the midnight and the opal gushes, 
 When the dawn pleads with night and day for power! 
 
 Think of me, darling, in the clime divided 
 
 From spring and summer, where glad tides ne er 
 come, 
 
 And say, "Ah, me ! sweet heart, from mine elided, 
 I love thee yet, my love, though grief is dumb ! 
 
 When thou art silent, for the sharp precision 
 Of catching some deep memory gliding by, 
 
 Perhaps, dear love, such is my hour of vision, 
 Thy spirit comes so near, and says, " Tis I ! " 
 
 Believe me, darling, when thy gladness, paling, 
 Seems more than weary, like a mournful river, 
 
 The curse-born Eden of the unavailing 
 
 Thinks of the gates again, where angels shiver ! 
 
 Take them, the roses, on the lone heath blowing, 
 And put them where thy breast is w r arm and white, 
 
 And when they die there, love, thou mayst be 
 
 knowing 
 They re but sweet allegories of a blight ! 
 
 Thou lt find the passion of thy lips which break 
 Upon their leaves, and pulsing, beat apart 
 
 With thrills of thy soft breath, as when a lake 
 Is stirred, as once you said, was stirred my heart ! 
 
LEOXOKED ESTE. 239 
 
 Near where we stood, the dark, full summer-boughs 
 Met over us in arches green and grand: 
 
 I was forgetful of the wasting glows 
 
 That burued their life within thy cheek and hand ! 
 
 Sweet censers, whence no earth may gather blame 
 
 Or spirit meaning, any fire of dust 
 The stone was rolled away, ere morning came, 
 
 And watchers stood appalled before their trust ! 
 
 What care that nothing shelters my lone head 
 From falls of dew that damp each heavy tress, 
 
 Whose temples fail to coolness, that were fed 
 To fever by thy glances tenderness ! 
 
 My feet were in the dust that should be sere, 
 
 Over this head, ere heard those words of thine 
 
 How near tliy heart was, yet, "He had not where 
 To lay his head" earth and heaven his shrine ! 
 
 What care, then, if the barren surge were spread 
 Over me dirgeless, still, without thy voice 
 
 To break the turbid waste where tempests shed 
 Their wrath s vain triumph o er that one sweet 
 choice ! 
 
 Oh, mind me not ! though o er my head no cover 
 From winds and stars; tell me no more because 
 
 A soft warm hand, in seeming, falleth over 
 A forehead claimless a dear hand that was ! 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
240 LAMENT OF 
 
 I dared its touch : tliy hand, I reached for it, 
 
 Fearing the glow, the pressures deep, strong thrill! 
 
 And yet, would God, it held me infinite, 
 
 Through every pulsing tribute of Life s will ! 
 
 In day-spring, dreams burn oft for thee, and ever, 
 It seems, as thou art bending o er me here ! 
 
 Thy mouth s intense sweet sigh, its flush of fever 
 And, oh ! the arms, that draw me, near and near ! 
 
 Alas ! wild dream, and heart of wild unrest 
 
 Loose life, I pray thee, from between thy throes 
 
 My lover ! my lover ! on thy breast, 
 
 Pain, blame, and rapture could their bonds unclose! 
 
 Too well I know thee, vain, deep-kindling thought 
 In thy devotedness I m doomed to be, 
 
 Like the coral fane Nereides wrought, 
 A templed labor, and an agony ! 
 
 Forget me then, forget that tortured wail, 
 That mirage of regret, that rose afar 
 
 For it the isle of founts hath no avail, 
 
 Nor plumes of peace, nor light of vesper star ! 
 
 Take them away ! O infinite sweet tone 
 
 Keep thee, till soft grass bendeth in the spring, 
 
 Over me lowly, light, and windward blow 
 
 Then say, Dear head, thou rt crowned with 
 everything ! JJ 
 
 Oh, be not sad, if never more again 
 
 By soft-winged verse or sign, thy love I move ! 
 Too much to weep, and suffer its refrain, 
 To suffer and to weep this were to love ! 
 
