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THE 
 
 EXILE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 % Bkq of t^t Italian Mm. 
 
 Br S. W. FULLOM, 
 
 ACTIIOK OF 
 
 THE GREAT UiUUWAY," " THE MAUVELS OF SCIENCE, 
 
 "THE HUMAN MIND," ETC., ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHARLES JOSEPH SKEET, 
 
 KING WILLLVM STREET, CHABING CROSS. 
 
 1860. 
 
I.ONDOM : FEINTED HT WILLIAM CLOWU AND 60K8, STAMFORU &TRBET. 
 
^5-3 
 ex/ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A VISIT to the Sub- Alpine Kingdom during the 
 war presented the country to me in so picturesque 
 a light, and the people, animated by patriotism, 
 in an aspect so different from that exhibited by 
 the populations of the South, that, on returning 
 home, I felt a desire to record my impres- 
 sions; and, having given them publicity as a 
 journalist, in this volume I submit them as an 
 author. 
 
 With respect to the terrorism in Naples, I have 
 sought rather to subdue, than deepen the colour- 
 ing, and though the picture is still too dark, I 
 have but feebly depicted the facts. For the story 
 itself I can offer no apology. It may be thought, 
 
 143 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 on a first view, that the perilous journey of the 
 heroine with the intercepted despatch verges on 
 the improbable ; but, though I was not aware of 
 the fact at the time, such a service, as a glance 
 at the ** Notes " will show, was actually performed, 
 under circumstances somewhat similar, but still 
 more romantic, by a young lady of eighteen. So 
 difficult is it for fiction to match the strangeness 
 of truth ! 
 
 S. W. F. 
 
 Tudor VUlay Surhitoitif 
 March, 1860. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 PAGE 
 THE LAND OF TERROR 1 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 THE PRISON . . . . . . . .41 
 
 PART THE THIRD. 
 
 THE CONVENT 81 
 
 PART THE FOURTH. 
 
 THE SILENT PASSION .117 
 
 PART THE FIFTH. 
 
 MEETING AND PARTING 155 
 
Vm CONTENTS. 
 
 PART THE SIXTH. 
 
 PAGE 
 THE PERILS OF WAR 171 
 
 PART THE SEVENTH. 
 
 THE GENERAL, THE KING, AND THE EMPEROR . . 203 
 
 PART THE EIGHTH. 
 
 80LFERIN0 237 
 
 NOTES 253 
 
PART THE FIEST. 
 
 THE LAND OF TEEEOE. 
 
In fair Palermo is a street 
 
 Where two highways, like rivers, meet 
 
 Before a pile of stone, 
 A pile that has its windows barred. 
 And at its massive door a guard, 
 
 Who paces there alone — 
 His firelock charged, and on it set 
 A naked, gleaming bayonet: 
 Its evil shadow might one trace, 
 A scowl presents it on his face. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 Night — such a night as southern clime 
 Affords to summer in its prime — 
 A twilight tint, like daylight pale, 
 That covers Nature with a veil, 
 Though, like a daughter of the isle, 
 ►She partly shows her face the while, 
 So languishing, so charming made 
 By the soft voluptuous shade — ■ 
 With stars by thousands spread above, 
 The jewels in her crown of love, 
 And on her breath, so light and free, 
 The fragrance of the land and sea. 
 
 Fallen had such a night around. 
 Like a shower on desert ground. 
 Diffusing, lieu of fervid heat, 
 A zephjrr soft, and odours sweet; 
 
THE LAND OF TEEROK. i 
 
 And one looked for a gladsome crowd 
 
 To roam about with voices loud, 
 
 And .balconies with windows wide, 
 
 Where maids would stand their swains beside; 
 
 From every house a stream of light, 
 
 To give a welcome to the night, 
 
 And strains of music on the air. 
 
 And full enjoyment everywhere. 
 
 But there rose up the pile of stone, 
 And there stiQ paced the guard alone, 
 
 With murder in his eye — 
 And a spell of fear was thrown 
 
 On every passer-by: 
 And each went on with noiseless tread, 
 As in a city of the dead — 
 
6 THE LAND OP TERROR. 
 
 For such, I ween, it might have been, 
 From the silence overhead. 
 
 Not a note of music or song, 
 No window wide the street along, 
 No streaming lights, no open door, 
 With neighbours gossiping before. 
 Nor graceful maids nor lovers by 
 To whisper, rally, smile, and sigh. 
 But only those few straggling folk, 
 
 Who onward crept apart. 
 Each with the weight of a tyrant's yoke 
 
 Pressed down upon his heart. 
 
 Broke suddenly upon the ear . 
 A sound might well awaken fear. 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 The measured tramp and clang of arms 
 That heralds soldiers and gendarmes; 
 And, swift as sparks in airy flight, 
 The stragglers all escaped from sight. 
 One could not tell, so quick they fled, 
 Or how or whither they had sped. 
 But like a field by reapers mown, 
 Before a minute's space had flown, 
 All silent was the street and lone. 
 
 And on the iron column came, 
 Athirst with fury as a flame, 
 
 As eager to devour: 
 The blazon of a monarch's shame. 
 
 The sceptre of his power. 
 And night and day, the same array 
 
» THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 Paraded each frequented way, 
 At an unlooked-for hour. 
 
 Men turned uneasy in their bed 
 
 At sound of the familiar tread, 
 
 And many, as they shrinking lay. 
 
 Recalled each action of the day, 
 
 If by a word, or by a look. 
 
 They aught of licence once had took. 
 
 Or, by a gesture of dissent. 
 
 Betrayed they were not quite content, 
 
 And, under provocation hard. 
 
 One moment wavered from their guard. 
 
 And some there were — sospetti named, 
 By power branded as untamed. 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 9 
 
 For though they ne'er had swerved beyond 
 
 The strictest letter of the bond, 
 
 Nor edicts nor the laws had broke, 
 
 But silent bore the galling yoke ; 
 
 Their thoughtful eyes divulged a look, 
 
 A despot's minions could not brook. 
 
 They met their frown with steady nerve. 
 
 Sheathed in the armour of reserve ; 
 
 And treason, not in words expressed. 
 
 Alarms more deeply in the breast: 
 
 So, like caged beasts, that ne'er can fly 
 
 The keeper's overruling eye. 
 
 These all had an attendant spy. 
 
 Who met their glance, with gaze intent. 
 
 Where'er they turned, where'er they went: 
 
 And, such a shadow on the soul. 
 
 They felt no dread of the patrol ; 
 
 B 3 
 
10 THE LAND OF TERROK. 
 
 For seizure, bondage — death, in brief- 
 Compared with this, had been relief. 
 
 Man may evade, or may defy, 
 
 Or, in enduring, bravely die. 
 
 And, optional to shim or meet. 
 
 We may do battle or retreat; 
 
 But woman, though not made to dare. 
 
 Her lot, whatever it be, must bear; 
 
 Nor that alone, but, with her own, 
 
 Our burden and our griefs must share ! 
 
 Her gentle heart, so prompt to feel, 
 
 It need be panoplied in steel. 
 
 Accessible at every pore. 
 
 Is open to its inmost core. 
 
 Yet, moulded for a great design. 
 
 Is gifted with a strength divine, 
 
THE LAND OP TEEROR. 11 
 
 And not till trial, not till strain, 
 Knows the whole weight it can sustaia: 
 So, in the hour of fortune's strife, 
 She is the spirit of our life, 
 And by a thousand holy ties. 
 Which then invisibly arise — 
 By those endearing sympathies. 
 That double and renew our powers, 
 Her being is absorbed in ours. 
 We bear the wound, she feels the pang, 
 She cheers us 'mid the battle's clang, 
 And when we seek the couch of rest, 
 She is the warder of our breast — 
 A sentinel before the camp. 
 Whose ardour no fatigue can damp! 
 And now, in many dwellings round, 
 Such loving watchers might be found. 
 
12 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 Who, on their pillow, were alert 
 
 Surprise or peril to avert; 
 
 At any movement in the street, 
 
 Springing in terror to their feet. 
 
 And listening with acutest sense. 
 
 In a wild tremor of suspense: 
 
 For none could tell where would be made 
 
 The domiciliary raid. 
 
 Whose husband, father, brother, son. 
 
 The fierce poli<;e might pounce upon; 
 
 And to their den bear swift away. 
 
 As a tiger does its prey. 
 
 There was a chamber wide and dark. 
 With walls of stone, antique and stark, 
 But showing, in devices quaint, 
 Now mutilate by time, and faint. 
 
THE LAND OP TERROR. 13 
 
 The vestiges of bygone state, 
 That made it look more desolate — 
 A chamber old, and grim and cold, 
 That once had known a brighter fate. 
 But, through vicissitudes untold. 
 Had come with misery to mate — 
 Here, 'mid the deep pervading gloom. 
 That hung in shadows round the room. 
 Near a dim lamp, whose waning light 
 Broke like a glowworm on the sight, 
 There sat a maid, so rapt, so still. 
 So like the breath of sculptor's skill. 
 Save that o'er every feature stole 
 The beams of an unspotted soul. 
 Her head just bent, her eyes askance — 
 She seemed a spirit in a trance. 
 
14 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 Her brow shone out more dazzling fair 
 
 Beneath a mass of raven hair, 
 
 And circling gold and sparkling gem 
 
 Could not enrich that diadem: 
 
 With the soft lustre of her eye 
 
 The rarest jewels could not vie ; 
 
 For, in their flood of jetty light. 
 
 They fused the morning with the night; 
 
 And o*er her face their glances clear 
 
 Expanded as an atmosphere. 
 
 Quick as a bird the tramp she heard 
 Of the coming, common foe — 
 The sound she'd bitter cause to know; 
 And one might all her feelings trace 
 In the expression of her face : 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. W 
 
 Emotions of conflicting hue, 
 Each a distinct reflection threw, 
 And as a prism will display 
 The varied tints of a single ray, 
 So one sad look reflected there 
 Dread, anguish, horror, hate, despair. 
 
 She hastily put out the lamp — 
 
 For like a curfew was that tramp, 
 
 Without its monitory knell; 
 
 And darkness rose on every side, 
 
 Where'er its dreaded echo fell — 
 
 A darkness with itself allied. 
 
 To do the ministry of hell. 
 
 And through the blind, in shadow cast, 
 
 She watched till the gendarmes had passed; 
 
16 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 Then o'er her head a mantle threw, 
 And to the door in tremor flew. 
 
 It opened on a dismal stair — 
 
 The highest landing; 
 And the moon, through skylight spare, 
 
 In beams expanding, 
 Cast its light where she was standing : 
 But the old staircase, all around, 
 The summit downward to the ground. 
 Was swathed throughout in gloom profound; 
 And through the house reigned silence deep, 
 No breath disturbed its midnight sleep, 
 Though every floor, in the descent, 
 Was rented as a tenement. 
 And, fallen from its ancient state, 
 Comprised a household separate. 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 17 
 
 Awhile ill reverie she stood, 
 
 As though her purpose held not good; 
 
 And from this summit glancing down, 
 
 Fortune, in truth, might seem to frown. 
 
 And meet her there, upon the stair. 
 
 Donning the moonlight as a crown, 
 
 While darkness, like a wizard's shroud, 
 
 Enveloped it in folds of cloud. 
 
 So that it seemed for her to wait — 
 
 Not as Fortune, but as Fate. 
 
 Nor did she from herself conceal 
 
 What perils round her path might steal, 
 
 And, with a tiger-spring, attack. 
 
 As she, unguarded, turned her back — 
 
 Beside the danger manifest. 
 
 That, like a cordon, would invest; 
 
18 THE LAND OF TEEKOR. 
 
 For not a step could she advance 
 Protected from an ambushed glance, 
 As every house was full of spies, 
 And here the very walls had eyes, 
 While in the streets, in each dark nook, 
 Murder and Theft their station took,^ 
 By royal licence free to act, 
 The town to harass and distract. 
 
 And when she looked the staircase down, 
 Meeting her gaze with such a frown — 
 Thought of the corridors unseen, 
 And saw the looming depth between. 
 Her heart for one brief moment sunk. 
 As from the enterprise it shrunk, 
 But quickly, like a champion hale, 
 
 It donned again its suit of mail, 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 19 
 
 And darting down, as arrow fleet, 
 
 She reached the hall and gained the street. 
 
 No demoiselle of high degree, 
 
 Nor cradled child of fortune she : 
 
 Her father was an advocate, 
 
 A man of honourable fame, 
 
 But 'mongst his fellows claiming weight 
 
 More by his learning than estate. 
 
 And by his old untarnished name: 
 
 And she, commended to his care. 
 
 By her dead mother's latest prayer, 
 
 Had grown and bloomed his heart beside, 
 
 His hope, his treasure, and his pride. 
 
 Alas! the inauspicious hour! — 
 
 She charmed the eye of brutal power : 
 
20 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 A tyrant's tool, a subtle knave, 
 Himself a recreant and slave. 
 Had sought to link her honest name 
 With his opprobrium and shame. 
 By sire and maiden he was spumed, 
 And kindled hate where love had burned, 
 A hate that, with consuming fire, 
 Aimed to destroy both maid and sire. 
 
 'Twas midnight when its fury broke. 
 And from her slumbers Lilla woke: 
 An instinct, as by Heaven sent, 
 A warning and presentiment. 
 Like angel breathing in her ear, 
 Divined and shaped the danger near; 
 And ere she reached her father's room. 
 She knew its author and his doom — 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 21 
 
 Knew he had been condemned unheard 
 On Branti's unsupported word; 
 And they had roused him from his sleep 
 To bear him to a dungeon deep. 
 Though thronged by the spectators base, 
 She sprang with sobs to his embrace, 
 Nor would unloose her clinging arms, 
 Till dragged away by the gendarmes. 
 
 As by its clement sovereign liege 
 The city was declared in siege. 
 So now upon this household fell 
 The midnight visit like a shell; 
 And each domestic, from liis bed, 
 Half-dressed, obeyed the summons dread. 
 And mustered, trembling, on the stair, 
 Beneath the torch's vivid glare, 
 
22 THE LAND OF TEEROE. 
 
 Where the police might fiercely scan, 
 If any dared to look a man. 
 
 And thus, in insolent array, 
 They tore their prisoner away: 
 Fetters and gyves his limbs restrain, 
 And bind him with their felon chain; 
 But still his voice — ^that voice so dear — 
 O'er all the din, reached Lilla's ear. 
 And in his last half-uttered word. 
 His love and her own name she heard. 
 
 Unnoticed from the house she stole. 
 In the devotion of her soul; 
 And through the street, the city through. 
 Still kept in sight the ruffian crew — 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 23 
 
 With aching, breaking, panting heart, 
 That seemed as if 'twould rend apart, 
 And flitting through surrounding night, 
 Like self-illumined aerolite. 
 And when they reached the prison door, 
 The fountains of her life-blood froze ; 
 She saw them pass its threshold o'er. 
 And then the iron portal close-— 
 She saw no more! 
 
 Her senses seemed to come and go, 
 As surging waves recede hnd flow, 
 But, as these leap their bounds at last, 
 And sweep in flood expansive past. 
 So, in a while, her aching brain 
 Was 'lumined by its tide again. 
 
24 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 And then there rose a sudden fear 
 That Branti might be hovering near. 
 Or, in the home his vengeful hate 
 Had made so drear and desolate, 
 Expecting her return, might wait: 
 And came a thought, as 'twere a gleam 
 Of some remote, forgotten dream. 
 That throws up objects dim and faint — 
 Of a sequestered house, and quaint, 
 A mansion, in a suburb lone. 
 With stories five of chiselled stone. 
 Defaced and blurred, as by a curse, 
 Where dwelt a faithful friend, her nurse; 
 And, flying to this ancient lair. 
 She sought and found a refuge there. 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 25 
 
 Not since that hour, by night or day, 
 She'd from her chamber dared to stray. 
 And though her nurse made anxious quest. 
 So far as she might manifest. 
 No tidings of her father heard. 
 Nor of his fate a trace or word ; 
 For once within those doors of doom, 
 There was the mystery of the tomb. 
 
 This night, by impulse tender urged. 
 
 She first from her retreat emerged, 
 
 For 'twas a night her sire and she. 
 
 In the bright time when they were free. 
 
 Had aye been wont to celebrate 
 
 As a great festival and f^te, 
 
 Her name-day — to her honour given. 
 
 And to her patron saint's in Heaven! 
 
26 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 Ah! 'twas a cruel, woful change 
 Such gladness for misfortune strange! 
 That day, so happy in the past. 
 All weary hours, from first to last; 
 The morning in deep gloom had risen, 
 And now she'd wandered to the prison. 
 
 There was the Criminalli^ door. 
 
 She stood the frowning pile before. 
 
 Unnoted by the sentinel — 
 
 For round the spot a shadow fell. 
 
 As 'twere a cloak invisible, 
 
 And, thus begirt, her spirit passed, 
 
 Through door and grate and postern fast, 
 
 And, on its sacred purpose bent, 
 
 Into her father's dungeon went 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 27 
 
 But 'twas not given to descry, 
 
 Through granite walls, with Fancy's eye. 
 
 Or to conceive, with brain of fire, 
 
 The secrets of that prison dire ; 
 
 And of the labyrinth of stone 
 
 To Lilla not a glimpse was shown. 
 
 Horrors arose to her rapt eyes. 
 
 But, oh! the truth might paralyze! 
 
 For though appeared no softening gleam, 
 
 To break the darkness of her dream. 
 
 And penetrate, a stifled ray. 
 
 The narrow vault where her father lay — 
 
 The narrow vault, so like a tomb 
 
 In its impenetrable gloom, 
 
 And he within, a captive lone. 
 
 Who daily wasted to the bone, 
 
 c 2 
 
28 THE LAND OF TEEROR. 
 
 A skeleton, but with life's pains, 
 
 His limbs still locking in their chains. 
 
 No eye could lift the curtain fell 
 
 That masked from view this earthly hell. 
 
 While by such fancied horrors swayed, 
 A hand was on her shoulder laid. 
 And through her frame a tremor broke 
 As when a somnambulist is 'woke, 
 And sees in front a deep abyss, 
 Her foot upon the precipice — 
 For, turning quickly, she espied 
 The dreaded Branti at her side. 
 
 "Ah, Lilla! signorina sweet, 
 This is a rendezvous most meet ! 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 29 
 
 The silence round, the midniglit liour, 
 
 Yon charming fabric for a bower — 
 
 Methought I'd be a watcher near, 
 
 When Love should guide your footsteps here : 
 
 So, nightly taking up my station, 
 
 At last I've won an assignation: 
 
 And, 'fore the pontiff moon above, 
 
 I now can pay my vows of love 
 
 And tributary adoration!" 
 
 The sting that barbed his mocking speech 
 Her tempered spirit failed to reach. 
 But he, the scorpion, could feel 
 Her scorn was like a crushing heel ; 
 And as, before her piercmg glance. 
 This spasm surprised his countenance. 
 
30 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 The terrors of his evil might, 
 
 Seemed like a mist to pass from sight, 
 
 And seeing what an abject thing 
 
 Was this reflection of a king. 
 
 She felt 'twere shame in her to cower. 
 
 When but her fear would give him power. 
 
 And yet his words, his presence there, 
 
 Brought a conviction of despair; 
 
 For they confirmed her deep belief 
 
 He was the author of her grief — 
 
 That 'twas for her, and her alone, 
 
 Her sire was in a dungeon thrown. 
 
 And when she might avert this fate, 
 
 What course did duty's voice dictate? 
 
 Alas! 'twas terrible to think, 
 
 But, for his sake, she would not shrink. 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 31 
 
 " If 'twas to mock me, and to jeer, 
 You waited to confront me here, 
 The will divine that I obeyed 
 Brought me not hither to upbraid: 
 Ere now youVe told me that you love, 
 And called to witness saints above, 
 And if those spirits you revere. 
 If e'er, in truth, you held me dear, 
 Then, for my weal — your own — abate 
 This burst — this triumph of your hate. 
 In thraldom that all hope denies, 
 My father in yon prison lies — 
 I ask not by whose stem decree. 
 But you — your word can set him free!" 
 
 Then curled derisively his lip, 
 Meeting his glance in fellowship, 
 
32 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 A lurid glance, that gave a light 
 As it flashed out upon the night; 
 And on his face, as on a scroll, 
 Kevealed the instincts of his soul: 
 So, where the thunder-clouds are riven. 
 Darts out the lightning swift from Heaven, 
 And shows, to the horizon's bound, 
 Darkness, darkness all around. 
 
 ' His dungeon I can open throw — ^ 
 His bonds knock off, and bid him go — 
 Would you but tell me what I know? 
 Or is this cue, this hint astute. 
 Proud Lilla's notion of a suit?" 
 
 **If suit will move your hand to save, 
 With burning tears the boon 1*11 crave; 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 33 
 
 0! let it be a suit, a prayer, 
 
 If you will yield, if you will spare." 
 
 "Howe'er accustomed to subdue 
 'Tis plain you know not how to sue: 
 Not prayers alone, nor pleading tone. 
 Nor a bewailing damsel's moan 
 Will, like an Ariadne's clue, 
 Thread for your sire an avenue 
 
 Through yonder maze of stone. 
 Prayers moved not you in your strong hour: 
 Is Beauty more austere than Power? 
 Like Love, so Mercy has its price, 
 And Justice claims a sacrifice: 
 So, if you would your suit obtain. 
 In this wise plead, or plead in vain!" 
 
 c 3 
 
34 THE LAND OF TERKOR. 
 
 "0! to redeem him from that hold, 
 I'd give, wer't mine, his weight in gold." 
 
 "Your liberality in speech 
 
 I would not for the world impeach; 
 
 But, since the gold will surely fail. 
 
 Enter yourself the empty scale! 
 
 O! you demur! Take time to muse, 
 
 He perishes, if you refuse ! 
 
 A few brief days of fever o'er, 
 
 They'll ope, indeed, his prison door. 
 
 Not to commute or waive his doom 
 
 But to consign him to the tomb." 
 
 From Lilla broke a bitter cry — 
 *My father in his bonds to die! 
 
THE LAND OP TERROR. 35 
 
 0! save him — give him back to life, 
 And I will be your faithful wife!" 
 
 "I'm less exacting than you'd own — " 
 She shrank at his caressing tone — 
 "Nor would on your jfresh youth impose 
 The galling bondage wedlock throws. 
 No, let some more encroaching swain 
 Condemn you to that servile chain. 
 I ask what you may lightly give — 
 Then yours to say your sire shall live; 
 For morning's dawn shall set him free, 
 Pay you before his ransom fee!" 
 
 A moment LiUa speechless stood, 
 O'erborne by passion's rushing flood; 
 
36 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 But soon her words like ripples came, 
 Above that ferment of her blood : 
 '* Destroyer of my home and name !" 
 She said, in tones by depth subdued, 
 "To me you dare propose this shame! 
 Your viUany I will proclaim — 
 The whole — my cause, my father's, bring, 
 Through all his guards, before the king." 
 
 "And from his court with stripes be driven!" 
 Too sure this issue to deny, ^ 
 
 She pointed to the starlit sky — 
 " There is a King in Heaven !" 
 
 So beautiful in form and face, 
 Her faith conferred a higher grace; 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 37 
 
 And Branti, in his evil might, 
 Kecoiled before her arm of light. 
 'Twas but, indeed, a passing qualm, 
 He knew how powerless that arm! 
 And Superstition's voice was weak 
 Where Nature's self had ceased to speak. 
 
 "My king's on earth, my Heaven here, 
 
 And you the only angel near: 
 
 My prize, my spoil, I'll not resign" — 
 
 He caught her round — " You shall be mine !" 
 
 But with a bound, and with a cry, 
 
 She struggled to escape and fly. 
 
 And, ere he could a footstep note, 
 
 A hand athletic grasped his throat — 
 
 A hand that seems with iron strung, 
 
 And headlong to the ground he's flung. 
 
38 THE LAND OF TERROR. 
 
 "Assassin!" still half stunned, he cried, 
 " Meet now the fate you have defied !" 
 He snatched a dagger from his vest 
 And flew at his assailant's breast. 
 
 "Madonna, thou his buckler now!" 
 And Lilla could not check a scream 
 At the uplifted blade's bright gleam, 
 So swiftly, madly darting by. 
 Like the flash of a wrathful eye. 
 But as a gallant ship and free. 
 Beset upon a stormy sea. 
 Rides o'er the toppling rushing wave, 
 That threatened to become its grave, 
 Her champion the onset breasts. 
 And, Tclosing in, the dagger wrests — 
 
THE LAND OF TERROR. 39 
 
 Then, threw it high above his head, 
 And Branti, worsted, turned and iled. 
 
 The sentinel had heard the din. 
 And roused the sleeping guard within, 
 And, from the portal of the gaol, 
 A torch threw a reflection pale. 
 As if, such darkness left behind. 
 The night, by dazzling, smote it blind. 
 "Ah, fly!" cried Lilla, "yet I claim 
 To know my brave deliverer's name!" 
 But not a moment left to say 
 He but replied — "Away! away!" 
 And as the guard came bounding on 
 He waved adieu — ^and she was gone ! 
 
PART THE SECOND. 
 
 THE PRISON. 
 
GrO back to times when feudal power 
 
 Intrenched itself in keep and tower, 
 
 When barons fierce, and robber bands. 
 
 Exacted spoil with iron hands, 
 
 When might was right, and right was wrong, 
 
 The will ungovemed of the strong. 
 
 Religion but the pillar of cloud, 
 
 And Justice by its terrors cowed, 
 
 And guided by the ordeal's glance, 
 
 The senseless oracle of Chance. 
 
44 THE PRISON. 
 
 When Letters slept, and Art was dead, 
 And monk-craft flourislied in their stead- 
 There still, in this appalling night, 
 Were traces of redeeming light, 
 Emitting many a twinkling ray. 
 Like an encircling Milky Way: 
 And Troubadours, with lyre and song, 
 And ladies fair, mth love's soft tongue, 
 And priests, advancing in the van, 
 Preserved humanity to man. 
 
 But now we live in broadest day, 
 All earth — and Heaven — ^may survey: 
 No islets in the ocean lie, 
 No stars in the remotest sky, 
 But they are pictured to the eye: 
 
THE PRISON. 45 
 
 Religion, bursting forth entire, 
 Is once again the pillar of fire : 
 Art now has Nature's power won, 
 And a new province through the sun, 
 That, like a viceroy, bears her sway, 
 Where brush or pencil ne'er can stray; 
 The fluid lightning hastes to flow, 
 As Science bids it come and go; 
 Nor lightning nor the sun is seen 
 Where Literature has not been. 
 And small dominion claims the sword, 
 WTien rules the Press as sovereign lord! 
 
 Yet this illuminated age. 
 
 Whose range and grasp we scarce can gauge, 
 
 Still looks upon benighted climes, 
 
46 THE PRISON. 
 
 A remnant of the heritage 
 That comes to us from ancient times. 
 Behold o'er Freedom's heights the mom 
 With radiance the sky adorn, 
 While in the valleys, just below, 
 Still frowning rocks their shadows throw! 
 Where Etna and Vesuvius rise 
 No realm so fair beneath the skies: 
 Yet in this Eden, man, a thraU, 
 Has undergone a second Fall, 
 And while on every side is light, 
 Here is the deep eclipse of night. 
 So that barbaric life is found 
 Enclosed in civilization's bound, 
 And casts a blot upon the age 
 That else were History's briglitest 
 
THE PRISON. 47 
 
 Here Justice is a labelled name, 
 Which suitors buy, and rulers shame, 
 Each functionary, in his sphere, 
 A satrap and a buccaneer; 
 And, linked in an unbroken chain 
 Not one, ten thousand tyrants reign! 
 O'er rich and poor, o'er high and low. 
 The same oppressive yoke they throw, 
 Till all succumb, from daily use, 
 To Power's utmost, worst abuse, 
 And by their abject terror bring 
 A stigma on the name of king. 
 
 Ah, Sicily! enchanting isle. 
 Spread on the waters like a smile. 
 How oft I've scanned thy varied shore, 
 
48 THE PRISON. 
 
 Arising now as through a haze, 
 The fading hues that Time throws o'er — 
 As 'twould elude fond memory's gaze, 
 And veil the scenes of other days; 
 Yet still I see tall Etna's cone, 
 Majestically raised alone, 
 O'erlooking the fair island round, 
 And the bright sea that forms its bound, 
 And challenging th' exalted skies. 
 Like Lucifer in Paradise! 
 And many a bluff cliff I trace. 
 All furrowed like a seaman's face; 
 And many a slope with verdure dressed, 
 Heaving up like a gentle breast; 
 And olives, vines, and^orange-trees. 
 Yielding sweet incense to the breeze. 
 
THE PEISON. 49 
 
 Yet not for these I love thee most, 
 
 Although of these thou well mayst boast — 
 
 Nor for thine old and hallowed glory, 
 
 Embalmed in chronicle and story, 
 
 Nor for when Error ruled the earth, 
 
 Thou gavest Archimedes birth, 
 
 With dying flash, supremely bright. 
 
 To latest ages throwing light: 
 
 I love thee for thy sons are brave. 
 
 And oft have sought a freeman's grave, 
 
 And, oh! still more our love they claim. 
 
 As dear to them is England's name. 
 
 And, let but time propitious be, 
 
 We'll claim, sweet isle, redress for thee! 
 
 How sharp the agony of wrong, 
 That Lilla's gentle bosom wrung! 
 
50 THE PRISON. 
 
 The angel who to heaven bears 
 Devotion's thanks, and sorrow's prayers, 
 Keceiving such a cry of woe, 
 With tears and fears o'erladen so, 
 Must feel a sympathetic throe : 
 And, as she met his pitying sight, 
 Would quicken heavenward his flight 
 To lay her soul-inspired appeal 
 Where men and angels both must kneel. 
 
 Her father, as from Branti fell — 
 She pictured in a noisome cell, 
 On fever's raging surges tost — 
 Alone, untended, dying, lost! 
 Could she his head one moment raise, 
 And he but meet her loving gaze. 
 
THE PRISON. 51 
 
 The gaze he oft, so oft, had sought — 
 O! there was ransom in the thought! 
 For 'twould to him such solace bring, 
 Death would, she knew, lose half its sting. 
 And scarce the Church's shriving voice 
 His parting soul would more rejoice. 
 For such a moment, such an end, 
 The balance of her life she'd spend. 
 Nor ask from him one last caress. 
 But simply with a look to bless! 
 
 Like a delusion — ^undefined — 
 The project seized upon her mind. 
 But by degrees, with vigour rife, 
 Took range and outline, form and life: 
 Then, quick she fashioned a disguise 
 That might delude a gaole'rs eyes: 
 
52 THE PRISON. 
 
 And masks her mission, yet declares 
 The garb a Sister of Mercy wears. 
 
 She knows the risk and peril great, 
 
 But not the horrors that await: 
 
 A hero's corn-age she may feel. 
 
 She'd need to have his breast of steel : 
 
 For has suspicion round her hovered, 
 
 While she. believed herself secure — 
 
 Should she be watched, surprised, discovered. 
 
 Just as success might promise sure — 
 
 What then, alas! her life-long doom! 
 
 ! happier at once the tomb ! 
 
 But vainly apprehensions rise, 
 
 In every shape, in every guise: 
 
 For such an object she can brave 
 
 Those more than terrors of the grave. 
 
THE PKISON. 5S 
 
 Walks to and fro the sentinel, 
 
 And soldiers from the guard-room stroll, 
 
 And round its portal sit and loll, 
 
 And many an idle tale they tell. 
 
 And jest and laugh, and rail and quaff, 
 
 Like demons at the gate of hell : 
 
 For not of this fair region they. 
 
 But from the land of William Tell, 
 
 Where first broke Freedom from her shell. 
 
 Attracted by a tyrant's pay. 
 
 They've come to make this realm a prey. 
 
 And, as a courtesan her charms. 
 
 Barter their valour and their arms. 
 
 'Tis vesper hour and from each tower, 
 And priory and convent dome. 
 
54 THE PRISON. 
 
 The solemn bell, through street and cell, 
 
 Bids all who hear to worship come. 
 
 But Lilla turns not on her way 
 
 The pleading summons to obey: 
 
 Her glance indeed to Heaven has risen. 
 
 But settles quickly on the prison. 
 
 In other guise to pass the guard, 
 By insult might the way be barred, 
 But, in a habit sacred dressed, 
 She but invoked a muttered jest ; 
 And. carried this first peril o*er, 
 Approached the subdivided door. 
 Here looking forth, a warder stood, 
 One of the callous turnkey brood. 
 As a rank spider, in its lair. 
 Keeps watch until it can ensnare. 
 
THE PRISON. 55 
 
 And so his covert glance stole round, 
 For aught of prey that might be found. 
 
 "A prisoner is sinking here, 
 
 And soon will leave this mortal sphere; 
 
 I pray you, by our Saviour dear" — 
 
 And she impressed on brow and breast, 
 
 Kedemption's holy sign — 
 
 "His spirit suffer me to cheer 
 
 With messages divine, 
 Which, in the thoughts that inward spring, 
 Hither Madonna bids me bring." 
 
 "A dog there is by fever smote, 
 Who'll cheat the hangman of his throat, 
 And, ere from gaol to limbo driven, 
 By priest or monk would fain be shriven; 
 
56 THE PRISON. 
 
 But all such help methinks is past, 
 For every breath may be his last" — 
 Then sprang the tears to Lilla's eyes, 
 But she bethought of her disguise ; 
 And knowing pity ne'er could melt 
 A breast that ne'er had pity felt, 
 She sought to penetrate by fears 
 The rock insoluble by tears. 
 
 "I come by inspiration sent" — 
 Such was the sanction Nature lent — 
 " The holy offices to give. 
 And show the dying how to live: 
 As you would feel in life's last hour 
 This soul-invigorating power, 
 And many be your sins, or few. 
 Through all their web salvation view. 
 
THE PRISON. 57 
 
 Beholding Peter open wide 
 
 The portal of the mansions blest, 
 
 Ope now this door, and be my guide 
 
 To execute his high behest: 
 
 For if through you this soul be lost — 
 
 Beware! — ^your own wiU be the cost!" 
 
 And, by her holy mission fired, 
 She looked indeed like one inspired, 
 Her air, her eye, her glowing cheek 
 Seemed with authority to speak. 
 And straight the warder stood aside, 
 And threw the grated portal wide; 
 As if he felt this act of grace 
 Would a whole life of guilt erase. 
 
 D 3 
 
5S THE PRISON. 
 
 And she has passed the threshold dread, 
 
 That, with one stride, seems to divide 
 
 The living from the hive of dead! 
 
 Ah! would that Dante's deathless lyre 
 
 This new Inferno could portray: 
 
 And paint its depths in words of fire, 
 
 To shame and horrify the day ! 
 
 Yet not unknown, nor undeclared. 
 
 Through walls and warders they have glared; 
 
 And fell it to a Saxon pen, 
 
 To bear their frightfulness to men. 
 
 'Twas Gladstone who, with giant might, 
 
 First dragged them forth in Europe's sight. 
 
 And senates, nations made to ring 
 
 With his rebuke of an evil king. 
 
THE PRISON. 59 
 
 Through gate and grate and plated door, 
 Each locked behind ere ope'd before, 
 With horrid clank of bolt and key, 
 Unhinging brain and heart and knee, 
 And stifling more by sudden fear 
 Than by the stagnant atmosphere. 
 So that one gasped for breath in vain, 
 Finding the air itself a chain, 
 They moved along, the warder first, 
 And Lilla swiftly as she durst. 
 Sconced lamps a lurid glimmer cast. 
 Like light benighted, as they passed, 
 While came, from all the prison's bounds, 
 A chorus of discordant sounds, 
 And Lilla, awe-struck, closed her eyes, 
 As if she could shut out the cries, 
 
,60 THE PRISON. 
 
 And from this guK of woe and sin, 
 Take refuge her own soul within. 
 In haste she crossed her troubled breast, 
 That scarce knew guilt when manifest, 
 For in its depths there was enshrined 
 That amulet, a holy mind. 
 
 At length, instinctively they halt 
 Before the mouth of a grim vault. 
 That, like a crater, dimly shows 
 An awful glimpse of Nature's throes, — 
 Not in the dread volcano's flame, 
 But working in the human frame. 
 Enough packed in those limits narrow 
 A realm, a startled world, to harrow! 
 And as, through grated aperture, 
 There falls by stealth a light obscure, 
 
THE PRISON. 61 
 
 By Lilians eye a space is seen, 
 And forms, like shadows, loom between. 
 But, trained to pierce tlie dungeon's night. 
 Bondage possesses quicker sight. 
 And from the first, she was espied. 
 Her figure, face, and garb descried: 
 And jeers were heard, and laughter wild. 
 Some blessed, some cursed, and some reviled. 
 Others in real frenzy raved, 
 And cried one hollow voice '^ Tm saved T 
 Who were the martyrs in this hold 
 The eloquence of silence told: 
 , They stood amid the noisy crowd 
 Wrapped in themselves, as in a shroud. 
 Nor seemed to know what passed around. 
 Though hand to hand with felons bound: 
 
62 THE PEI80N. 
 
 For virtue could a king invent 
 Such diabolic punishment! 
 0! more ennobling are his bonds, 
 Their links more honourable far, 
 Than are the priceless diamonds 
 That sparkle in his brightest star! 
 
 A few had from the trial shrunk, 
 
 And on the earth inertly sunk, 
 
 Where, pinioned to an iron rod, 
 
 They were a living cry to God, 
 
 That surely would through Heaven resound, 
 
 Like blood of Abel from the ground. 
 
 Others were fastened to the wall. 
 
 While heavy gyves their limbs enthral. 
 
 And matted hair and draggling beard. 
 
 Faces unwashed, and eyes all bleared. 
 
THE PRISON. 63 
 
 Show plainly, as a written scroll, 
 How has the iron pierced the soul. 
 
 A thousand stenches mingled rise, 
 The walls, the air, are thick with flies. 
 And on the ground crawl noisome things, « 
 All that disease, and foulness brings. 
 
 Is this a picture wrought with pain 
 
 In the depth of a morbid brain? 
 
 A dream by Fever's touch unfurled, 
 
 The monstrous nightmare of a world? 
 
 Alas! in such a den — as vile 
 
 As e'er was closed on blackest guile, 
 
 Two citizens of England's soil. 
 
 Her sons, though they were sons of toil. 
 
64 THE PRISON. 
 
 Without transgressing to excite, 
 Were left to feel a tyrant's spite, 
 Till, crushed by the impression sad, 
 One turned suicide, and one went mad. 
 
 And now a swimming sense of pain 
 Caught, like a whirlpool, Lilians brain, 
 And as it seemed to sweep her round. 
 And lift her reeling from the ground. 
 Became each object, in the gloom, 
 An eddy of this Maelstroom, 
 But Like a swimmer sinking fast. 
 Who makes an effort as his last. 
 She summoned all her strength to aid, 
 And her o'erwhelming dread allayed. 
 