LEOXOEA D ESTE. 241 
 
 Too much of tears and strife would be its cost, 
 Till heart on heart, their quest fall tremblingly, 
 
 To break, to beat, till heav n and peace were lost 
 This cross is veiled, beloved ! So let it be ! 
 
 Farewell, my dearest! hush thy loving heart, 
 Whose silver lyre is beating that bright shore, 
 
 Beyond my heart s low sigh, where deep winds start, 
 And bear the soft waves to the strand once more ! 
 
 How can I bear it all the dark, deep meaning 
 That droops beside thy spirit ? Had it been 
 
 In the white flush of young life s bright beginning, 
 Ere blame had scorched it, or name called it sin ! 
 
 Thy soul s sweet whisper through my being, sweeping, 
 The anthem that on life is longest, deepest 
 
 Oh, had it been before the time of weeping, 
 Ere thou, this dumb regret, in vigil, keepest ! 
 
 How had my heart not stopped to fear or ponder, 
 How had it then, unbound, knelt at thine own, 
 
 Learning the colors in thine eyes sweet wonder, 
 And gathering life s deep joy from one sweet tone ! 
 
 How had I loved thee, as thou shouldst be loved ! 
 
 How had I waited for each doubtful thrill 
 That glance, or voice, or touch of thine had proved, 
 
 Through all the glad life, at thy strong life s will ! 
 
242 STAE OF THE SEA, 
 
 How had the-troublous heart, o erful with yearning, 
 Been given, beat by beat, beneath thy breast 
 
 A tide gone seaward, to its deep returning, 
 
 The while thine eyes, like stars, beheld me blest ! 
 
 But hush, O heart, before the thought thou darest, 
 And count the links of chains and steps of time; 
 
 But do not count the heart-beats, which thou fearest. 
 And do not call thy tenderest records crime ! 
 
 STAR OF THE SE/l 
 
 In whom I am "well pleased" the lone watch-towers 
 
 Of Silence, and of Effort s sweet surcease- 
 Late hast thou lighted unto paths of Peace, 
 
 Over the strong surf where long hung dark hours ! 
 
 And now all brighter for severe contrast 
 
 Star of the Sea, to whom my looks have turned, 
 
 Footfalls of shepherds, as at first, at last, 
 
 "Will stop, and know wherefore thy glory burned ! 
 
ALTSAY BURN. 
 
 In the early part of the seventeenth century, Angus, eldest son of 
 the Glengarry Chief, Macdounell, made a foray into the territory 
 of the Clan Mackenzie in the frith of Beauly, with whom the Mac- 
 donnells were at war; on his way home from the fatal expedition 
 the heir of Glengarry was intercepted and slain, with several of 
 his followers, by a party of Mackenzies. To revenge his death, a 
 strong body of Glengarry men were sent under Allen Mac Kaonuill 
 of Lundy, who led them immediately across the hills into the 
 country of their enemies. Marching on Sunday morning, and find 
 ing a numerous company of the Mackenzie s then at worship in the 
 chapel of Gillie-Christ, near Beauly, they set fire to the church 
 and burned the unsuspecting congregation, having previously 
 secured every aperture of escape. Lips on which the orison was 
 unfinished, now gave vent to the wildest shrieks of despair. Over 
 the crackling, devouring flames and the shrieks of the victims, 
 could be heard the shrill notes of the pibroch in malicious triumph, 
 and the horrible sights and sounds were only darkened and silenc 
 ed by the ashes of the funeral pile. When all was over the atro 
 cious perpetrators retired from the scene,like troops after a victory, 
 enjoying the dastardly satisfaction of having avenged their wrong. 
 But the flames, by which the Maekenzies suffered, served as the 
 gathering beacon to the clan; every man who could bear a sword 
 now drew it forth and rushed to the pursuit, dividing their forces 
 into two bodies, one following the track along the south side of 
 Loch-Ness, while the other, crossing the mountains, on the north 
 bank of the lake, pursued the first division of the Macdonnells 
 under their leader, Mac Eaonuill. Stimulated by revenge they con 
 tinued the chase without intermission, and at length overtook the 
 guilty fugitives near Altsay Burn, where they ventured to halt for 
 rest. The hostile clans mutually fatigued, but still burning with 
 hate, rushed on each other with deadly rancor, and for a time the 
 