THE PKISON. 65 
 
 "Where is the man who would be shriven?" 
 The warder, with mock fervour, said: 
 "By all the saints he's cheated Heaven!" 
 And Lilla to the spot he led. 
 
 "O! Jesu! be his sins forgiven!" 
 
 Cried Lilla, bending low her head — 
 
 For now his manacles were riven, 
 
 The ransomed prisoner was dead! 
 
 At hand another sick man lies. 
 Who suddenly has raised his eyes. 
 As if, when Lilla softly spoke. 
 By the archangel's trump awoke, 
 And, from the border of the tomb, 
 Brought back to life's severer gloom. 
 And though her eye but looked askance. 
 She felt — she met, his feeble glance. 
 
66 THE PKISON. 
 
 For, as magnetic pulses dart, 
 It flashed direct upon her heart, 
 And she divined, before she saw. 
 Who lay upon that littered straw. 
 
 Her deep emotion to conceal, 
 She turned beside his bed to kneel, 
 And seeing what his look expressed. 
 That fear for her convulsed his breast, 
 So much her tenderness restrained. 
 That to her garb it well pertained, 
 And Mercy's livery in view, 
 Her every gesture bore its hue: 
 So from a distance we behold 
 In village spire a Saviour's fold, 
 Though, mantled by its ivy screen, 
 The spire itself may scarce be seen. 
 
THE PRISON. 67 
 
 She gently raised his throbbing head, 
 And gleaned a pillow from his bed, 
 The straggling locks put from his brow, 
 More sensitive and shrinking now: 
 Then took his hand of skin and bone, 
 That looked like Death's within her own. 
 And as she clasped it, in despair, 
 Murmured a low, abstracted prayer. 
 Unconscious of the ribald jeers, 
 That reached her father's duller ears. 
 Nor able in her trance to see 
 Some reverently bent the knee. 
 
 But in affliction's wildest flow. 
 The heart will still its instincts show, 
 And now her father's glances dim 
 Made her forget herself in him : 
 
68 THE PRISON. 
 
 For so mysterious the chain, 
 When heart is bound to heart in pain, 
 The conflict raging in his breast, 
 Left, for a space, her own at rest — 
 As here the hurricane has passed, 
 While there still sweeps its mighty blast. 
 
 He knew what impulse brought her there, 
 
 And all its tenderness could share; 
 
 But though he'd yearned to see her face. 
 
 And fold her in one last embrace. 
 
 Yet, from the perils round her spread, 
 
 The consolation turned to dread. 
 
 And this he could but faintly tell 
 
 In the one murmured word — "farewell!" 
 
THE PRISON. 
 
 The scene all struck upon her eye, 
 Like the impression of a die, 
 As at the chink, with iron barred, 
 The visored light stood like a guard. 
 Glanced at each object as a shade 
 Cast deep within a forest glade. 
 And throwing up its sombre hue, . 
 As in a stereoscopic view. 
 The roof that let rank moisture fall, 
 The captives fastened to the wall. 
 Like figures in old Egypt's caves,^ 
 Or friars niched in standing graves,* 
 Each felon and his guileless mate, 
 United by a tyrant's hate. 
 The men knit to the iron rod. 
 Whose lives were one appeal to GrOD, 
 
70 THE PEISON. 
 
 Her dying father and the dead 
 
 Both lying on one littered bed, 
 
 The flies that swarmed the poisoned air, 
 
 That scarce their heavy wings could bear. 
 
 The noisome things upon the ground — 
 
 All floated in one vision round! 
 
 She staggered from this human slough 
 Bewildered, lost, she knew not how, 
 Nor heard the malefactors shout 
 In mockery, as she passed out; 
 But, quick as lightning, a wild thought 
 The scene again before her brought. 
 And, in her father's parting look, 
 With such hysteric impulse shook, 
 That, shrieking, as upon a rack, 
 She started round to hurry back. 
 
THE PRISON. 71 
 
 Too late, alas! for, ere she turned, 
 A man in front her face discerned, 
 And as the warder seized her hand, 
 Her frantic purpose to withstand, 
 The other — Branti — ^for 'twas he — 
 Sprang forward with demoniac glee. 
 Held up the light, and all disguise 
 Rent, like a mist, before his eyes. 
 
 *' Aha ! methinks I know that face ! 
 Well met, fair mistress, in this place! 
 What plot, I pray, against the king 
 Is, in your visit, on the wing? 
 The bird that would its end presage 
 We'U keep to warble in this cage. 
 But no! that cross, your garb, attest 
 The convent's cell will suit you best: 
 
72 THE PRISON. 
 
 Such fitting home we'll soon provide, 
 And you shall be the Church's bride!" 
 
 "Your worst is done: I meet it now — 
 Nor life would ask from such as thou!" 
 Yet as she spoke, in wild alarm, 
 She clasped the sullen warder's arm. 
 As if his flinty breast would yield 
 The poor defence of such a shield — 
 " ! hide me from this dreadful man, 
 If your profoundest dungeon can : 
 Keep him by darkness from my sight, 
 And I will gladly sink from light." 
 
 The gaoler answered with a scoff. 
 To turn his chiefs displeasure off. 
 
THE PRISON. 73 
 
 But Branti, stung by her disdain, 
 His rage, his spite, could not restrain: 
 "Ere you again behold the day, 
 To see my face you'll humbly pray: 
 Hence — drag her to a cell — away!" 
 
 Little of need to force her on, 
 When she so panted to be gone, 
 And to the gaoler felt so light 
 She seemed in sooth a bird in flight. 
 And not without a secret sway 
 Her hand in his a moment lay: 
 As friction snatches fire from wood. 
 Her touch e'en here awakened good, 
 And when he thrust her in the cell, 
 A spark of pity from him fell, 
 
 E 
 
74 THE PRISON. 
 
 Though, as base metal rings perverse, 
 His pity stumbled in a curse. 
 
 She heard him not, nor knew he spoke, 
 
 No sound through her abstraction broke, 
 
 And to the darkness she was blind, 
 
 A deeper night was in her mind; 
 
 Yet a perception of relief. 
 
 As 'twere a star, peered through her grief. 
 
 She thought not, dreamt not, whence it came, 
 
 But Branti's absence gave the gleam ; 
 
 And now, as on a mirror cast. 
 
 It showed the terrors she had past, 
 
 And she felt borne, as by a wave, 
 
 Into the refuge of this grave. 
 
THE PRISON. 75 
 
 But when — too soon — she was immured, 
 And when she heard the door secured, 
 The bolts seemed through her side to dart, 
 As if their socket were her heart; 
 And now she could not check a cry, 
 And prostrate sank, as if to die, 
 Then, in her frenzy, turned to fly: 
 Alas! 'twas but to "meet the door, 
 And fall its iron foot before. 
 
 From this distraction to reclaim. 
 
 With thought on thought. Composure came, 
 
 As imperceptibly the dew. 
 
 That, in its fall, eludes our view. 
 
 And she grew patient and resigned, 
 
 As if the night had left her mind, 
 
 E 2 
 
76 THE PRISON. 
 
 Or burst the clouds that hid its sky, 
 And showed her Heaven still on high. 
 
 But 'tis by love divine foreshown, 
 We are not made to be alone: 
 If there be no vibration lent, 
 What music in the instrument ! 
 
 nd should it long unswept remain. 
 Then discord mingles with its strain: 
 So with our faculties repressed — 
 They fall to ruin in the breast, 
 And, where was harmony complete. 
 Soon Reason totters on her seat. 
 
 And silently this bhght fell round 
 As Lilla lay upon the ground: 
 
THE PRISON. 77 
 
 And every moment, every hour, 
 Increased the pressure of its power: 
 For though her father's image oft 
 Would raise emotions deep and soft. 
 And for a time bear her above 
 Her terrors in her filial love, 
 Still came the thought she was alone, 
 In this deep sepulchre of stone, 
 And, through the watches of the night, 
 It grew in horror and in might, 
 Until it made her narrow cell 
 Its battlemented citadel. 
 
 And so Time loitered slowly on 
 Leaning his idle scythe upon. 
 For nothing could he find to mow 
 Where every thought would blighted grow, 
 
78 THE PRISON. 
 
 And, where the hour-glass was the brain, 
 
 His steps, the minutes, fell with pain. 
 
 And trod into the living clock, 
 
 As drops of water dint the rock. 
 
 Came no distinctive shade to say 
 
 Or when 'twas night or when 'twas day; 
 
 No voice, no sound, but Nature dumb 
 
 Echoed at times a distant hum. 
 
 Such as might spring from memories dear 
 
 Kesponding to the listening ear, 
 
 Just as, when pressed, the captive shell 
 
 Resounds the waves it loves so well. 
 
 No visitor her dungeon sought, 
 
 A hand unseen provisions brought, 
 
 Which through a panel of the door 
 
 A box turned on a pivot bore. 
 
THE PRISON. 79 
 
 And, grazing on the iron bar, 
 This was her only calendar. 
 
 At last they ope'd the dungeon door, 
 A lamp advancing to explore, 
 Though to her eyes its lurid rays 
 Seemed to present the sun's full blaze. 
 The sullen warder entered then, 
 And followed quick two other men. 
 Who, by th,e flashing of their arms, 
 Were seen at once to be gendarmes. 
 "Up now, haste!" the warder cried, 
 "You're bound upon a pleasant ride, 
 A carriage waits you in the yard. 
 These gentlemen will be your guard. 
 To a sweet home they bear you hence — ' 
 The convent of Black Penitents." 
 
80 THE PRISON. 
 
 Her cruel sentence Lilla heard, 
 
 Without a gesture or a word; 
 
 And, though her knees would scarce support, 
 
 Passed with her keepers to the court. 
 
PART THE THIRD. 
 
 THE CONVENT. 
 
 e3 
 
If e'er you'd see Religion marred, 
 Let it be ranked with punishments, 
 And render it a bondage hard, 
 As in that Sisterhood ill-starred, 
 The order of Black Penitents. 
 
 Their convent hangs upon a height. 
 
 As if it there had flown, 
 Arrested in its heavenward flight. 
 And driven weary to alight. 
 By its dead weight of stone. 
 
84 THE CONVENT. 
 
 That, like a frame of mortal birth, 
 Chained down its hundred souls to earth. 
 
 Around there rose a lofty wall, 
 And peered above two towers tall, 
 That o'er the country threw a scowl, 
 As friars glance from 'neath a cowl: 
 A narrow court the walls invest. 
 As 'twere the convent's sullen breast. 
 Where shut within itself, it gives 
 No thought to all that outward lives: 
 And, still beyond, a wall sweeps round. 
 The cemetery's awftd bound — 
 So circumscribed each Sister's doom 
 She steps from prison to the tomb ! 
 
THE CONVENT. 85 
 
 But who would give that holy name — 
 
 Sister — where the term would shame, 
 
 For here the object was to part, 
 
 Not to draw nearer, heart and heart, 
 
 And pure and sullied to confound 
 
 In one promiscuous gulf profoimd. 
 
 The fair without and foul within. 
 
 Poor frailty, and leprous sin. 
 
 The faithless wife, the spotted maid, 
 
 The wronged, the perjured, the betrayed — 
 
 All compassed by one stem decree 
 
 Made up the hapless company. 
 
 No Sister's loving fellowship 
 
 Where locked each breast and sealed each lip. 
 
 And Nature's soft emotions all 
 
 By cruel vows were held in thrall. 
 
86 THE CONVENT. 
 
 How sisters! when within her veil, 
 Each nun inclosed her spirit's pale, 
 And, in this narrow confine furled, 
 Saw in herseK her only world! 
 
 And yet, withal, as Sisters, too, 
 They might appear to outward view 
 Albeit not in earthly hue — 
 For when, at call of midnight bell, 
 They sally from their lonely cell. 
 And, through the chapel dimly lit, 
 To their appointed places flit — 
 As in long file they bend the knee — 
 They seem a band of ghosts to be. 
 
 Sat in an oratory old 
 
 The Abbess of this convict fold, 
 
THE CONVENT. 87 
 
 An image of its canons stem : 
 Her face, inanimate and cold, 
 But of a lifeless sorrow told, 
 As 'twere a monumental urn, 
 That 'neath its dismal shadow gave 
 The soul, in its own breast, a grave. 
 
 All human feeling she ignored, 
 
 For what was human she abhorred, 
 
 'Twas weakness, folly, error, sin, 
 
 The taint original within. 
 
 Nor licence for herseK she sought, 
 
 But daily practised what she taught, 
 
 And pushed for Heaven s far retreat 
 
 With weighted heart and shackled feet. 
 
 Not raising up her torpid soul 
 
 To share the race and win the goal. 
 
88 THE CONVENT. 
 
 With low obeisance came a Nun, 
 Her eyes cast down that gaze to shun, 
 As fearing might some trace be seen, 
 That once a woman she had been, 
 "Keverend mother, at our gates, 
 An escort with a sinner waits, 
 This rescript, through the grating caught. 
 Shows whence and wherefore she is brought." 
 
 The sealed despatch the Abbess took 
 With an awakened, kindling look — 
 For if a point where she could feel. 
 It was the bosom of her zeal. 
 Adown the scroll she cast her eye — 
 '*A traitress — intrigante — and spy! 
 0! what an evil legion here 
 O'er one poor soul to domineer. 
 
THE CONVENT. 89 
 
 And plunge into a depth of sin, 
 
 From hatred of all discipline. 
 
 How blest my lot that I shall be 
 
 An instrument to set her free, 
 
 And, with my withered, palsied hand. 
 
 Snatch from the burning one more brand! 
 
 But bring her, as our rules provide. 
 
 First to salute me as her guide." 
 
 • 
 Her hands upon her bosom pressed, 
 And bending low at this behest. 
 The Nun in silence took her way 
 The stern injunction to obey; 
 And, though the moments were but few, 
 The Abbess in her fervour grew. 
 As covertly the Nun discerned. 
 When soon with Lilla she returned. 
 
90 THE CONVENT. 
 
 Not with misgiving, or in fear, 
 Came Lilla, though a captive, here, 
 For, if not liberty to roam, 
 The convent would afford a home, 
 Where, if Keligion bore a rod, 
 'Twas but to raise the soul to G-od, 
 While from her dungeon to the light 
 Was to escape to mom from night. 
 And this impression, glad but chaste. 
 Her spirit and her look embraced, 
 And like her garb portrayed an aim 
 A Sister of Mercy well became. 
 
 As mariners at sea explore 
 The outlines of a rising shore, 
 The Abbess scrutinized her face, 
 As there her character to trace; 
 
THE CONVENT. 91 
 
 And in the haven of her soul, 
 
 Saw rocks arise, and billows roll; 
 
 For to her mind, by zeal distorted, 
 
 Where hope looked forth, there guilt resorted. 
 
 "You wear the clothing of the lamb, 
 
 But the fierce wolf breaks through the sham, 
 
 And could a robe your nature show, 
 
 A blushing scarlet it would glow, 
 
 Away ! prepare by vigils stem — 
 
 Kemorse that racks, and thoughts that bum — 
 
 Our order's vestiture to eam! 
 
 And when for every sin you bleed 
 
 You'll come to Christ a lamb indeed." 
 
 Quailed Lilla at this sharp reproof 
 As 'neath the rushing charger's hoof 
 
92 THE CONVENT. 
 
 The wounded, who still cling to life, 
 llecoil amid the battle's strife: 
 But everything around her here 
 She had been tutored to revere. 
 And whatsoe'er the Church might say, 
 She knew to hear was to obey, 
 So, meekly her obeisance done. 
 She followed forth the silent Nun. 
 
 Across a court their steps they bent, 
 And down a cloistered passage went, 
 But not a word was interchanged. 
 As through the dreary pile they ranged. 
 Like the blank cover of a book 
 Is that Black Sister's curtained look : 
 Ah ! could we raise it up and read. 
 The tale might make the sternest bleed. 
 
THE CONVENT. 93 
 
 Within the convent church they stood; 
 They knelt before the holy rood; 
 And ere she raised her glance again, 
 Lilla had lost her chamberlain. 
 As from a landscape fades a hue 
 Clouds sombre in their passage threw, 
 Leaving no trace where it had been 
 She stole away unheard, unseen: 
 And now unwatched, all silent round, 
 A sanctuary Lilla found, 
 And nestled to this place of rest 
 As were its floor her mother's breast. 
 
 And did her vision not delude 
 Not hers alone this chastened mood. 
 For at Madonna's blessed shrine. 
 Where stood her effigy divine. 
 
94 THE CONVENT. 
 
 O'er human sins and sorrows weeping — 
 There, on the step, a nun was sleeping. 
 
 Solemn and still the vaulted aisles, 
 
 And in the midst the dismal nave, 
 
 That loomed up through their grim defiles 
 
 Less like a temple than a cave — 
 
 For, low and broad, the cjolumns all 
 
 Seemed hewn complete from mountain wall. 
 
 And neither strength nor lightness gave, 
 
 And no relief of architrave, 
 
 But 'neath the roof seemed bedding down, 
 
 Just like a despot 'neath his crown. 
 
 And knit above in Gothic curve. 
 
 That now the eye could not observe. 
 
 Might represent a despot's frown. 
 
THE CONVENT. 95 
 
 And there the Nun was lying down, 
 Stretched at Madonna's holy feet, 
 Her sleep so tranquil and so sweet! 
 The tears the sculptor sought to trace 
 On that benign, seraphic face, 
 The tears the Dolorosa shed — 
 Fell they upon her marble bed, 
 Surely the Nun had raised her head! 
 Strained Lilla's gaze if it could mark 
 In such repose the vital spark. 
 But too profound the sleeper's rest, 
 Too like her pillow was her breast; 
 And glided Lilla to the spot 
 As though she fain would share her lot, 
 Yet half in doubt, and half in dread — 
 For she surmised the Nun was dead. 
 
96 THE CONVENT. 
 
 Laid out before the Virgin weeping, 
 
 As though in truth she were but sleeping- 
 
 In all her daily garb arrayed, 
 
 And down her breast a cross of white, 
 
 With hands clasped o'er, as if she prayed, 
 
 Reposing, in Faith's conscious might, 
 
 Upon that rock, that emblem bright! 
 
 Her votive ring was on her finger, 
 
 And in her face a gleam of light. 
 
 As though her spirit still might linger. 
 
 Or — ere it took its upward flight — 
 
 Had left this impress exquisite. 
 
 Such the inscription, meek and faint. 
 
 Oft traced upon a dungeon wall. 
 
 Nor plea, nor protest, nor complaint. 
 
 But in its silence blending all — 
 
 The story of a hapless thrall 1 
 
THE CONVENT. 97 
 
 And here, much sooner to decay, 
 
 'Twas writ upon a wall of clay. 
 
 That, fit to domicile a queen, 
 
 A prison — dungeon — yet had been. 
 
 Perverted from its mission high 
 
 That she 'twas meant to beautify, 
 
 A corpse might live, a saint might die! 
 
 Through the deep windows, dwarfed and smaD, 
 
 Night's warning shadows 'gan to fall, 
 
 Partaking of the ghostly stains, 
 
 That dyed and blurred the muUioned panes — 
 
 As intermixed and undefined. 
 
 The images in Lilla's mind: 
 
 To her how welcome were the veil 
 
 Within the Church's real pale, 
 
98 THE CONVENT. 
 
 For there — distracted, lost — she'd find 
 A refuge safe and usage kind. 
 But now what ministering voice 
 To smoothe the way and lead her choice! 
 What hand to guide her halting feet, 
 And bring her to the blest retreat! 
 No solemn tones from organ peal, 
 No loving nuns around her kneel, 
 One only aim — ^to chill and awe- 
 In all she heard and all she saw. 
 The Church, too tender to reject. 
 Yet named her not a bride elect. 
 But took her from the state a slave 
 To train and tutor for the grave. 
 How different, how happy she, 
 Advancing to the altar free. 
 
THE CONVENT. 99 
 
 And feeling that her hand was given 
 Unshackled to the King of Heaven ! 
 
 Slowly the gloom with shade on shade, 
 
 The darker touch of night displayed, 
 
 Till, blending in one hue profound. 
 
 It settled like a cloud around. 
 
 But a subdued effulgence soon 
 
 Proclaimed the advent of the moon : 
 
 It feU the window near upon, 
 
 And through its varied colours shone, 
 
 Showing a form, a woman fair. 
 
 Her eyes bedewed, cast down her hair, 
 
 And kneeling at the Saviour's feet, 
 
 A picture — 0, divinely sweet! 
 
 For ne'er could Mercy's voice declare 
 
 A reconcilement more complete. 
 
 P 2 
 
100 THE CONVENT. 
 
 Gazed Lilla, with a look serene, 
 
 On the bewailing Magdalene, 
 
 Until the face so long in view 
 
 From her an animation drew. 
 
 And, 'lumined by the moonbeams soft, 
 
 The eyes rose hopefully aloft, 
 Emotion lit the kindling cheek. 
 The lips, urdocking, seemed to speak — 
 No marvel that she bent the knee 
 A miracle so strange to see! 
 
 But suddenly the vision changed, 
 Like summer night by tempest ranged. 
 The figure that on wings of love 
 Had borne her thoughts the earth above, 
 Now from the window seemed to rise 
 With aspect fierce and wrathful eyes: 
 
THE CONVENT. 101 
 
 Then, towering up, sublimely tall, 
 A shadow on the chapel wall, 
 Onward in fell swoop it pressed — 
 She felt its hand upon her breast: 
 It froze her blood, it stayed her breath, 
 A form of horror and of death. 
 
 0! let the arm uplifted smite. 
 
 If 'twould deliver from this sight: 
 
 But now around vibrates a sound 
 
 AU evil spirits will confound; 
 
 For none dare meet those tones that swell, 
 
 Like dirges, from the convent bell. 
 
 And was it aU a horrid dream? 
 
 And had she there sunk down in sleep? 
 
102 THE CONTENT. 
 
 Full softly did the moonlight beam, 
 And lit the window with its gleam, 
 But still she felt a tremor creep — 
 A current in her bosom deep: 
 For now she heard distinct a bell 
 Tolling a funereal knell, 
 And there a form, in black arrayed, 
 Close at her side, a shadow, stayed. 
 
 Then, like a meteor's weird flame, 
 A horrid thought upon her came. 
 A thought in keeping with her mood — 
 That the dead Nun beside her stood. 
 And shuddering, through all her frame. 
 She sank before the holy rood. 
 And low pronounced the blessed name 
 That angels evermore acclaim! 
 
THE CONVENT. 103 
 
 But one look at Madonna's shrine 
 Showed, 'neath the effigy divine, 
 The corpse, all hushed, still on its bed — 
 Upward its partner soul had fled, 
 And, rescued from its bonds of clay, 
 Never again that form would wed, 
 Until the awful Judgment Day. 
 
 The figure standing at her side. 
 Was — soon she saw — ^her recent guide; 
 And though uplifted was her hand, 
 'Twas but attention to command; 
 And on her lip a finger laid, 
 Admonishing the trembling maid, 
 Repressed the cry that half arose. 
 Convulsive as a nightmare's throes. 
 
104 THE CONVENT. 
 
 "Silence, and follow!" she softly said; 
 And quick the way to a postern led ; 
 While Lilla, still as in a dream, 
 That round her denser mazes spread. 
 Swift as the moonlight's darting gleam, 
 Forth from the silent chancel sped, 
 Yet ere they pass the threshold dread 
 That stands the boundary extreme, 
 Atween the living and the dead, 
 They both a Paternoster say, 
 And for the souls departed pray. 
 Then, as an amulet they'd found, 
 Advance into the holy ground. 
 
 No sculptured stone or moss-grown mound. 
 But only quarried pits were there,* 
 
THE CONVENT. 105 
 
 And bones, all whitened, lay around 
 
 And trunkless skulls, as bleached and bare, 
 
 Like remnants of a vampire's fare! 
 
 Alas! to think they e'er had been. 
 
 The temples of a living soul — 
 
 Those vacant sockets once had seen 
 
 And glistened with a light serene, 
 
 And from their orbs love's glances stole, 
 
 Illumining the glowing cheek, 
 
 Where beauty's blush had seemed to speak, 
 
 And there, as on a coin of gold. 
 
 Impressed in Nature's faultless mould. 
 
 The hand divine its stamp had given. 
 
 The image of the King of Heaven. 
 
 Here what rich spoils grim Death had won/ 
 
 "O! vanity!" exclaimed the Nun. 
 
 F 3 
 
106 THE CONVENT. 
 
 **Wlio would the world's delights prefer, 
 To works that might by Faith be done, 
 Would not this sight, these bones, deter, 
 When such the course that all must run? 
 Ah! were those works, that mission, mine. 
 All other objects could I shun! 
 But rules our sisterhood confine. 
 We may do nothing but repine! 
 To-night another mortal's clay 
 Another lifeless, soulless thing. 
 With dirge and taper here we bring; 
 And when to live is death each day 
 Can you our canons stern obey? — 
 Stranger — maiden — sister, say !" 
 
 She paused — a pause might be a sigh, 
 Unheard, except it were on high, 
 
THE CONVENT. 107 
 
 And then again her voice arose, 
 In the same accents of repose — 
 " If not— if you distrust your heart — 
 You may, are you but bold, depart!" 
 
 Sank Lilla weeping at her feet — 
 
 " 1 save me, save !" she whispered low. 
 
 Then spoke the Nun with cadence sweet — 
 
 "If you the jeopardy will meet — 
 
 And 'tis far greater than you know — 
 
 I, from this spot, a way can show, 
 
 And though the peril be obscure, 
 
 Better to dare than to endure. 
 
 For 'tis a dreadful thing to be 
 
 So doomed and life-enthralled as we. 
 
 And if, before my vows had bound 
 
 A path from this retreat I'd found. 
 
108 THE CONVENT. 
 
 Wer't torment, death, the stake to face — 
 The risk I'd shrunk not to embrace !" 
 
 And for an instant's space she stood, 
 As launched upon dark Memory's flood, 
 And by its billows, strong though mute. 
 Tossed in an agony acute: 
 Nor LiUa's voice the silence broke, 
 Responsive to the words she spoke. 
 For though gave sympathy a key 
 That might unlock her reverie. 
 And few the moments that remain 
 For her to break or weld her chain, 
 She, thinking of the Nun alone. 
 In her despair forgot her own. 
 
THE CONVENT. 109 
 
 Tolled quicker now the solemn kneD, 
 
 And o'er that flood of memories fell, 
 
 Admonishing the Nun's rapt ear, 
 
 As warned of yore the sea-cliff belP 
 
 Through mingled mist and darkness drear, 
 
 That danger, though unseen, was near. 
 
 "Sister, those sounds, sad mentors, tell 
 
 Soon minutes to a life-time swell: 
 
 No longer we must linger here. 
 
 Without yon postern, in the wall, 
 
 A priest awaits our mother's call: 
 
 For only at the open grave, 
 
 We claim such blessed help to save, 
 
 So rigid is our code to keep 
 
 Man's foot without the convent's sweep. 
 
 Are you resolved and do you choose 
 
 Your bonds to rivet or to loose?" 
 
110 THE CONVENT. 
 
 **0! holy Sister! wer't to die, 
 I'd still decide and pray to fly! 
 Your help and your sweet blessing give, 
 And, by God's help, I yet shall live." 
 
 " May angels on your footsteps tend ! 
 Blest Mary her assistance lend! 
 Now mark! — for this the minute's brink 
 When you must boldly leap or sink — 
 While at the grave the Padre prays, 
 A portress at the postern stays: 
 You'll see her once in worship kneel, 
 That moment you must outward steal. 
 And fly — 'tis onward — to the coast, 
 One step to falter, you are lost. 
 For o'er the country, far and near. 
 
THE CONVENT. Ill 
 
 Our bell will the alarum spread, 
 And trumpet in each startled ear — 
 A convict — such we are — has fled! 
 Now, stand within this shaded nook, 
 The door 's unbarred — ^it opens — look!" 
 
 A Nun before the postern stood, 
 
 The guard of the Black Sisterhood : 
 
 Enveloped in her sable suit, 
 
 A votive and perpetual mute, 
 
 No meeter could, I ween, be. found 
 
 As warder of a burial-ground. 
 
 The door, though open, she held fast, 
 
 As fearing prowlers might rush past. 
 
 And scarce inclined her head the least 
 
 Before the blessing of the Priest. 
 
112 THE CONVENT. 
 
 Turned Lilla to address her guide, 
 
 But she had softly left her side, 
 
 For now from the adjacent fane 
 
 Came slowly on a mournful train, 
 
 With tapers lit and raised on high, 
 
 And chanting — awful lullaby — 
 
 The requiem's exalted strain 
 
 To ears that ne'er shall hear again. 
 
 Close, closer round the bier they throng, 
 
 And louder there intone the song. 
 
 As though they'd have their sister know 
 
 Who love, who mourn, who guard her so; 
 
 Believing as they round her wait 
 
 Their dirge will reach far Heaven's gate; 
 
 For, though the gulf be wide between, 
 
 Bright angels float above unseen, 
 
THE CONVENT. 113 
 
 And, borne that brazen cross before, 
 
 The soul now launched shall gain the shore. 
 
 The censer swings and incense springs 
 
 In homage to the King of Kings ; 
 
 And the stoled Priest, with holy water, 
 
 Sprinkles the Church's wedded daughter. 
 
 As onward, like a train of state, 
 
 They bear her to the narrow gate. 
 
 Whence prayers shall wing her on with speed, 
 
 Though Purgatory's fires impede, 
 
 For they are taught their penance here 
 
 Shall bridge for them that chasm drear. 
 
 There was a ministering awe 
 
 In everything she heard and saw, 
 
114 THE CONVENT. 
 
 That Lilla's soul might well impress 
 
 With a religious tenderness; 
 
 And gazing with impassioned eye, 
 
 She half determined not to fly, 
 
 Bewildered by that strange amaze 
 
 As by a spiritual haze. 
 
 That, like a mirage, gave to view 
 
 Each object in illusion's hue. 
 
 And all a different aspect wore, 
 
 From what it was, or seemed before: 
 
 The convent's crushing discipline 
 
 Now but a holy war with sin; 
 
 And who would shrink from such a strife, 
 
 Its end — when won — eternal life! 
 
 But this impression, though it fell, 
 
 Was but a momentary spell; 
 
THE CONVENT. 115 
 
 For as the mirage's display, 
 Its streams and meads, all melts away, 
 So from her mind these fancies fled, 
 And, in their place, the desert spread. 
 
 All but too late the warning came 
 
 Her shaken purpose to reclaim, 
 
 But it awoke a courage high, 
 
 Resolved to still succeed or die. 
 
 Forth from the shadow of the wall 
 
 Where, clear and ftdl, the moonbeams fall, 
 
 She glides, she stands, before them all, 
 
 While dust into the grave they toss 
 
 Raising aloft the holy cross. 
 
 For by its elevation free, 
 
 Death's swallowed up in victory. 
 
116 THE CONVENT. 
 
 And at its jubilant display 
 
 The watchful portress kneels to pray. 
 
 Not pausing to discover more, 
 
 Lilla flew to the postern door, 
 
 She seized the latch, it would not rise — 
 
 Again with aU her strength she tries, 
 
 And, now the secret she has found, 
 
 The door flies open with a bound. 
 
 Not need to urge that cry behind. 
 She rushes onward like the wind, 
 On — breathless on, nor looks to see 
 Who may her swift pursuer be. 
 On, on, stiU on, o'er rock and steep, 
 Where boldest hunter ne'er would sweep. 
 And far around is heard the swell, 
 The loud alarm — of the convent bell. 
 
PAET THE FOURTH. 
 
 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
'TwAS on a lonely mountain track 
 That Lilla, pausing, first looked back, 
 But shadows indistinctness threw 
 O'er every object brought to view, 
 And vainly down the path she glanced — 
 Who there could see if foes advanced? 
 Whate'er of peril might be nigh. 
 No more, no further could she fly, 
 'Twas here to yield, or sinking, die — 
 
120 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 For panting, heaving, with each breath, 
 She wrestled, as it seemed, with death: 
 And yet the lightest, faintest sound 
 Made her rise drooping from the ground. 
 As, rather than her fate embrace, 
 She still would perish in the chase; 
 And, even when too clear the end. 
 Still with her latest breath contend. 
 
 Sterile the scene, and lone and wild. 
 With rocks around, like ramparts, piled: 
 Here, scarped, they formed a bastion brave. 
 Here sloping back, a glacis gave. 
 Here were o'erthrown as by a wave ! 
 And ran the rough-hewn road atween, 
 Where once a torrent-bed had been: 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 121 
 
 Not art the granite way had made,' 
 That pavement the volcano laid. 
 
 The stars were waning in the sky 
 As rose her moumftd glance on high, 
 And in the East, that point divine, • 
 Of Christian, Jew, and Turk the shrine, 
 A sheet of purple hue and red. 
 Like a rich altar-cloth, was spread. 
 As if the sun, before he came, 
 Offered to God his waking flame, 
 Then, crowned, arose with royal sway. 
 The consecrated King of day. 
 
 How sweet the morning's balmy air, 
 That circled all the mountain bare, 
 
 a 
 
122 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 Whereon nor wood nor herbage grew. 
 To catch the breeze, or sip the dew. 
 And everywhere ^twas silent round, 
 Not the faint vestige of a sound — 
 No soaring lark, with tuneful song. 
 As I have heard in England's isle. 
 When through the night I've roved along, 
 And caught the morning's first sweet smile : 
 No bleating lambs, no lowing kine, 
 Nor e'en the watch-dog's mournful whine — 
 Nothing to cheer or to beguile 
 Throughout the dreary lone defile. 
 
 Yet Lilla strained her timid ear, 
 Too conscious peril must be near, 
 And that the day, to others light, 
 Would haply bring to her a blight — 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 123 
 
 ! darker than the darkest night ! 
 Clearer and wider o'er the sky, 
 Each moment the swift sunbeams fly, 
 And, with the pageantry of morn, 
 The whole of the broad East adorn. 
 The purple altar-cloth and red 
 Is now a thousand banners spread, 
 Which, blazoned o'er with shining gold, 
 Exceeding royalty unfold, 
 And trooping up, and sweeping round, 
 The car of day with pomp surround. 
 Till comes the Sun, the monarch bright. 
 In aU the majesty of light. 
 
 Still Lilla crouched where she had fell. 
 
 Alike to move or stay afraid, 
 
 While weariness and hunger preyed 
 
 G 2 
 
124 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 As in a leaguered citadel, 
 
 Defended gallantly and well, 
 
 On that slight frame, that now so weak, 
 
 Drooped like the roses in her cheek. 
 
 Safety this lonely spot might give 
 
 To the despairing fugitive. 
 
 But here to stay were soon to feel 
 
 From want more pangs than death could deal, 
 
 And did she seek the haunts of men. 
 
 Disgrace and bondage met her then. 
 
 Not long could she distracted muse. 
 Necessity compelled to choose; 
 For now the breeze, though faint and low, 
 Brought up spent voices from below — 
 Like shot from an approaching foe; 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 125 
 
 And from a crag, which stood out bold, 
 The watch-tower of that mountain hold, 
 She saw ascending up the track 
 A band despatched to bring her back, 
 For as the Padre led them on, 
 Their purpose was too clearly shown. 
 And a mixed throng, a score at least, 
 Attended on the eager priest. 
 
 Gathering her strength as 'twere a train. 
 That might her cumbered limbs restrain. 
 She onward fled, she knew not where. 
 But in the mountains to remain, 
 Among its crags and passes bare. 
 Her only chance of safety there — 
 For, swept around, the open plain 
 Were but the convent's gates again. 
 
126 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 Now reached the mountain's lofty head, 
 
 She stands as on an eyry high, 
 
 Betwixt the land, the sea, the sky. 
 
 Which here on every side are spread, 
 
 A prospect beautiful, if dread. 
 
 But her keen gaze is on the sea, 
 
 Whose waves, in their unbroken flow. 
 
 The vaulted sphere reflected show, 
 
 As calm, as silent, and as free, 
 
 A second sky it seems to be, 
 
 And there were birds careering too, 
 
 With wings of white they skimmed the blue, 
 
 A dozen gallant sail and more 
 
 That might be reckoned from the shore — 
 
 From that high peak, that rose so grand. 
 
 As 'twere the bulwark of the land ! 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 127 
 
 The sea like a wide gulf, before, 
 
 And far beneath the golden strand. 
 
 Encircling with a zone of sand. 
 
 Which wildest waves might not pass o'er; 
 
 There seemed, where'er she looked, a bound, 
 
 Through which no outlet might be found. 
 
 Ah! would yon bark that came so nigh. 
 Cleaving the waters with its keel. 
 As if it were a plough of steel, 
 Attend her supplicating cry. 
 Her wild, her desperate appeal! 
 The crew, so 'minished to her eye. 
 Could they so far behold her kneel, 
 And see her wave her kerchief high 
 In her distracted agony! 
 
128 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 What meant the streamer hauled up now, 
 A signal from the mast displayed? 
 Had Mary Mother heard the vow 
 Her soul in its distress had made? 
 Yes! yes! 'twas on the flag portrayed — 
 A cross of red, traced clear and bright. 
 Upon a field of spotless white ! 
 
 Well may that flag her eye delight, 
 For 'tis the banner of the free, 
 That rules with sovereignty the sea, 
 And though behind the foe 's in sight. 
 It nerves her to resume her flight. 
 As it cheers Britons to the fight, 
 Where'er, by England's high decree, 
 In honour's vanguard it may be. 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 129 
 
 A dark ravine winds steeply down, 
 
 Round jutting rock and plateau brown, 
 
 And Lilla plunges in the maze, 
 
 With eager foot, though shuddering gaze. 
 
 For, scanned through all its depths from this. 
 
 It seems a bottomless abyss. 
 
 Not many steps can she advance 
 
 Before a chasm arrests her glance, 
 
 But quickened by a yell behind, 
 
 That rushed upon her like the wind, 
 
 She saw not lurking Death before. 
 
 And, with one bound, she vaulted o'er. 
 
 Alighting, as an antelope, 
 
 On an abrupt and rugged slope, 
 
 And sliding down the granite hill, 
 
 Like a swift impetuous rill. 
 
 G 3 
 
130 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 A fearful sight to see her leap, 
 
 Where scarce a; goat would dare to creep, 
 
 Now reeling back upon a crag, 
 
 Now springing forward like the stag, 
 
 Insensible that, from the height. 
 
 Her fierce pursuers watched her flight. 
 
 And only seeing on before, 
 
 A boat was pushing for the shore. 
 