244 ALTSAY BUKN. 
 
 conflict was desperately even, but at length the Macdonnells were 
 driven into the burn, or torrent, where many of them missing the 
 ford, and impeded by the rugged rocks of the channel, were 
 overtaken and slain by the Mackenzies. Mac Raonuill, a man of 
 athletic frame took a desperate leap and cleared the abyss, landing 
 safely on the opposite bank. One of the Mackenzies swift in pur 
 suit, leaped blindly, reckless of the danger, after him. The des 
 perate venture of the daring pursuer failed; his feet falling short 
 of the bank, he met with the tragic end as described. But the 
 worsted party of the Macdonnells who had figured so remorselessly 
 in the burning of the church that morning, were not, for all that > 
 suffered to escape; they now fled by Inverness but were surprised 
 in a public house by the other detachment of the Mackenzies, who 
 made sure of their prey, surrounded the house, secured the doors 
 and setting fire to the thatch, the flames burst forth in an instant. 
 Thirty-seven of the Macdonnells did penance for their vicious pro 
 ceedings of the morning. Such was the raid of Gillie-Christ,. 
 or Christ- Church, and the speedy retribution by which it was 
 followed. See Beatie s Illustrated Scotland. 
 
 I. 
 
 *HOSE side with flowery garlands hung, 
 
 Whose winds with Ossian s harp had sung- 
 "Whose dense, dark birch, the bottoms line, 
 With purple heath and feathery pine, 
 Made beautiful whose gray rocks rise 
 In the repose of sunset skies : 
 The azure, light-incumbent sky, 
 Beached unto, as by Alps as high, 
 Where straggling falls the knotty ash 
 From storm-reft ledges with a crash : 
 Where footsteps pause to seek return 
 This is the gorge of Altsay burn, 
 Not all whose beauty here I tell, 
 But mark this much for what befell I 
 
ALTSAY BURN. 245 
 
 II. 
 
 Glengarry s chief held Angus dear, 
 The eldest son, Macdounell s heir, 
 The foray s leader, when the clan 
 Fought with Mackenzies man to man : 
 Angus was tall and strong, they say, 
 As Coromandel s lithe Palmae, 
 And fearless as the stag whose leap 
 Is sure, or else the death that s deep. 
 
 in. 
 
 The dews were light on Gillie- Christ, 
 And Janet Lyle s soft step the least 
 Of many gentle sounds that made 
 Her quick and venturous heart afraid : 
 But there was Angus coming near, 
 "With smiles and words to calm her fear ! 
 She loved the chief, Glengarry s son, 
 And he loved her that love was one 
 With graves whereon they stood that hour 
 Of omen, with the moonlit flower; 
 With all things deep and sad with things 
 Whose timid promise never brings 
 The olive from the dove s wet wings. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Home from the foray s cheered success, 
 Macdonells turned, their band not less ; 
 Mackenzies, in the Beauly firth, 
 Defeated, knew their valor s worth, 
 But swore with vengeance-bated breath, 
 
246 ALTS AY BUKN. 
 
 To track young Angus to his death , 
 Whose proud young steps did homeward turn 
 They never came to Altsay burn ! 
 The hill was steep, the foe s strong hand 
 Had signal tryst of all his band, 
 And cutting through the faithful ring, 
 That round a chief in clamor cling, 
 With stubborn rage, deep wrath was hushed ; 
 With eyes that flamed, and cheek that flushed, 
 They closed and clenched in deadly grasp ! 
 In silence, Angus Donald s gasp 
 Was muttered, cursing, and a minute, 
 Had all the fate of either in it ! 
 Then Angus, with unplaided throat, 
 Turned faceward, saying, ere twas smote, 
 " There, Donald Lyle, when I am slain, 
 Tell her I would do this again ! " 
 
 Y. 
 