 From 'midst ar cloud of smoke and flame, 
 Down the ravine a volley came, 
 And cave and mount, on every side. 
 With a combined salute replied. 
 As 'twere the rolling thunder crash 
 Following the lightning's vivid flash. 
 And high above there rose a shout, 
 A thousand echoes rang about; 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 131 
 
 For, as the bullets through the air 
 A path with hissing fury tear, 
 Winged on an errand past recall, 
 The fugitive is seen to fall! 
 A peasant, who had led the way. 
 Leaps quickly down to seize the prey. 
 While sbirri and gendarmes behind. 
 More slowly round the gully wind; 
 But she has heard their coming feet. 
 And rises with a step more fleet. 
 For 'twas not Death's, but Terror's dart, 
 That had transfixed her bursting heart; 
 And, once recovered from the shock, 
 She glides again from rock to rock, 
 And, with one effort made to reach, 
 Sinks breathless, senseless, on the beach. 
 
132 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 From out the boat the steersman sprung, 
 A man of noble mien and young, 
 And one impatient, rapid stride. 
 Brought him to the maiden's side. 
 Her face, her form, her sacred dress. 
 Her flight, and her unconsciousness. 
 With the pursuing gang behind, 
 A moment's doubt threw o'er his mind. 
 'Twas plain some mystery was here — 
 Could he, a stranger, interfere? 
 But he recalled her signal made, 
 As, kneeling, she invoked his aid. 
 The volley fired, with deadly aim. 
 As down the rugged steeps she came; 
 And now before him, in full cry. 
 He saw her enemies draw nigh: 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 133 
 
 He scanned her youthful, pallid face, 
 And not a shade of guilt could trace, 
 But plainly, though no blush of youth, 
 The spiritual hues of truth — 
 Presented, with Yjaisemblance rare, 
 Sweet innocence, a portrait, there. 
 And, last, what needs must win the brave, 
 A woman claimed his arm to save, 
 And, while seemed fate and life to pause, 
 To his decision left her cause. 
 
 As might a parent some fond child, 
 He gently raised her from the ground. 
 Regardless of the din around, 
 And the gesticulations wild. 
 The menaces that loud resound, 
 As her pursuers downward bound : 
 
134 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 And swift he bears her to the boat, 
 
 "Give way! give way!" — they are afloat: 
 
 Again there is a volley's crash, 
 
 The bullets in the water splash, 
 
 But only by their range to show 
 
 They're 'yond the malice of their foe : 
 
 And o'er the sea's calm breast they glide, 
 
 Just like a ripple of its tide. 
 
 Eestored by the inspiring air, 
 
 Her senses came to Lilla there. 
 
 Each with a music in its voice. 
 
 That bids her, looking round, rejoice, 
 
 But ere her feeble lips can speak 
 
 The joy enlightening her cheek, 
 
 They reach the yacht, that, like a swan, 
 
 Floats gracefully the waves upon, 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 135 
 
 A rope is thrown, the boat hauled taut, 
 And safely to the deck she's brought. 
 
 The steersman stood before her now, 
 
 Sole master of the gallant ship ; 
 
 The light of kindness on his brow, 
 
 The smile of welcome on his lip, 
 
 A pledge of courtly fellowship ! 
 
 Familiar to her eye he seemed, 
 
 Like one of whom she once had dreamed. 
 
 Yet coming back as 'mid a haze 
 
 To her bewildered, doubting gaze, 
 
 Till, lifted up the misty screen. 
 
 As by a flood of Memory's rays. 
 
 The view in all its breadth displays. 
 
 And well remembered was his mien. 
 
 With the suggestive background seen. 
 
136 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 "A second time in utmost need, 
 You've come to aid me, and have freed ; 
 And I have double thanks to give, 
 That then you saved — that still I live. 
 You have forgotten! yet I trace 
 A dim remembrance on your face, 
 I will recall the time, the place — 
 A summer night, Palermo gaol. 
 That, like a brand, still makes me quail. 
 Deliverer as prompt as bold, 
 You snatched me from a ruffian's hold — 
 The same who with his baneful power 
 Pursued me to the present hour." 
 
 Before the Englishman could speak 
 A crimson flush suffused his cheek — 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 137 
 
 For swifter than in words the heart 
 
 Its deep emotions will impart, 
 
 And what their nature frankly show 
 
 In their unbidden overflow. 
 
 "'Tis well for him," he muttered low, 
 
 "That when his knife was on my breast 
 
 He stood not forth so manifest. 
 
 But, lady, cheer! and safe and free, 
 
 Forget a while such things can be; 
 
 And when your mournful tale I know 
 
 We may for ever foil your foe." 
 
 They brought her up a cup of wine, 
 The juice of sweet Marsala's vine ; 
 And on the deck a table spread, 
 With a broad awning overhead. 
 
138 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 Her host sat down beside her there. 
 The slight repast to help and share — 
 For he who'd know the art to please 
 Must by his actions place at ease. 
 So long oppressed her lightened breast, 
 Felt a delicious sense of rest, 
 And in the scene, the objects round. 
 Belief, assurance, comfort found. 
 Pursuit she need to dread no more. 
 Left far behind the rocky shore, 
 And where so lately men had been. 
 Were only fading mountains seen. 
 The sea, spread like a mirror fair, 
 Was swept by a soft floating air. 
 An ail* so hght, that it might be 
 ThQ breathing of the sleeping sea ; 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 139 
 
 And it conveyed to Lilla's heart, 
 What Freedom's lips alone impart, 
 A sense, a consciousness of soul, 
 That ope'd as an unfolded scroll, 
 And, by a flash, her mind endued 
 With all the light of womanhood. 
 
 It bore her back — that witching light — 
 As 'twere the moon's fantastic beams. 
 Into a labyrinth of dreams. 
 That had, at times, with glimmer bright, 
 Beguiled captivity's dark night, 
 Leading her forth by woods and streams. 
 Nor roamed she lonely through the land. 
 But 'neath the cool, refreshing shade. 
 Acacias and tall chestnuts made. 
 
140 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 One walked beside her, hand in hand, 
 And knit by some more mystic band. 
 His form the same in every place. 
 Though she could ne'er recall his face, 
 But, like the object of a vow. 
 It looked, it shone upon her now. 
 
 Not much she said, but in each word 
 A soft, sweet melody was heard. 
 As if, enkemelled in the sound. 
 The gentle breath of feeling stirred, 
 Like the enchanted Beauty bound, 
 By necromantic skill profound. 
 Within a tree's encircling round. 
 And who, whene'er the breeze awoke, 
 Amidst the rustling foliage spoke. 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 141 
 
 But quickly as the moments fled, > 
 
 And buoyant as her spu-it felt, 
 
 Upborne by Love's sustaining belt, 
 
 That o'er the tide so lightly sped — 
 
 Yet failed her strength and drooped her head; 
 
 For nature, 'mid emotions deep. 
 
 Still claimed the soothing balm of sleep. 
 
 And scarcely had her looks expressed 
 
 This present, urgent need of rest, 
 
 When came the stewardess to show 
 
 A cabin for her use below: 
 
 And, to the hatch by Mowbray tended. 
 
 She gladly with her guide descended. 
 
 At last, in freedom and in peace, 
 A pillow, white as snow, she pressed, 
 The storm-tossed swimmer was at rest 
 
142 THE SILENT PASSION, 
 
 And, soft as dew upon a fleece, 
 Fell sleep in silence on her breast, 
 Gave to her mind a full release 
 From all the burden that oppressed, 
 And not one phantom thought arose 
 To break the calm of her repose. 
 
 Ah, sweet restorer, healing Sleep! 
 
 Thou benefactor of our kind, 
 
 What weary vigils do we keep. 
 
 Through what a maze of thought we sweep, 
 
 When thee we seek and fail to find! 
 
 But when in thy embrace entwined, 
 
 We feel thy lulling influence creep 
 
 Alike o'er body and o'er mind, 
 
 And when thou minist'rest serene, 
 
 Like Charity, unknown, unseen, 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 143 
 
 But oft where Charity ne*er trod, 
 
 We hail thee Ahnoner of God! 
 
 For bringest thou to human grief 
 
 An interval of blest relief, 
 
 And, what His Hand alone can give. 
 
 The strength to bear and heart to live. 
 
 And thou'll forsake the titled lord, 
 
 Who revels at a banquet board, 
 
 Turn from a dainty bed of down. 
 
 And e'en despise a royal crown. 
 
 To come by stealth, sweet Sleep, and bless 
 
 Misery's couch with thy caress. 
 
 No sound on Lilla's slumbers broke. 
 And day was gone ere she awoke. 
 The stewardess, in waiting nigh. 
 Her wants was eager to supply, 
 
144 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 But these were few; for she arose 
 Invigorated by repose, 
 Nor could a buoyant impulse check 
 To leave the cabin for the deck. 
 
 The stars in millions shone on high, 
 
 As 'twere a festa in the sky ; 
 
 And every orb itself surpassed 
 
 In the illumination vast, 
 
 While the hushed deep, and 'jacent shore, 
 
 Seemed in their silence to adore. 
 
 And, moving on its canvas wing, 
 
 The yacht looked like a living thing, 
 
 A spirit skipping o'er the sea 
 
 And joining in the jubilee. 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 145 
 
 Kiiew Lilla by her beating heart, 
 The beat that rapture's pulses dart, 
 Before she dared to raise her eye, 
 That Mowbray, though unseen, was nigh. 
 And as she watched the dark, still tide, 
 He crossed the gangway to her side. 
 
 She felt the blood glow in her cheek, 
 And feared to trust her voice to speak. 
 For by the tremor in its tone. 
 Her innate pleasure might be shown. 
 And she would still that secret keep, 
 StiU in her bosom let it sleep. 
 Conceal with thinnest veil the flame 
 That shines through every mask the same, 
 Beams from the eye, lights up the face. 
 In words and acts reveals its trace, 
 
146 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 And always shows its own sweet grace: 
 Nor did she for the moment fail, 
 For yet the flame was dim and pale. 
 
 Before — the thought they soon must part 
 Had, like a dagger, pierced her heart, 
 And it had seemed to make a bound. 
 Under the anguish of the wound; 
 But that physician of the mind 
 Whose touch the widest gash can bind. 
 Who soothes that, slowly on the wheel, 
 We may hereafter keenlier feel. 
 Deluding Hope, from this fresh grief 
 With his elixir gave relief, 
 And blinded to the future night 
 In present transport of delight 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 147 
 
 "Tliis hour wields an influGnce blest," 
 
 He said in that soft flovdng tone 
 
 Pervades Italia's tongue alone: 
 
 "Why has it, then, infringed your rest, 
 
 When thought, like waves, should feel the calm 
 
 It sheds upon them like a charm. 
 
 And you may claim its healing might, 
 
 Fatigue's just guerdon, as a right? 
 
 In truth, I'd almost dare to chide 
 
 Only the power were denied — 
 
 For how could I find words to blame 
 
 A fault that as a favour came!" 
 
 " Such kind reproof would but declare 
 
 Your hospitality and care : 
 
 But, sir, indeed through these I've found 
 
 A calm as deep as that around: 
 
 H 2 
 
148 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 Here I enjoy the sweet repose 
 
 The hour o'er every object throws: 
 
 So great a change surrounds my eye — 
 
 The dungeon's night for yon clear sky! 
 
 I look upon the circling sea, 
 
 It tells me silently I'm free; 
 
 I feel the air around me sweep — 
 
 O ! this is rest, and this is sleep !" 
 
 "You give the hour and the expanse 
 
 The fascination of romance. 
 
 The more as your own life has lent 
 
 A tinge to the sad sentiment. 
 
 I will not ask you to recal 
 
 Scenes that, though past, must still appal, 
 
 But, what remains to vex or hurt, 
 
 I'd gladly know can I avert." 
 
THE SliLENT PASSION. 149 
 
 A glance from her dark beaming eyes 
 Her feelings told without disguise — 
 But she drew back from the surprise. 
 "0, thanks! but you've a right to know, 
 All your compassion would forego; 
 And, since your kindness can invite, 
 The tale is easy to recite." 
 
 She told it out, nor he once spoke, 
 Nor with an exclamation broke 
 The narrative that, like a spell, 
 Upon his ears, his spirit, fell. 
 And even when it ceased to thrill. 
 Awhile he seemed to listen still. 
 
 "Now by yon land before us spread. 
 And by great Heaven overhead. 
 
150 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 By all your wrongs, and by man's right, 
 That yet shall triumph over might, 
 I swear, if ere there come a day. 
 When Italy shall stand at bay. 
 And throw her heavy yoke away. 
 Whatever fortune may betide. 
 This tale shall range me on her side. 
 And spur me, by its poignant woes. 
 Amidst the thickest of her foes." 
 
 "You are as generous as brave — 
 And not more free the sea's wild wave, 
 And hence you know not, nor can feel, 
 The terrors that beset the slave, 
 Who, under power's iron heel. 
 Is bom to serve and trained to kneel. 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 151 
 
 Yet not alone our fallen state 
 
 Elelays the struggle you await; 
 
 And Italy, so long oppressed, 
 
 Would soon from all her freedom wrest, 
 
 If but her rulers were the foe 
 
 She had to meet and overthrow: 
 
 But close at hand the Austrians stand, 
 
 And hirelings come from Switzerland, — 
 
 And shall we ever see the day 
 
 When she can battle such array ? 
 
 Yes, yes! I bless you for the hope. 
 
 That such a happy day shall be ! 
 
 I, shipwrecked, clutch it as a rope 
 
 On a tempestuous raging sea. 
 
 For, ! I feel my country's wrongs 
 
 Speak to me with a thousand tongues. 
 
152 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 In my own hapless, crael doom 
 And from my father's prison-tomb!" 
 
 But through her tears the moonbeams brought 
 
 To Mowbray's mind a cheering thought: 
 
 "He still may live — nay, may be free, 
 
 Enfranchised by the amnesty, 
 
 Which, from his hand by Europe wrung. 
 
 Your king has to his captives flung. 
 
 A frigate bears in bonds to Spain, 
 
 As exiles, the unhappy train, 
 
 And if you will the voyage dare. 
 
 We'll seek — may find, your father there." 
 
 If she would dare ! — what peril grim 
 Would she not gladly dare with him! 
 
THE SILENT PASSION. 153 
 
 And this — ! 'twas a draught of joy 
 That no misgiving could alloy. 
 She feared her answer might express 
 More than a maiden should confess, 
 All that her eye and cheek could show, 
 In their warm southern flush and glow. 
 Only the friendly shade of night 
 Obscured and masked their tell-tale light; 
 So her assent was but a word, 
 Wherein this rapture was not heard. 
 And for a space — one moment brief — 
 To be alone was a relief, 
 While Mowbray sought the helm amain. 
 To shape their course direct for Spain — 
 For now those transports she could still 
 That sent through every vein a thrill, 
 
 H 3 
 
154 THE SILENT PASSION. 
 
 And place a guard upon the pleasure 
 Hid in her bosom like a treasure. 
 Not yet to part, but on the sea 
 With him, her champion, to be — 
 For day on day, a week or more. 
 It seemed eternity in store! 
 Like moonbeams on a placid lake, 
 Whose silent flow no ripples break, 
 Which seems a crystal to the eye, 
 Though 'neath a gulf of waters lie, 
 So peace its silver, mystic light 
 Shed o'er her face that happy night, 
 Nor through those beams one ripple stole 
 To tell what depths were in her soul. 
 
PART THE WFTH. 
 
 MEETING AND PARTING. 
 
A SHIP is speeding on her way, 
 And near the cliffe of Spain are seen, 
 With swarthy face and turban green — 
 Like the Moors of the olden day, 
 Who here upheld the crescent's sway 
 With lances bold and laws serene: 
 And leeward comes another sail. 
 Flying before the tempered gale, 
 Through the saluting showers of spray, 
 That sparkle in the sunlight's trail. 
 
158 MEETING AND PARTING. 
 
 Like gems upon a bodice gay, 
 As round the breasting bows they play, 
 While she advances through the waters, 
 One of the ocean's fairest daughters. 
 
 Aloft the English flag she spread, 
 And with an ensign flowing wide. 
 The gallant bark ahead replied — 
 An ensign on whose mingled thread 
 Auspicious stars their promise shed, 
 While glowing stripes from side to side, 
 Denote an empire's giant stride. 
 Then from the yacht, discourse to sue. 
 Gay streamers as a signal flew ; 
 And sail made short and helm aport, 
 Straight the American hove-to. 
 
MEETING AIJD PARTING. 159 
 
 No need repeat the well-known tale, 
 How in that ship the exiles sail, 
 Consigned, by Ferdinand's command. 
 From Spain to far Columbia's land, 
 Where they, indeed, in freedom's name, 
 Blithe welcome from her sons might claim, 
 But, once the tyrant's leash they slip, 
 With one accord they seize the ship. 
 And shape her course — due west before — 
 For England's nearer northern shore. 
 
 Now on the deck were ranged the crew, 
 For ready service all at hand, 
 Where'er the captain gave command, 
 And round, in groups, the exiles drew, 
 A haggard and a woe-worn band, 
 Whose faces still displayed the hue 
 
160 MEETING AND PARTING. 
 
 The terrors of the dungeon threw, 
 And stamped as with a searing brand- 
 Sad, solemn, mystically grand, 
 And looking like the soul's adieu 
 To every hope and every aim 
 Its mortal sympathies might claim. 
 
 One of the number sat apart — 
 
 A man advancing into years; 
 
 And there was mirrored in the tears. 
 
 That ever to his eyes would start, 
 
 The image of a broken heart: 
 
 A lonely man, wrapped in his sorrows, 
 
 And kindred fellowship of horrors — 
 
 Like some old house that, by report, 
 
 Become a restless ghost's resort — 
 
MEETING AND PARTING. 161 
 
 Or true or false the legend vaunted — 
 Its ruined look declares it haunted. 
 
 He heeded not what passed around, 
 
 For still a captive in his mind, 
 
 All his perception was confined, 
 
 As by a wall's encircling bound, 
 
 To what was in those limits found ; 
 
 And though the day was beaming bright, 
 
 He saw nothing round but night; 
 
 The fresh and bracing air to him 
 
 No freedom brought in breath or limb, 
 
 And oft he raised his arm with pain. 
 
 As if to ease a cumbering chain. 
 
 A throng had to the gangway pressed. 
 And o'er the side a rope was thrown. 
 
162 MEETING AND PAKTING. 
 
 But not a sound his ear addressed; 
 
 The shouts, the stir, to him unknown — 
 
 Amidst it all, he sat alone. 
 
 Nor gives he, from his dungeon breast, 
 
 A single glance of interest, 
 
 When in two files the crowd divide, 
 
 Like a partition of the tide, 
 
 And 'twixt the twain appears a maid. 
 
 Whom every eye iatent surveyed, 
 
 And who, with one expansive look, 
 
 The round of all the concourse took. 
 
 From Lilla broke a poignant cry. 
 That pain or pleasure might imply, 
 Or both might haply blended float 
 In that distracted piercing note — 
 
MEETING AND PARTING. 163 
 
 For when the heart is deeply wrung, 
 
 'Tis like an instrument unstrung, 
 
 And who from such marred strain can guess 
 
 What the emotions 'twould express? 
 
 Eegardless of inquiries loud, 
 
 The maiden darted through the crowd. 
 
 And threw herself, with sobs and tears, 
 
 Down at the old man's feet; 
 At last, he wakes, he sees, he hears — 
 
 The child and father meet. 
 And with a rapt embrace control 
 That joyous tumult of the soul. 
 
 But Lilla quickly raised her head — 
 She heard a well-remembered tread ; 
 That step so firm, 'twas Mowbray's own. 
 Among a hundred 'twould be known: 
 
164 MEETING AlH) PARTING. 
 
 By her, at least, whose heart elate 
 
 Would its approach reverberate. 
 
 She took his hand, that hand so kind, 
 
 That now her own first thus entwined. 
 