 That day a lametation rose. 
 Glengarry s vales echoed their woes, 
 And rugged hearts, where grief was hard, 
 Pledged Clan Mackenzie sure reward. 
 Gather ! Gather ! from every hill, 
 Rang out, to Allen Mac Kaonuill, 
 The Lord of Lundy Leading them 
 Across the hills, whence late they came, 
 Well-favored, marching under night 
 On to the scene of speedy blight: 
 They reached it when the Sunday sun 
 With chapel service had begun ; 
 
ALTSAY BURN. 247 
 
 Then lighter grew each footstep s beat, 
 And whiter grew each cheek s white heat ; 
 The distant twittering of a bird, 
 Could far on the birch-branch be heard 
 The sacred walls of orison 
 Let no sight seen of anyone 
 The sacred sound of prayer within 
 Made little note of outside din 
 Till all surrounded it was held 
 At door and window sentineled : 
 And then the very heart recoils, 
 The red brands blaze around their spoils 
 To seething flames the claymore s clash 
 Falls quickly, where the foremost s rash 
 In efforts to escape despair, 
 With cursing shriek or pleading pray r, 
 The gasping breath, no more recalled 
 All make the mind shrink back appalled; 
 And while the victims, tortured, die, 
 The Pibroch s shrill note heard on high, 
 With ghastly triumph made each death 
 A mockery in its mingled breath 
 Of child and mother, man and man, 
 But few were left Mackenzie s clan. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But, in their turn, those few soon blent 
 To mustered strength with dire intent ; 
 And, tracking dastard steps, took heed 
 Of twofold slaughter s double deed : 
 Dividing forces, two and two, 
 
248 ALTS AY BURN . 
 
 One, followed all the southside through, 
 Whose longest chase was over, when 
 MacdonrielPs halted in the glen : 
 Then both the clans, though fainting, burned 
 With hot revenge, each deadly turned 
 Upon the other s rancorous wrath 
 Their dead were mingled in their path- 
 Their mutual fury, strength of arm, 
 And swiftness kept an even charm : 
 At length Macdonnell s numbers, less, 
 Were driven in their last distress 
 To the wild torrent s rugged side 
 In, tumbled, or were hurled, and died ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Mac RaonuilPs strong, athletic frame, 
 
 Held longest to his valor s fame ; 
 
 And, having made his flight the best 
 
 To where the torrent tensely pressed 
 
 A narrow chasm death to miss - 
 
 He meant to leap the dread abyss : 
 
 While hot pursued, he took a glance 
 
 The depth, the breadth, the desperate chance 
 
 And blind with danger, fierce with hope, 
 
 With venture he would dare to cope : 
 
 Success ? Oh heavens ! his sure foot 
 
 Is safe ! Mackenzie in pursuit 
 
 With less of strength and length of limb, 
 
 And less of the wild stag in him 
 
 Leaps after, falling short the brink 
 
 Grown sapling in his grasp must shrink ! 
 
His life hangs clinging to its bough 
 What hope ? Shall malice spare him now ? " 
 
 Page 249. Stanza VII. 
 
ALTSAY BURN. 249 
 
 His life hangs clinging to its bough 
 What-hope? Shall malice spare him now? 
 Mac Eaonuill turned the dangling foe 
 Looked upward, in his eyes death s woe, 
 But on his proud lip not a word 
 Of suppliance, Mac Haonuill heard ! 
 Mac Eaonuill, coming nearer took 
 His dirk, with fiendish smile, and struck 
 The sapling, saying, " Take that too ! 
 Fve given much, to day, to you ! " 
 
AND MURILLO. 
 