 And though those taper fingers pressed 
 
 Light as the down on swan's white breast, 
 
 They knit above as round a rock 
 
 The lichens with their tendrils lock. 
 
 Yet in her face there was no trace 
 
 Of passion's radiating grace. 
 
 Only deep trust and gratitude 
 
 With resignation's light subdued. 
 
 Save that a shadow, o'er it darting, 
 
 Foreshowed the coming pang of parting. 
 
 What perils she had undergone 
 'Twas not a time to dwell upon ; 
 
MEET,ING AND PARTING. 165 
 
 For with the gale the ship must sail, 
 
 And, reined in like a restive steed, 
 
 The yacht would still not check her speed. 
 
 Her thrilling story, in a word, 
 
 Her father and the captain heard, 
 
 And, while she to her father clave. 
 
 The captain hearty welcome gave. 
 
 To thank, to bless, the old man tried. 
 
 As Mowbray lingered at their side. 
 
 But died the accents as they fell, 
 
 And hastily they bade farewell. 
 
 And he was gone ! ! could it be 
 That face, that form, no more she'd see? 
 Not till this moment did she know 
 The lowest tide and depth of woe, 
 
166 MEETING AND PAKTING. 
 
 Wherein, as by a flood borne down, 
 
 She seem'd to gasp, to sink, to drowTi. 
 
 How could a life so fragile bear 
 
 Such an effusion of despair — 
 
 The sense of agonizing pain, 
 
 The reeling lightness in her brain. 
 
 The stifling pressure on her breath. 
 
 Upon her heart the chill of death ! 
 
 But through her soul, and through her frame. 
 
 Like lightning flashed a burning flame — 
 
 The fervour of her southern clime, 
 
 In a volcanic burst sublime. 
 
 Forgot, in that gush vehement. 
 
 The hundred eyes upon her bent — 
 
 Forgot, as though they ne'er had been. 
 
 Her father — all the recent scene; 
 
MEETING AND PARTING. 167 
 
 And, rushing to the vessel's side, 
 Her eye once more the yacht descried, 
 And Mowbray, too, who waved adieu, 
 Nor thought, whilst she herself must stay. 
 He bore her love, her heart, away ! 
 
 'Tis over now, like the typhoon. 
 So furious, exhausted soon. 
 And as she sits beside her sire. 
 No trace of her bereavement dire. 
 But in her face a look serene. 
 Like a religious vow, is seen. 
 Her father shall be all her care, 
 His trials and his life she'll share; 
 Nor shall he know, by outward sign, 
 What griefs around her heart entwine. 
 
168 MEETING AND PAKTING. 
 
 Nor dream a depth of passion flows 
 Beneath her bosom's calm repose; 
 But it shall be a hidden thought, 
 As 'twere a well in holy grot — 
 A lonely consecrated spot, 
 By the despairing spirit sought. 
 When all its powers are overwrought. 
 
 And straight she told him of the plan 
 That through her mind that moment ran: 
 How she would teach and paint and sing, 
 And all the little aids she'd bring, 
 By thrift and industry and gain, 
 Their future household to maintain. 
 And he nor care nor toil should know — 
 Nay, that must be^^Md have it sol 
 
MEETING AND PARTING. 169 
 
 And then she gave so sweet a smile, 
 As from the world might well beguile 
 A pilgrim, led by such a hand, 
 Into the realm of fairy land. 
 
 But not their fate, on England's soil. 
 To earn the exile's bread by toil. 
 For great events sweep on before 
 To meet them on the friendly shore, 
 And as the welcome news they learn, 
 Italia's voice bids all return. 
 
PART THE SIXTH. 
 
 THE PERILS OF WAR. 
 
 I 2 
 
On Lombardy's stream-threaded plain. 
 Become a swamp by endless rain, 
 A hovel all sequestered stood, 
 A bank, a landmark, *mid the flood: 
 And night, \vith rolling darkness hung, 
 Around its deepest shadows flung, 
 While still the rain came pouring down, 
 As 'twould the peering gable drown. 
 Yet not because the night was drear 
 The housewife moved about with fear; 
 
174 THE PERILS OP WAR. 
 
 Nor yet from any idle dread 
 
 The solitude and hour might shed: 
 
 'Tis rather that vague rumours fly 
 
 Of Austrian columns sweeping nigh, 
 
 And, where they pass, they leave the mark 
 
 Of licence fierce, and vengeance dark. 
 
 Nor for herseK alone her brow 
 
 Is crossed by a deep furrow now: 
 
 Her husband to the king has gone, 
 
 With Garabaldi is her son; 
 
 And oft a thought unbid \\ill rise, 
 
 As 'twere a phantom, to her eyes, 
 
 And call her to the battle plain, 
 
 If e*er she'd either see again. 
 
 A step — a knock — a voice subdued 
 Admission and asylum sued; 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 175 
 
 And gladly, in this hour of care, 
 She listened to the touching prayer, 
 A maid — 'twas Lilla — from the storm 
 Bore in her father's drooping form, 
 And placed him sinking in a seat 
 Before she turned the dame to greet. 
 The matron, who discerned his need, 
 Some good Montferrat brought with speed, 
 And noting in the maiden's look 
 A languor could not be mistook. 
 The homely table quickly spread 
 With maccaroni, rice, and bread. 
 Inviting them with warmth to share 
 Her simple unpretending fare. 
 
 But Lilla in her father's face 
 
 More than exhaustion's hue could trace, 
 
176 THE PERILS OF WAR. 
 
 And saw the terror left behind 
 Still present to his harassed mind — 
 " O ! 'twas not he — my father, no !" 
 In soothing tones she whispered low. 
 "Because you know he has been sent 
 From Naples into banishment 
 For plotting, in the king's last hour, 
 To raise the Austrian Queen to power. 
 You think we are no longer free — 
 In every shadow Branti see! 
 More likely that, to Austria sold, 
 He is in strong Verona's hold; 
 But e'en if here, why such alarm, 
 When here he's powerless to harm?" 
 
 Thus she essayed to calm and cheer 
 When clattering hoofs broke on the ear. 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 177 
 
 And clink of spurs and sabres' clang 
 Before the echoing hovel rang. 
 "The Austrians!" the housewife said. 
 With trembling voice and look of dread — 
 Then as her eye on Lilla fell, 
 There rose a fear she dared not tell : 
 "My child, for you I tremble most, 
 K here they enter, you are lost : 
 And, hark! they now draw up apace — 
 Haste ! you must seek a hiding-place !" 
 And Lilla, in her wild alarm, 
 Clung to the kindly matron's arm, 
 But, as she met her father's glance, 
 Still hesitated to advance, 
 Held back by that sad look of pain 
 As fixedly as by a chain, 
 
 I 3 
 
178 THE PERILS OF WAR. 
 
 Till her conflicting doubts repressed 
 She threw lierself upon his breast. 
 "No! no! from you I Avill not part, 
 My refuge be your tlirobbing heart ; 
 And if I find not safety tliere, 
 Wliat sanctuary would they spare !" 
 
 To fly, indeed, 'twere now too late : 
 They must together meet their fate, 
 For with a sudden crasli tlie door 
 Was hurled in fragments on the floor: 
 And in the savage troopers biu^t, 
 As leaps a torrent — madly first. 
 And then in an unbroken rush, 
 That wider spreads with every gush, 
 Till, surging to and fro like foam, 
 
 Their flashing helmets flood the room. 
 
THE PERILS OP WAR. 179 
 
 Yet 'midst them all, as in a storm 
 One cloud is darkest, looms one form; 
 And Lilla and her father know, 
 They stand before their deadly foe. 
 
 " Aha ! we've tracked you — traitor, spy ! 
 Now by the laws of war, you die ! 
 Sir Captain, this, at last, the slave 
 Who would betray our column brave, 
 And who from Piedmont's upstart came 
 To kindle round us treason's flame: 
 Now here at once — and on this spot — 
 I claim that he be tried and shot: 
 The girl, his daughter, may away — 
 'Twill but her certain fate delay?" 
 
180 THE PERILS OF WAR. 
 
 The soldiers gathered closer round, 
 
 Their carbines ringing on the ground — 
 
 To Lilla's ear a woful sound; 
 
 But as her father stood between, 
 
 The wi'eck of all he once had been, 
 
 Her love, as by enchantment, gave 
 
 The strength to meet, if not. to save ; 
 
 And though her bearing still was meek. 
 
 Though white her lips, and blanched her cheek — 
 
 Before the officer could speak. 
 
 She drew a passport from her vest 
 
 Their true position to attest, 
 
 But this, exclaiming that it lied, 
 
 The Captain roughly pushed aside ; 
 
 She might to General Urban go — 
 
 To him this precious passport show, 
 
THE PERILS OP WAR. 181 
 
 But were it not before the morrow, 
 Haply, her sire would come to sorrow. 
 
 They dragged the old man out by force, 
 And bound him on a trooper's horse, 
 And, as they hurried him along, 
 Lilla was tangled in the throng, 
 Who crowded round, with banter rude, 
 And mockery of womanhood. 
 While in her ear exulting rang 
 A hiss, as if a serpent stang. 
 
 0! 'twas a moment and a sight 
 That showed our nature in its night. 
 And woman's in its pure, sweet light. 
 That, like a star, still shone out clear 
 Through all the rampant darkness near, 
 
182 THE PERILS OP WAR. 
 
 And kept those men of blood at bay 
 Until the trumpet called away. 
 
 With bursting heart and piercing cry, 
 
 In an hysteric agony, 
 
 The young girl hid her burning face 
 
 In the kind housewife's close embrace. 
 
 "Alas, sweet cliild! you must be gone. 
 
 These ruffians wiU return anon; 
 
 For, as I stood unnoted by, 
 
 Thus your accuser whispered one: 
 
 Then, ere too late, dear lady, fly, 
 
 And put your trust in Christ on high, 
 
 Nor e'en of human aid despair 
 
 WHiile time remains to act and dare : 
 
 Five miles from hence, 'mid Como's heights, 
 
 My son with Garibaldi fights — 
 
THE PEEILS OF WAR. 183 
 
 Ah! coiild you reach the generaFs ear, 
 He might with aid or counsel cheer; 
 And, spite this Austrian's cruel threat, 
 Achieve your father's rescue yet. 
 
 The hope her words, though faltering, brought 
 
 By Lilla eagerly was caught, 
 
 And, like a flash from Heaven sent, 
 
 A light to her distraction lent : 
 
 Though her emotion to restrain 
 
 Only intensified its pain — 
 
 Like fire by furnace walls compressed, 
 
 It raged more fiercely in her breast. 
 
 Yet soothed and calm to outward view, 
 
 With thanks and tears she bade adieu, 
 
 And from the fated hut withdrew, 
 
184 THE PERILS OP WAR. 
 
 Once more in sorrow and in flight. 
 To brave the terrors of the night. 
 
 Nor forth too soon; for, on the wind. 
 There came the splash of hoofs behind ; 
 And, as the spur pricks on the steed 
 It gave an impulse to her speed, 
 But, where might lithest sinews fail, 
 How woman's feeble strength avail 
 For long to pass, with step so fleet, 
 Through the morass that clogged her feet. 
 Through the darkness and the rain. 
 That blended with the flooded plain, 
 And with the raging hurricane — 
 Confounding in one strife immense 
 Earth and the warring elements! 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 185 
 
 And now, exhausted, she must rest: 
 
 She casts a wistful look behind. 
 
 For thence her father's danger pressed 
 
 A magnet's power on her mind: 
 
 And nowhere broke the faintest gleam 
 
 Whence faith might spring or hope might beam. 
 
 Or show that, while it walled her round. 
 
 The dark inclosure had a bound. 
 
 No speck of light, no beacon, there — 
 \Mience springs, and how, yon sudden glare? 
 Those fitful gusts of languid flame 
 That less illuminate than scare, 
 Like blushes on the cheek of shame. 
 Rising to show the inward night. 
 And sinking as they meet the sight! 
 
186 THE PERILS OF WAR. 
 
 That hovel was a lowly roof 
 Thus to be crushed 'neath War's curst hoof. 
 ! could not kings and armies spare 
 Such a poor spoil, to woman's prayer? 
 Say that proud Francis, on his throne, 
 Will never hear the deed was done! 
 Who was it loosed those Croat hordes 
 To plough Italia's soil with swords? 
 Who sent them forth, in fierce array, 
 To bum and ravage, smite and slay, 
 Knowing the spring-time sown with spears 
 No harvest yields but blood and tears? 
 He may not hear — he will not — no! 
 A Hapsburg hears not from below ; 
 And who would sway liis mind the least, 
 Must speak as conqueror or priest. 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 187 
 
 No shade could this poor ruin fling 
 Upon the Apostolic King; 
 But, ! the dame wlio saw it blaze 
 Might well a cry to heaven raise. 
 For here she'd come a jo}^ful bride, 
 Here fii*st had felt a mother's pride, 
 Here, loved as mother and as mfe, 
 Had passed a tranquil, happy life ; 
 And never had tliat humble door 
 Been closed against tlie honest poor, 
 But hospitably ope'd and gave 
 To all who might asylum crave. 
 And now, I say, her cry had reached, 
 Where even kings may be impeached. 
 And would again in time come down, 
 A thorn in the imperial crown. 
 
188 THE PERILS OF WAR. 
 
 Though Lilla knew not of the blow. 
 
 That laid the peasant's homestead low. 
 
 Confounded by the burst of light. 
 
 She hastily renewed her flight, 
 
 And with a prayer, and with a vow. 
 
 Waded onward through the slough. 
 
 So delicate, so young, so fair, 
 
 'Twas strange to see what she could bear, 
 
 But from her soul — and not its frame. 
 
 That wonderful endurance came; 
 
 A strength beyond what Nature gave, 
 
 A courage that might shame the brave. 
 
 Bearing her up by innate power 
 
 Through the distraction of this hour. 
 
 Ere long a heavy, tramping sound. 
 Was heard above the wind and rain; 
 
THE PERILS OF WAIL 189 
 
 It seemed to shake the sodden ground. 
 
 And in a circle break around, 
 
 Making a vortex of the plain: 
 
 But Lilla, with perception clear, 
 
 Its character learnt by her ear, 
 
 And knew 'twas coming in her way, 
 
 A mighty force, in close array. 
 
 With guard in front, and, at each side, 
 
 A flanking corps, led by a guide, 
 
 That burst in strength o'er fence and field. 
 
 The column's bristling living shield. 
 
 In haste, she leaped the current strong. 
 
 That ran on either side along. 
 
 As here, in the wide plain, by chance 
 
 She might escape each scout's quick glance. 
 
190 THE PEEILS OF WAR. 
 
 And, though 'twas a retreat forlorn, 
 She crouched amid the beaten corn. 
 And waited, almost in its path. 
 The coming avalanche of wrath. 
 For this, as she divined, the force 
 That never halted on its course. 
 But through the province madly tore. 
 From town to town, and door to door; 
 If here at rest, in motion there, 
 To overawe, repress, and scare. 
 And far and wide a panic spread 
 Where Urban's flying column sped. 
 
 Nearer and closer came the tread, 
 Vibrating o'er the quivering ground, 
 And on each side and overhead. 
 For the fierce >vind threw back the sound 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 191 
 
 And like the waters round a shoal, 
 In rapid whirl and breakers fleet, 
 As the successive billows roll. 
 Round Lilla swept the tide of feet. 
 
 Anon a step — a straggling one — 
 That dragged behind, came on alone, 
 Drew close, with long and rapid stride, 
 And, ere she thought, was at her side: 
 It paused a moment — 'twas a year 
 In the endurance of her fear — 
 In that suppression of her breath 
 Suspending her 'twixt life and death, 
 A moment such as drowning men 
 Know once — but never know again. 
 
192 THE PEBILS OF WAR. 
 
 The step passed on, and all had gone, 
 And with recovered breath and sense, 
 To Lilla came back confidence, 
 And she arose, and looked around — 
 For drooping clouds no longer frowned; 
 And now her glance could sweep amain 
 Far over the unbounded plain, 
 WTiile up above peered out the sky, 
 Like a clear depth — like woman's eye, 
 And from the starry camp a scout. 
 One beaming orb, shone brightly out, 
 As if to see the plain were clear. 
 Ere should the heavenly host appear, 
 And flashed its light on Lilians mind, 
 An augury serene and kind. 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 193 
 
 And yet she could but ill forbode 
 
 As slowly she regained the road, 
 
 And thought how far she might have sped 
 
 In the uncounted minutes fled ; 
 
 But the remembrance of her aim 
 
 A holy inspiration came, 
 
 Like angel in the wilderness, 
 
 To soothe, to succour, and to bless, 
 
 And, as she journeyed, broke the gloom 
 
 That hung around her father's doom. 
 
 To him there also came relief 
 Through his accumulated grief. 
 That, acting with galvanic strain, 
 Raised up his soul erect again; 
 And all his dignity of old. 
 His steadfast look and bearing bold, 
 
194 THE PERILS OF WAR. 
 
 So long by sorrow overlaid— 
 Now burst through sorrow's deepest shade, 
 And made that wreck — that shattered form- 
 A raft to battle with the storm. 
 
 Fettered and bound, in guard-room thrust. 
 
 With courage he could now await 
 
 The sentence, cruel and unjust, 
 
 That soon would lay him in the dust. 
 
 Yet thinks of Lilla desolate, 
 
 Exposed alone to Branti's hate, 
 
 And to avert a doom so dread. 
 
 He could almost have wished her dead. 
 
 For her —so loved — he still could live. 
 
 Though nothing else the world might give ; 
 
 And Heaven, with its boundless store, 
 
 To him, he felt, could give no more, 
 
THE PERILS OF WAK. 195 
 
 For God, through Jesu, reconciled, 
 His world, his Heaven, was his child. 
 
 Yet once his country claimed a sigh. 
 
 His native isle, so loved, so dear. 
 
 Whose valleys soft, whose mountains high, 
 
 Gleamed through the vista of a tear : 
 
 And as he thought upon her sorrows 
 
 One moment he forgot his o^^^l, 
 
 80 vividly arose the horrors 
 
 Her prisons masked with walls of stone, 
 
 And vainly were his eyes shut fast 
 
 As if he would obscure that past, 
 
 For only the deep night of age 
 
 Can curtain Memory's glaring stage. 
 
 K 2 
 
196 THE PERILS OF WAR. 
 
 And could it be that hosts, at last, 
 
 From other realms had come to save, 
 
 And met, in battle shock, the blast 
 
 That through the land, a whirlwind, drave. 
 
 And the embattled might of France, 
 
 « 
 With Piedmont's arms, would still advance, 
 
 And sweep, a flood, from sea to sea. 
 
 Till they reclaimed Italia free! 
 
 But ne'er for him to dawn the day 
 That would inaugurate this sway. 
 When Italy, no more accurst. 
 Would into new existence burst: 
 Nor once again to his racked breast 
 Would his devoted child be pressed. 
 Until they also from their yoke 
 In a new life, new world, awoke. 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 197 
 
 He knew, from what he overheard, 
 An orderly in haste had spurred 
 From Branti, with a message brief. 
 To the brigade's relentless chief, 
 And that, if deemed by him a spy. 
 Upon the mortow he would die. 
 And faster than the flying steed 
 Impelled to its extremest speed. 
 With silent, unsuspected tread. 
 The hours, life's restless coursers, fled. 
 
 He had not slept; for through his frame 
 Consuming fever spread in flame. 
 And gave a temper to the league 
 Of raging weakness and fatigue : 
 And on each agonizing thought 
 A terror or a pang was brought. 
 
198 THE PERILS OF WAE. 
 
 That, by calamities unknown, 
 Through Lilla's bosom pierced his own. 
 
 The morning came — for him the last — 
 
 A fairer morning eye ne'er saw: 
 
 No scowling cloud, no thunder blast, 
 
 Kebuked the devilries of war : 
 
 And nature could appear thus bright 
 
 When murder stalked in open light! 
 
 For now he heard a general stir, 
 
 A hasty foot, a clinking spur. 
 
 And needed not by words to learn 
 
 They marked the orderly's return. 
 
 In manacles they lock his hands. 
 
 With ruffian haste draw tight his bands, 
 
 For orders, from the general brought, 
 
 Have, by their tone, a panic wrought. 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 199 
 
 And they but wait their prisoner slain, 
 To quit the post and fly the plain. 
 
 With manly step, and courage high. 
 Close guarded, he walked out to die, 
 And Branti met him at the door 
 With look malignant as of yore, 
 And on his lip a lurking smile, 
 The trophy of a compassed wile. 
 That when, before God's judgment-seat, 
 They face to face again shall meet. 
 Will rise, a witness, to impeach 
 More sternly — fatally than speech. 
 
 Once more he gazed upon the sun. 
 Whose daily race had scarce begun; 
 
200 THE PEEILS OF WAE. 
 
 One look threw at the blue expanse, 
 
 That like an ocean met his glance, 
 
 A sea without a rock or wave — 
 
 So to the weary seems the grave, 
 
 Where they may lay their throbbing head. 
 
 Eternity their downy bed : 
 
 And though they bandage o'er his eyes, 
 
 In blindness still he sees the skies. 
 
 The soldiers are drawn up in line, 
 And Branti is to give the sign. 
 As by the ofiScer he stands. 
 The fatal kerchief in his hands ; 
 But while he draws the moments out 
 There suddenly is heard a shout. 
 That seems in every heart to ring — 
 " For Italy and our brave king 1" 
 
THE PERILS OF WAR. 201 
 
 And swiftly came 'mid smoke and flame, 
 With rifle's sure unerring aim, 
 A bullet to the mark addressed, 
 It entered Branti's fated breast 
 
 And there his destined victim stood, 
 His hands clasped on the holy rood, 
 Not knowing what this din might mean, 
 That came the grave and him between, 
 Till, all at once, around him group 
 A joyous and exulting troop. 
 Who, 'mid their greetings loud and kind, 
 His knees, his wrists, his eyes unbind. 
 And to dispel his last alarms, 
 Lilla — his child — is in his arms! 
 
 K 3 
 
PART THE SEVENTH. 
 
 THE GENERAL, THE KING, AND 
 THE EMPEROR. 
 
The corse of Branti was turned o'er, 
 And from the wound oozed forth the gore 
 
 In gurgles fresh and glowing; 
 Through the round vent the bullet tore, 
 
 From life's deep conduit flowing; 
 And on the ground poured out the tide, 
 With many a cruel murder dyed, 
 Which, though unheard, with voice suppressed, 
 Had each its cry to Heaven addressed. 
 
206 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 And now, at last, the sentence came 
 Swift and consuming as a flame : 
 Ere said a word, ere drawn a breath, 
 It dealt the bolt, the stroke of death. 
 
 Looked on the captain of the band. 
 His eye denotive of command 
 For all it beamed with kindly light. 
 That, like a beacon on a height. 
 Would animate in need extreme, 
 By its directing, cheering gleam: 
 And 'twas a sight to see how all. 
 Highest to least, and old and young, 
 The haughty noble and the thrall, 
 Upon his look, his glances, hung. 
 So that no tmmpet need to call 
 •When he would on the foeman fall. 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 207 
 
 For better than its brazen tongue 
 His eagle gaze a summons flung, 
 And whoso felt a patriot's flame 
 Kindled at Garabaldi's name. 
 
 He scanned the corse with look of doubt, 
 Then, stooping, from the dead man's vest, 
 He plucked a broad sealed letter out, 
 As 'twere a secret of the breast. 
 E'en death would suffer not to rest. 
 Quick o'er the missive ran his eye — 
 "A thousand crowns I'd freely pay, 
 The tidings of this Austrian spy 
 Could I to Piedmont's king convey. 
 But well I know, my comrades, this 
 An enterprise we must dismiss, 
 
208 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 For not one here unsearched could hie. 
 By routes the foeman occupy, 
 To Milan, where, with trump and drum, 
 The king to-morrow will have come. 
 
 Then silent and depressed the band 
 Draw closer round and doubtful stand, 
 As though each still would volunteer 
 Whatever the risk to meet or fear, 
 But that the general's words confess 
 A greater barrier to success. 
 For at each Austrian post and guard 
 The way too surely would be barred. 
 And, stopped and searched, the letter ta'en 
 The risk they'd brave, and die in vain. 
 
AND THE EMPEROK. 209 
 
 But what their troubled looks expressed 
 Sprung a resolve in Lilians breast, 
 And now her voice the silence broke 
 As to the general thus she spoke: 
 
 "My father's life I'd buy with mine, 
 This thou hast saved, the other's thine ; 
 And what thou wouldst not think to take 
 Accept for our dear country's sake, 
 And by my hand, God's care shall bring 
 This letter to the gallant king/' 
 
 Then, rang out clear that praise sincere, 
 Enthusiasm's unprompted cheer ; 
 But Garabaldi, who could feel- 
 The claims of nature 'mid his zeal. 
 
210 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 And all their harmonies had learned, 
 From Lilla to her father turned. 
 And dyed his cheek a crimson glow. 
 When, mirrored on that face of woe. 
 He saw, as in a heart unstrung. 
 What wrongs, what bitter anguish, wrung 
 For a design so bold and wild 
 A parent 's tender of his child. 
 
 "'Tis not a time, though loth to use, 
 Such noble service to refuse; 
 But your worn look and air attest 
 'Tis needftil you should first have rest: 
 Meanwhile, we'll think of a disguise. 
 And how to shape this enterprise. 
 And, haply, may some toils evade. 
 When night shall lend its friendly shade." 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 211 
 
 Thus spoke the chief, in such a tone 
 
 As gave him in each breast a throne; 
 
 And his administering sway 
 
 'Twas felt a pleasure to obey: 
 
 The forethought shown — his care to save, 
 
 Fresh confidence to Lilla gave; 
 
 And now repose brought strength and hope, 
 
 And dreams that, like a horoscope. 
 
 Presented, in a range sublime. 
 
 The presage of a brighter time. 
 
 Too soon is the illusion past. 
 The hour of action 's come, at last; 
 And habited in the disguise 
 Selected for the enterprise — 
 A country damsel's smart array, 
 To ward suspicion by display. 
 
212 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 She meets the general at the door, 
 
 Was counseUed, cautioned, cheered once more, 
 
 And, learning all he had to tell, 
 
 Departed with a kind farewell. 
 
 Though swift her steed, his fullest speed 
 
 Reserving for her pressing need, 
 
 Not to attract a gazing throng, 
 
 She first rode leisurely along. 
 
 But as the night fell deeper round. 
 
 And sky and earth in darkness bound. 
 
 And lonelier the silent way, 
 
 Where every step through danger lay. 
 
 And every object, as she passed. 
 
 And every rustle of the blast, 
 
 To eye alert and quickened ear, 
 
 Might raise a thought of peril near — 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 213 
 
 Then, giving freedom to the rein, 
 She bounded o'er the road amain. 
 
 And yet, withal, her courage strong 
 Expanded at the thought of wrong, 
 That raised, in terrible array, 
 All the ills of Austrian sway, 
 The murders and nocturnal raids. 
 The scourge for matrons and for maids. 
 Conscription, exile, severed ties. 
 Suborners, Jesuits, and spies. 
 Making the yoke so heavy lie, 
 'Twas a relief, a gain, to die. 
 
 On, swiftly on, for mile on mile. 
 
 O'er plain and height, through dark defile. 
 
214 THE GENEEAL, THE KING, 
 
 Where such the silence, such the gloom, 
 It seemed a region 'yond the tomb. 
 Where never human foot had trod, 
 And she was there alone with God. 
 And as the Prophet hid his face. 
 When standing in the holy place, 
 So, as her mind the thought embraced, 
 
 She trembling crossed herself in haste. 
 
 And at that moment rose the moon. 
 
 With a resplendence opportune, 
 
 And, as a priest might show his flock. 
 
 Disclosed the Cross upon a rock. 
 
 And Christ, our Saviour, nailed thereto. 
 
 His head cast down, his side pierced through 
 
 Then drawing up her quivering steed, 
 
 She 'lighted on her knee with speed. 
 
AND THE EMPEROS. 215 
 
 And gave God thanks, and Mary prayed, 
 And twice a Paternoster said. 
 
 Onward again, in dread no more, 
 
 Though Mouza's towers rise dim before. 
 
 And seem to warn her to beware 
 
 An Austrian post will meet her there ; 
 
 For she has put her trust in Heaven, 
 
 As 'twere an inspiration given. 
 
 And every energy to fire, 
 
 Cites a thousand memories dire. 
 
 That trumpet, with their thousand tongues, 
 
 Her own and aU her country's wrongs. 
 
 Now seen the town, and looms the gate — 
 Why looks the place so desolate? 
 
216 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 Why breaks no challenge, loud and clear, 
 From sentinel, as she draws near? 
 Is it a snare for stragglers laid, 
 A Jesuitic ambuscade? 
 Dismounting, she leads on her steed, 
 As o'er a mine the stormers speed. 
 Not daring even to take breath, 
 When the next step may light on death, 
 And at the postern now she stands, 
 And lifts the latch with trembling hands: 
 There is the open guard-room door, 
 But still no sentry walks before ; 
 And, dropped amain her bridle rein, 
 She softly enters to explore. 
 
 Quick throbs her heart, and, at each beat, 
 Seems to spring upward from its seat, 
 
AND THE EMPEEOR. 217 
 
 And as a wave still changing glides, 
 So swells, her bosom and subsides. 
 She fears a trap, she knows the cost, 
 She'll be — she is already lost, 
 For if the guard be there to meet, 
 She now has passed beyond retreat, 
 And, even then, the thought that rose 
 To whisper of the scourge's blows. 
 That scandal to the human name. 
 Spread o'er her cheek a blush of flame. 
 
 But moonlight through the window stole. 
 And in the room showed not a soul, 
 Though, on the benches, camping ware. 
 With remnants of the soldiers' fare. 
 And other relics, might be traced, 
 Showing the guard had left in haste: 
 
218 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 It seemed, for aught beside declared, 
 A chamber in Pompeii bared, 
 Where vital footprints are so rife, 
 One scarce conceives there is no life. 
 But Lilla the enigma read — 
 The guard — ^the Austrians — had fled! 
 
 0! what a burden, what a weight, 
 Her heart then seemed to abdicate. 
 And tears she had refused to grief 
 Brought her a transport of relief. 
 As if a gentle shower stole. 
 Like Mercy's dew, upon her soul. 
 By terror now no more oppressed, 
 She lingered for a moment's rest, 
 But her o'erwrought and weary eyes 
 Sleep, ere perceived, took by surprise, 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 219 
 
 And she was wakened in dismay 
 By the obtruding gaze of day. 
 
 Still, all was quiet, all was calm, 
 No sound to startle or alarm, 
 For yet the town had not awoke — 
 But, oh! how soon its sleep had broke 
 Had it but heard the faintest word 
 That 'twas delivered from its yoke: 
 There now, at last, had dawned a day 
 When Austria had ceased to sway: 
 There now, at last, had come a mom 
 When Italy stood up new-bom, 
 And, though begun on fields of strife, 
 This mom's a pledge of future life. 
 
 L 2 
 
220 THE GENEKAL, THE KING, 
 
 In Milan's streets the jubilee 
 
 Attained the height of ecstasy ; 
 
 For there, through many a long year, 
 
 The Austrian had ruled by fear, 
 
 And kept the city for his liege. 
 
 House by house, in closest siege; 
 
 And now this leaguer of each hearth 
 
 Had broken like the slimmest lath. 
 
 Had like a vapour passed away. 
 
 Like a shadow, like a spray ; 
 
 And men who'd gone to rest as slaves 
 
 Now rose up free, as from their graves. 
 
 Yet hardly dared to realize 
 
 What reached their ears and met their e 
 
 And from the housetops was proclaimed, 
 
 And from the roaring cannon flamed, 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 221 
 
 By every voice repeated loud 
 
 Through the enthusiastic crowd, 
 
 That, like a tide, swept down each street 
 
 At every turn fresh streams to meet. 
 
 But never varying the look 
 
 It first on its assembling took, 
 
 As joyous as a summer brook, 
 
 And freedom's sunshine one might trace 
 
 Reflected in each beaming face. 
 
 With trumpet blast and beaten drum 
 The Emperor and King had come; 
 The Guard and the Zouaves were there 
 The triumph to adorn and share. 
 While Piedmont's legions sent their best 
 To add their lustre to the rest. 
 
•222 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 And, oh! those cheers, that rose up round. 
 Might make e'en heroes' hearts rebound, 
 But nobler sanction of their cause 
 That Beauty's glances beamed applause. 
 And flowers were thrown and kerchiefs waved 
 To those who had such perils braved, 
 And, on the field, such service done, 
 When freedom — that great spoil — was won. 
 
 The pageant o'er, the city yet 
 In crowd on crowd exulting met, 
 And fraternized, the high and low, 
 In feeling's gushing overflow; 
 And noble ladies in the street 
 Embrace the soldiers as they meet : 
 A worthy meed for gallant deed, 
 No kingly guerdon half so sweet! 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 223 
 
 How welcome had the peril seemed, 
 Could one of such reward have dreamed! 
 And such a memory to cheer, 
 How brilliant future fields appear ! 
 
 Unheeded through the busy throng 
 
 Lilla moved wearily along. 
 
 And reached, at length, the stately square 
 
 Where rises the cathedral fair. 
 
 The pile a moment claimed her gaze, 
 
 Bursting upon her like a blaze, 
 
 Ethereal in every part, 
 
 A very cynosure of art. 
 
 Its pinnacles and minarets 
 
 Throw up a hundred flashing jets. 
 
 That, light and soarmg, spring amain. 
 
 Like a radiance, from the fane. 
 
224 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 Below, the windows, tall and lanced, 
 'Twixt piers abutting, clearly glanced, 
 Responding to the sun's bright beams 
 With glimpses of prismatic gleams. 
 While all around in niches stood 
 The saints, a holy brotherhood, 
 Each in his life a shining light 
 To guide the pilgrim's steps aright. 
 Though, in the shape the fabric took, 
 A truer beacon met the look, 
 The holy cross, in outline pure. 
 That spiritual cynosure. 
 
 The ducal palace — now a king's — 
 Close to the sacred temple clings, 
 Like something that had refuge sought 
 Within the compass of its wings, 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 225 
 
 Not by its ministry been taught 
 To rest upon the strong support 
 A conscience, clear and holy, brings. 
 
 Soon Lilla the piazza crossed. 
 
 And now the sentinels accost, 
 
 And to their challenge she replies 
 
 With a report that satisfies. 
 
 A watchful aide-de-camp appears. 
 
 And more at large her story hears, 
 
 Then, bids her follow, and leads on 
 
 Through rooms that with resplendence shone. 
 
 The camp's and court's caparison; 
 
 For marshals and high men of state 
 
 Here on the royal captains wait. 
 
 In all the pomp and rich parade 
 
 That mark their merit and their grade, 
 
 L 3 
 
226 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 But Lilla, wrapt in thought, scarce gave 
 A glance at this assemblage brave, 
 Remembering she soon would be 
 Where must its chiefest bend the knee, 
 And stars lose all their feeble light 
 Before the sun absorbs the sight. 
 
 She's bid to wait, and 'twas relief, 
 Unwatched — untended — to remain , 
 And for a space, though e'er so brief, 
 Be left to call her thoughts again, 
 But comes the aide-de-camp amain. 
 And now the door is open thrown. 
 He tells her to advance alone, 
 And, ere her tremor has subsided. 
 Into the chamber she has glided. 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 227 
 
 A blindness seemed to strike her eyes, 
 'Twas but the dazzle of surprise — 
 A vivid flash, a sudden glare. 
 For both the royalties were there. 
 And aU her diffidence took wing 
 Before the Emperor and King. 
 
 She held the letter in her hand. 
 And on the King had fixed her eye, 
 When he, with an expression bland, 
 Keferred her to his great aUy, 
 And then she met that potent glance, 
 The guardian, the guard of France, 
 And scanned that face of mystery, 
 Whose thoughtful lines are history, 
 As yet unwritten and unknown, 
 And there, like signs prophetic, sown, 
 
228 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 Portending less the soul's intents 
 Than a procession of events. 
 
 But from tliis impress to beguile 
 
 His face unbent in a faint smile. 
 
 Meant to commend and reassure, 
 
 And lightening the portraiture. 
 
 He read the letter — slowly read, 
 
 As one who would not be misled — 
 
 "'Tis true," he murmured, "they have lied. 
 
 You met no Austrians on your way 
 
 As you rode hitherward to-day?" 
 
 Her answer was precise and brief. 
 It satisfied and pleased the chief, 
 And King Emmanuel praised her zeal 
 And ardour for the commonweal, 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 229 
 
 A guerdon — those few words — to her 
 No royal treasury could confer, 
 And both the mouarchs gave command 
 That she should still remain at hand, 
 Until their pleasure should be known, 
 And by some mark of favour shown. 
 
 Again she passed down the saloon. 
 
 The object now of every eye. 
 
 For through the crowd vague rumours soon 
 
 Her deed and daring magnify: 
 
 And blushing deep — ^no blush to stain, 
 
 Yet one that tinged her joy with pain,. 
 
 A beautiful carnation hue. 
 
 Yet feverish and shrinking too. 
 
 From the gay court with all its glare. 
 
 She turned to the cathedral square. 
 
230 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 She heard a voice pronounce her name, 
 And in her heart an echo came 
 That promptly and at once replied — 
 Its cadence, soft but deep, the same, 
 And, ere the sound familiar died, 
 An officer was at her side; 
 And Mowbray — for 'twas he — her glance 
 Seemed for an instant to entrance. 
 Then both, as chords together swept 
 By the light touch of an adept, 
 When a sweet concert is awoke, 
 In one blithe exclamation broke: 
 And soon the thrilling tale was told 
 Each pressed the other to unfold. 
 With questionings, that still would hear 
 Whate'er might come from lips so dear. 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 231 
 
 Though in the mind fresh thoughts arose 
 Swifter than language could disclose, 
 And, thus unspoken, seemed to fade, 
 Like leaves within a forest glade, 
 That, ere they force their way to light, 
 The boughs above o'erlapping smite. 
 For how in such brief space impart 
 All the exuberance of the heai-t ! 
 
 For but a moment, as it seemed. 
 
 This burst, this overflow, of gladness, 
 
 Through all their words, their gestures, streamed. 
 
 For Mowbray's face grew tinged with sadness! 
 
 And though he strove in Lilla's sight 
 
 To tint this cloud with borrowed light, 
 
 And, like a glass, give back to view 
 
 The radiance her glances threw. 
 
232 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 Vain were his efforts to conceal, 
 
 For all he felt she too must feel. 
 
 Instinctively, and like the thrill 
 
 Of one ungovernable will. 
 
 And thus did silence 'twixt them glide, 
 
 Like a chasm, to divide: 
 
 Narrow but deep, they could not spread 
 
 Above that depth the word unsaid. 
 
 And so on either side they stood 
 
 An instant's space in that dark mood, 
 
 Until a trumpet's blast awoke. 
 