 A story is told of Murillo, which, finely illustrates his power of 
 truth and genius in sundering the bonds of adverse circumstances. 
 Murillo had a mulatto slave, whom he employed in grinding his 
 colors and performing the menial services of his studio. The stu 
 dents were sometimes annoyed at finding their work had been med 
 dled with when they entered the studio in the morning ; and as the 
 touches, which their pictures received through the night, were 
 superior to their own, they superstitiously believed that some 
 supernatural agency was at work, and they charged the mulatto, 
 who slept in the studio, to keep strict watch. This he promised 
 to do; but what was their surprise, one morning, on observing a 
 head of Venus, which their master had left upon his easel uufin- 
 shed, completely perfected, and in a style superior to anything 
 iMurillo had ever done. The master was astonished, and charged 
 his pupils with meddling with his work. This they all positively 
 denied; and poor Tortesa, the mulatto, was sternly commanded to 
 tell all that had passed in the studio during his nightwatchings. 
 At first, the terrified boy was silent; but at last he fell upon his 
 knees, begged his master s pardon, and confessed that the work 
 was his own. He had heard the instructions given to the pupils, 
 and profited by them, unobserved. In a moment the countenance 
 of Murillo was changed, and lifting up the astonished boy, he charg 
 ed him to ask any favor, and it should be granted. Tortesa trem 
 bled, half doubting the sincerity of his master; but at last he found 
 courage to say, "The liberty of my father." This was granted, 
 but death early closed the career of him who gave such exalted evi 
 dence of genius. See Lossing s Fine Arts. 
 
 [ORTESA ground the colors for Murillo; 
 
 Tortesa was a boy a gold mulatto 
 A genius 7 fervid as thy heart, billow ! 
 A tryst with thy forever, Tallatta ! 
 
TOBTESA AND MUEILLO. 251 
 
 The students wearing robes made note but lightly 
 
 Of him his menial service, dutiful: 
 Fair days were passing, and with sunsets brightly, 
 
 Italian studios were beautiful. 
 
 For long the students wondered in the morning, 
 What hand, with perfect touch their pictures made 
 
 Superior some grace of new adorning, 
 Put over, like a star, where <XXE was laid. 
 
 They said unto each other, "something surely 
 Worketh, in watchful night with perfect skill, 
 
 This mystery; for done most fair and purely, 
 These lovely things beyond our own good will." 
 
 And then, one said: u Tortesa, here thou sleepest ! 
 
 Arise to-night, and watch, and hold thy peace, 
 And see who cometh when the hour is deepest ! 7 
 
 Tortesa watched the still stars of Venice, 
 
 He saw the master s work a head of Venus, 
 Not half complete, when left the night before : 
 
 His trust was deep, as sweet wells in Salinas, 
 His heart struck, like a dipped gondola oar. 
 
 Murillo, seeing at the morn twas added 
 To things made perfect, said: "I charge you all ! 
 
 Which one will own to this ? " Then some evaded, 
 And some denied, on some did silence fall. 
 
 Till, lo ! the silent slave, sternly commanded, 
 Knelt down, confessing with a bended face: 
 
 "I heard thee, at closed doors, holding, faint handed, 
 My heart, near where thy words had pleasant 
 ways ! " 
 
252 SISTER MARY AGNES. 
 
 "Ah ! didst thou?" said Murillo: "Ask some favor, 
 While holding thee to heart, I love and hold ! 
 
 Where utmost is my hope, thy least endeavor 
 Falleth, like Indus waters, over gold ! " ^ 
 
 Tortesa, looking up, half doubting, trembled; 
 
 But finding courage, said the words that live, 
 
 Long understood, where e er, wherein dissembled : 
 
 father s liberty, Master, give ! " 
 
 SISTER MARY AGNES, 
 
 Mary Agnes, her cloister name 
 ^^ A nun, with large blue eyes, transparent hands : 
 She sat with us ; the white-clad windows flame, 
 
 Across the school-room floor, laid sunlight wands ; 
 And sometimes, when the noontide hour was still, 
 
 And lull of lessons came, or humming task 
 Made more monotonous the effort s will, 
 
 We wondered why she stopped-we dared not ask- 
 With shading hand she covered her blue eyes, 
 
 Leaned slightly her veiled head j to our replies 
 From reading classes, took no note, did seem 
 
 Abstracted, musing did she pray or dream ? 
 I used to wonder, I, a little girl, 
 
 That time, with cheek and brow shell-rose and pearl. 
 
SISTER MARY AGNES. 253 
 
 To-day is Springtide many later years ! 
 
 Perhaps, like the caged bird, glad of release, 
 Long since to her, there came a death of Peace ; 
 
 I think I see her folding in her sleeves, 
 Her delicate, fine hands enclasped and thin, 
 
 And through her smiles there shown some light of 
 
 tears, 
 And since, IVe learned to tell the smile that grieves ; 
 
 Remembering her glance as what hath been, 
 When with a soft foot stayed, she. looked on me 
 
 Longest a little ah ! what did she see ? 
 Perhaps, some prophecy her heart could tell, 
 
 And one day she said something all is well ! 
 
 
 o a 9 o e 
 
 Through all the long years, I remember her, 
 
 A being of my childhood s mysteries 
 A dweller in new lands o er traversed seas; 
 
 To-day, the hills were blue the heavens still; 
 A leaflet on the maples did not stir, 
 
 I laid my hands across my face what will 
 Of mine brought back to thought a shading hand ? 
 
 I would not say I know, or understand 
 I would not say, I saw it for a sign, 
 
 So long since an unconscious Constantine ! 
 
254 A PHILOSOPHIC ASSURANCE. 
 
 PHILOSOPHIC ASSUAGE. 
 
 Druggist was sleeping quite soundly one night, 
 
 When a rapping came loud at the door : 
 His wife, like the miller, awakened outright, 
 As he suddedly stopped in a snore. 
 
 In no even temper, until his return, 
 
 She lay still, and then grumbling, she said : 
 
 Tray what did you sell, that its profits could earn 
 Your arising just now from your .bed ? " 
 
 "A hap orth of salts ! In good truth I should think 
 That your profits are small on that dose, 
 
 For though sleep, to your eyes, may gradually wink, 
 Yet an hoar may elapse ere mine close ! " 
 
 "Be comforted, wife," the man amiably said ; 
 
 "And well balanced content cultivate : 
 You re tangling just now your own destiny s thread, 
 
 But view, also, this other man s state ! " 
 
 "While telling me now that my profits are small, 
 Getting up, as you say, a point stronger 
 
 But think, my dear wife, as you re thinking at all, 
 That the salts will keep him up much longer ! 1? 
 
THE "BEEfl SWILL." 
 
 THE "BEEf[ SWILL," 
 
 Paris has her "Sans Culottes:" Naples her "Lazzaroni;" and 
 San Francisco her "Beer Swills." The last cognomen is not so 
 euphonious as the French or Italian, but it is not less significant 
 of a special class. Though not so numerous as those of the Euro 
 pean cities, we are not behind-hand in the quality of originality. 
 
 The "Beer Swill" proper, is only genuine in the neighborhood 
 of "Tar Flat," although diversified specimens may be found in va 
 rious other quarters . The particular individual who inspired the 
 following lines, could be daily seen arising from just such a spot 
 under the wooden sidewalk, and bearing his straw pallet to the ad 
 jacent lot, under the morning sun, while he meandered away to 
 the nearest beer-kegs that were left outside the night before. 
 
 Occasionall} , a comrade might be seen, arm in arm with him, 
 jn social chat; and together, their ragged elbows and unwashed 
 faces might have eclipsed even Diogenes himself. 
 
 t 
 
 glints of sun on soft acacia boughs, 
 jf The laugh of children down the sunny street, 
 The rustling flowret of the Autumn throws 
 Its last sweet beauty at the passer s feet : 
 It may be, he s a keghouse vagrant," risen 
 From underneath the sidewalk where he lay; 
 That ragged thing there is his bed of hay 
 Except occasionally when he s in prison 
 He leaves it out to air it every day. 
 
 What distant ivy leaves, what sleepy stream, 
 What ring of happy voices now ne er heard, 
 What fluttering bright wing of a captured bird, 
 
256 THE "BEER SWILL." 
 
 Did stir last night in his uneasy dream ? 
 
 Ah, sounding bells ! afar, from distant shade, 
 
 Thy spell, a thought of childhood s home, hath made. 
 
 He s vacant looking with an ugly mug; 
 His sole possession is an empty can, 
 No doubt, at first it was a handsome jug, 
 But this is now to what his fortune ran : 
 The bees still murmur in the distant hives, 
 And flower and stream are in the woody glade, 
 But, somehow, he has come on harder times, 
 A trembling wanderer and grown afraid; 
 He lets none see the silent tear that drops 
 But keeps his eye upon the nearest "cops,"