 And then the silence Mowbray broke. 
 
 "I told you when Italia's right 
 Was to be won in open fight. 
 My sword would flash in her array- 
 That trumpet calls me to the fray : 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 233 
 
 My troop is marshalled in the square, 
 My chief, my charger, wait me there. 
 And I but claimed a brief reprieve 
 To follow you, and take sad leave — 
 For something I long thought to say 
 Upon my heart a burden lay, 
 And now, as by a coming fate, 
 'Tis thrown back from my lips elate, 
 And all they would in haste unfold, 
 I feel 'twere best remained untold." 
 A deep unconscious sigh he drew — 
 "My time's expii'ed — adieu! adieu!" 
 
 And here the trumpet's brazen tongue 
 Far round another summons flung: 
 He clasped her hand, he dared not raise 
 His mournful eye to meet her gaze. 
 
234 THE GENERAL, THE KING, 
 
 The gaze that, bent upon his face, 
 Seemed all her senses to embrace. 
 To hear and feel, as well as see, 
 In its concentred agony. 
 
 " Yet stay, ! stay, one moment more- 
 One fleeting moment, I implore ; 
 For I would tell you, ere you go — 
 And yet I cannot — no, no, no!" 
 And, sobbing, on his breast she sank. 
 And left those broken words a blank; 
 But when his arm around her flew, 
 With such a swift response, and true, 
 And clasped her in a fond embrace, 
 O! then, she raised her burning face. 
 And yielded to that sweetest bliss, 
 Love's first intoxicating kiss. 
 
AND THE EMPEROR. 235 
 
 " I've loved you long — yes, from the first, 
 
 And, like a blossom early burst, 
 
 My passion 'neath a shade have nurst; 
 
 For, while you leant upon my care, 
 
 I could not urge a lover's prayer, 
 
 And now, when we have met again, 
 
 There still was something to constrain : 
 
 My love I scrupled to confess, 
 
 Since at this hour 'twould but distress. 
 
 Could I have hoped to win your heart. 
 
 To snatch it up, and then depart. 
 
 But I have won it — yes, 'tis mine, 
 
 I feel it with my own entwine; 
 
 And, oh! it brings so sweet a joy 
 
 Not parting even can alloy: 
 
236 THE GENERAL, KING, AND EMPEROR. 
 
 There, sweet, adieu! —what rapture this!" 
 Again — again — ^the fervent kiss ; 
 But the fierce trumpet to obey. 
 He forced — he tore himself away. 
 
PAUT THE EIGHTH. 
 
 SOLFERINO. 
 
The battle rages far and wide, 
 
 On the broad plain and steep hill side, 
 
 On rock and slope and river bank, 
 
 On Solferino's jutting flank, 
 
 From Peschiera on the right. 
 
 To Goito*s flat road the fight 
 
 A dozen miles breaks on the sight; 
 
 And twice two hundred thousand blades, 
 
 In flashes, like long trails of light. 
 
 Rose through the smoke of cannonades. 
 
 Then sank, as in the guK of night. 
 
240 SOLFERINO. 
 
 Or, gleaming through its depths, became 
 Keflectors to the forks of flame, 
 And trump and drum and ringing cheer 
 Deafen from every side the ear. 
 With musketry's prolonging roll. 
 The requiem of many a soul, 
 Completing, with the cannon's roar, 
 The awful orchestra of war. 
 
 In the centre, from a height. 
 Napoleon directs the fight 
 For France and Italy allied, 
 And battling nobly, side by side, 
 While Austria's Emperor is found 
 On Cavriana's towering ground. 
 The centre, too, of the array 
 That served his cause this bloody day, 
 
SOLFERINO. 241 
 
 Fighting with all its might and main, 
 On hill and slope and death-swept plain, 
 So that the beam, whence triumph hung. 
 Now up, now down, uncertain swung. 
 And Piedmont's monarch, on the left,* 
 From his ally was fiercely cleft, 
 And though he bravely struggled still 
 On San Martino's rugged hill. 
 Now on its crest, now driven back, 
 And now renewing the attack — 
 Although the dead and wounded round 
 Spread like a pavement o'er the ground. 
 And from the church — perversion dire!^- 
 And jBrom the ridge, poured sheets of fire. 
 And grape and balls, with fearful crash. 
 As up the fatal slope they dash, 
 
242 SOLFERINO. 
 
 To meet upon its bristling crown 
 
 That wave of steel that hurls them down: 
 
 And Mollard's corps, brought up in haste, 
 
 Is in the front of conflict placed, 
 
 And twice breaks through that barrier dense, 
 
 And caps the frowning eminence, 
 
 And twice is driven back again. 
 
 And thrown in fragments on the plain. 
 
 Then Cucchiari's column sweeps, 
 
 Like a tornado, up the steeps. 
 
 And, through the smoke and through the fire. 
 
 Bursts on the Austrians entire, 
 
 And seems, with its resistless rush, 
 
 Their broken ranks at last to crush, 
 
 Propelling them right down the hill 
 
 In wild disorder, fighting still. 
 
SOLFERINO. 243 
 
 But suddenly, with loud huzza, 
 They form once more a living bar. 
 The bayonets, the sabres flash, 
 And foe meets foe in awful crash, 
 And men fall down like trodden reeds 
 Beneath the hoofs of rushing steeds, 
 Wliich here, without a rider, fly, 
 Here masterless dash madly by. 
 And here, like heroes, stand and die. 
 Thus, hour by hour, through all the day, 
 The Austrian legions stood at bay. 
 And, though unable to defeat. 
 Forced the Sardinians to retreat. 
 
 'Twas but a moment — but a pause, 
 The lull that more than tempest awes 
 
 M 2 
 
244 SOLFERINO. 
 
 By the uncertainty intense 
 That keeps the spirit in suspense. 
 For Fanti's column now is sent 
 To win that mountain battlement. 
 
 But on the right the deadly fight 
 
 More fiercely still is waged, 
 For there the bulk of Austria's might 
 
 With France herself s engaged; 
 And there — erect, detached, alone — 
 High Solferino rears its cone 
 Like fabled Pluto's sulphur throne, 
 Or rather as itself a god. 
 The battle hanging on its nod — 
 For who should last possess its crest. 
 With him the victory would rest 
 
SOLFERINO. 245 
 
 Though volleys roar, and cannon's flame, 
 As swift as liglitning, went and came, 
 Above the smoke, above the fight, 
 A tower on that lofty height 
 Looked o'er the country like an eye, 
 Further than mortal glance could fly, 
 From where the Alps throw up their chain 
 Far as the Po, a boundless plain. 
 That stronghold seemed to stand secure, 
 Amid the conflict, safe and sure, 
 A sanctuary and a keep, 
 Surmounting precipices steep. 
 That rose all round from plateaux three. 
 The strong position s core and key, 
 Alive with strife in every part, 
 The .battle's palpitating heart. 
 
246 SOLFEEINO. 
 
 For here, where two great armies meet, 
 It bounds, it rocks, with every beat, 
 As could the mass of granite feel 
 The mighty shock of fire and steeL 
 
 Napoleon from a jacent rise ^^ 
 
 Surveys the fight with piercing eyes, 
 
 And as he sees occasion claim, 
 
 With Cyclop's force and marksman's aim, 
 
 And with traditionary ken. 
 
 He launches thunderbolts of men. 
 
 And though recoiling shivered back. 
 
 They fly again to the attack, 
 
 Re-form, unite, and onward bear 
 
 Once more to meet the foeman there. 
 
SOLFERINO. 247 
 
 Once more before the raining fire — 
 
 Not to retreat, but to retire. 
 
 Each feels within his breast the sway 
 
 One mind infuses through the fray, 
 
 And spreading over all the field. 
 
 It seems to each a special shield — 
 
 A mighty influence to wield! 
 
 For where Napoleon bids advance, 
 
 There, through the smoke, the columns glance. 
 
 And with a shout for him and France — 
 
 O'er mangled heaps of comrades slain 
 
 They rush upon the foe again. 
 
 But now above the conflict broke 
 A louder roar than it awoke — 
 The mighty God of battles spoke ! 
 
248 SOLFEEINO. 
 
 And from the Heavens came his thunder 
 As if 'twould rend the hill asunder, 
 And o'er the dark and frowning sky, 
 The lightnings, blue and arrowed, fly, 
 Like trains that, quickened by the gale, 
 Fire the artillery of hail : 
 But still, through all the storm, the fight 
 Continues on that blood-washed height, 
 And D'HUliers, Forey, Camou there 
 The dangers of their soldiers share, 
 Again and yet again lead on 
 Against the Church's garrison, 
 Against the houses, loopholed all. 
 That round the winding passes crawl — 
 Against the cemetery wall. 
 
SOLFERINO. 249 
 
 Till, in support, fresh legions come 
 With ringing cheer and beat of drum. 
 And through the vineyards on the steep 
 The Guard with force resistless sweep. 
 Leboeuf, exposed to their full brunt, 
 Takes the batteries in the front, 
 With the artillery of the Guard, 
 While onward Forey presses hard, 
 And gallantly the Austrian host 
 Defended, hand to hand, the post. 
 But now by a bold charge, and now 
 Foot by foot, on the liill's brow. 
 The eagles of the French advance. 
 The church displays the flag of France, 
 They win the village, win the height, 
 The Austrians recede from sight. 
 
250 SOLFERINO. 
 
 But, when the smoke has cleared away, 
 The French perceive them still at bay, 
 And, pushing on, each rising mound 
 Becomes another battle-ground. 
 And here was Mowbray helpless lying, 
 Among the wounded and the dying. 
 No strength to move, no voice to cry 
 For help, if even help were nigh : 
 He saw the day was waning fast — 
 For him — and many more — ^the last, 
 For how live through the coming night? 
 ! better to have died in fight ! 
 This burning thirst, this throbbing pain, 
 His gory couch of comrades slain, 
 His charger fallen at his side — 
 Ah I would he then himself had died I 
 
SOLFERINO. 251 
 
 But, after he had long repined, 
 
 A better spirit swept his mind, 
 
 And raised a Christian trust and hope 
 
 With suffering and pain to cope — 
 
 Admonishing by many a groan. 
 
 From those so thick around him strown, 
 
 No murmurs in his breast should rise 
 
 When others shared the sacrifice. 
 
 But whence that step, and whose that voice, 
 That make him, 'mid his pangs, rejoice? 
 And when he hears that bitter cry. 
 Why does he feel he must not die? 
 'Tis Lilla — yes, he knows, 'tis she, 
 Though her sweet face he cannot see, 
 
252 SOLFEKINO. 
 
 And now what evil can betide? 
 
 He's saved — he's guarded by his bride ! 
 
 » « « * 
 
 Two months had passed, and Mowbray now, 
 To health restored, redeemed his vow, 
 And Lilla, his in death or life, 
 Became indeed his bride — his wife. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 1 (TMurder and theft their station took, 
 By royal licence free to act, 
 The town to harass and distract.] 
 
 This statement may appear incredible. There is, however, 
 ample testimony to prove that convicted brigands, and other 
 malefactors, were released from prison by the late King of 
 Naples, and let loose on his subjects, with the view of dis- 
 tracting public attention from political affairs by the dis- 
 orders which these tieket-of-leave ruffians might be expected 
 to create. 
 
 2 [There was the Criminalli door.] 
 
 The Criminalli is, as its name imports, the criminal prison, 
 where persons charged with political offences are confined, 
 together with felons, from their first arrest. 
 
 3 [Like figures in old Egypt's caves.] 
 The allusion is not to the tableaux and bas-reliefs of the 
 Egyptian structures, but to the figures which, in the older 
 
254 NOTES. 
 
 rock temples, project from the excavated walls, and seem to 
 sustain tlie roof. 
 
 ^ [Or friars niched in standing graves.] 
 
 An allusion to a practice very "prevalent in Sicily, and, 
 indeed, in other parts of Southern Europe. At Malta I 
 visited a Capuchin monastery, in the village of Florian, where 
 the skeletons of the defunct abbots were all ranged in niches 
 round a vaulted chapel, arrayed in the same woollen gown 
 and cowl they had worn during hfe. 
 
 * [But only quarried pits were there.] 
 
 This cemetery is described from one actually seen by the 
 author, and the description may indeed be applied to too 
 many in the kingdom of the Two Sicilies, and even other 
 countries of Southern Europe. 
 
 • [As warned of yore the sea-cliff bell.] 
 Before the introduction of lighthouses, a huge bell, sus- 
 pended from a beam, was erected at dangerous points of the 
 coast, and, swung by the wind, warned the mariner, through 
 the obscurity of night or fog, of the vicinity of the shore. 
 
 ' [Not art the granite way had made,] 
 
 The roads of Sicily owe little indeed to art. Even the two 
 principal towns, Palermo and Messina, are not connected by 
 
NOTES. 255 
 
 a road ; and so jealous is the government of any facilities for 
 popular intercourse, that the roads communicating with the 
 interior do not extend beyond thirty miles. 
 
 ^ [She first rode leisurely along.] 
 
 The adventure ascribed to Lilla finds a counterpart in the 
 following incident of the war, quoted from the Milan corre- 
 spondence of the Times, December 22, 1859 : — 
 
 " The marriage of Garibaldi gains more and more consis- 
 tency. It is quite a romantic story. When General Urban 
 advanced with overpowering forces, the Cacciatori delle Alpi 
 had to abandon their position on the Lago di Como, and fell 
 back towards Varese. The town of Como and all the neigh- 
 bourhood were in consternation on the prospect of a visit 
 from the Austrians ; the employes, and all those who were 
 for one reason or another against the movement which had 
 taken place, were raising their heads ; the mass, timid and 
 without organization, was what masses under these circum- 
 stances usually are; and yet it was important to inform 
 Graribaldi of the state [of things, and to give him likewise 
 details about the position of the Austrians. But there was 
 no one who would expose himself to the risk of undertaking 
 this ticklish embassy. A young lady, not twenty-two, the 
 daughter of a neighbouring proprietor, offered herself, and 
 partly on horseback and partly on foot, succeeded, by circuit- 
 ous mountain roads, in reaching Garibaldi's camp. The 
 general had gone out with his chiefs of the staff to the out- 
 
256 NOTES. 
 
 posts when they met the courageous young lady, who not 
 only delivered her message but took back another equally 
 successfully. This was the beginning of their acquaintance. 
 After his resignation, Garibaldi went to visit the lady's family 
 at their country place, near the Lake of Como ; his visit was 
 to have been only short, but by a strange coincidence he had, 
 shortly after his arrival, a fall with his horse, in which he 
 hurt his knee, and which obliged him to remain in the 
 house." 
 
 ^ [And Piedmont's monarch on the left.] 
 
 The conflict at San Martino is thus described in the 
 French official account ; — 
 
 " On its part the Piedmontese army, placed on our extreme 
 left, had also had a rude and splendid day's work. It was 
 advancing in four divisions in the direction of Pescheira from 
 Pozzolengo and Madonna della Scoperta, when, at about 7 in 
 the morning, its advanced guard encountered the enemy's 
 advanced posts between San Martino and Pozzolengo. The 
 combat commenced, but strong Austrian reinforcements hur- 
 ried up and drove the Piedmontese further back than San 
 Martino, even threatening to cut off their line of retreat. A 
 brigade of Mollard's division then arrived in all haste on the 
 scene of combat, and assaulted the heights on which the 
 enemy had established themselves. Twice it attained the 
 summit, and possessed itself of several pieces of cannon ; but 
 twice also it had to yield to numbers, and to abandon its 
 conquest. 
 
NOTES. 257 
 
 " The enemy was gaining ground, in spite of some brilliant 
 charges of the King's cavalry, when Cucchiari's division, de- 
 bouching in the field of battle by the road of Rivoltella, came 
 to support General MoUard. The Sardinian troops rushed 
 forward a third time with impetuosity under a murderous 
 fire ; the church and all the works raised on the right were 
 can-ied, and eight pieces of cannon were taken. But the 
 enemy again succeeded in disengaging the cannon and in re- 
 taking the positions. 
 
 " At this moment the 2nd brigade of General Cucchiari, 
 which had been formed in colunms of attack to the left of 
 the Lugano road, marched against the church of St. Marti- 
 no, regained the lost ground, and carried the heights for the 
 fourth time, without holding them, however ; for, over- 
 whelmed by volleys of grape, and facing an enemy who was 
 constantly receiving reinforcements and incessantly return- 
 ing to the charge, it could not hold out till the arrival of 
 succour from General Mollard's 2nd Brigade, and the Pied- 
 montese, being quite exhausted, retreated in good order along 
 the Rivoltella road. 
 
 " It was then the Aosta Brigade of Fanti's division, which 
 had at first gone towards Solferino to form a junction with 
 Marshal Baraguay d'Hilliers, was sent by the King to sup- 
 port Generals MoUard and Cucchiari in the attack on San 
 Martino. That body was checked for a while by the storm ; 
 but about five o'clock in the evening this brigade and the 
 Pignerol one, supported by a numerous artillery, marched on 
 
258 NOTES. 
 
 the enemy under a terrible fire and reached the heights. 
 They took possession of them foot by foot, field by field, and 
 managed to hold them by very desperate fighting. The 
 enemy began to give way, and the Piedmontese Artillery, 
 gaining the ridge, soon crowned it with twenty-four pieces 
 of cannon, which the Austrians vainly endeavoured to cap- 
 ture ; two brilliant charges of the King's cavalry dispersed . 
 them ; volleys of grape threw their ranks into confusion, and 
 the Sardinian troops finally remained masters of the formid- 
 able positions which the enemy had defended for a whole day 
 with such obstinacy." 
 
 ^° [Napoleon from a jacent rise.] 
 
 The following paragraphs from the French oflBcial account 
 describe the attack on the height of Solferino : — 
 
 " These measures having been taken, the Emperor repaired 
 to the heights, in the centre of the line of battle, where Mar- 
 shal Baraguay d'Hilliers, too distant from the Sardinian 
 army to be able to act in conjunction with it, had to struggle 
 in very diflScult ground against troops which were incessantly 
 renewed. 
 
 " The Marshal had nevertheless arrived at the foot of the 
 steep hill on which the village of Solferino is built. That 
 village was defended by considerable forces, intrenched in an 
 old chateau and a large cemetery, both of which were sur- 
 rounded by thick and crenelated walls. The Marshal had 
 already lost a great number of men, and had had more than 
 
NOTES, 259 
 
 once to expose liimself by leading on the troops of Bazaine's 
 and Ladmiraiilt's divisions. Worn out with fatigue and heat, 
 and exposed to a heavy fire of musketry, these troops gained 
 ground with much difficulty. At this moment the Emperor 
 ordered Forey's division to advance, one brigade on the side 
 of the plain, and the other on the height against the village 
 of Solferino, and caused it to be supported by Camou's divi- 
 sion of light infantry of the Guard. He caused to advance 
 with these troops the artillery of the Guard, which, under 
 the command of General de Sevelinges and General Leboeuf, 
 took up an uncovered position of about 300 metres from the 
 enemy. This manoeuvre decided the success in the centre. 
 While Forey's division seized on the cemetery, and General 
 Bazaine dashed his troops forward into the village, the hght 
 infantry and riflemen of the Imperial Guard climbed up to 
 the foot of the tower commanding the chateau and possessed 
 themselves of it. The little hills near Solferino were su|^s- 
 sively carried, and at half-past three the Austrians evacuated 
 the position, under the fire of our artillery, placed on the 
 crests, and left in our hands 1,500 prisoners, 14 pieces of 
 cannon, and two colours. The share of the Imperial Guard 
 in this glorious trophy was 13 guns and one colour." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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