Yet all the vision that within me wrought,

I cannot make thee! Oh! I might have given Birth to creations of far nobler thought;

I might have kindled, with the fire of heaven,
Things not of such as die! But I have been
Too much alone ;-a heart whereon to lean,
With all these deep affections that o'erflow
My aching soul and find no shore below;
An eye to be my star; a voice to bring

Hope o'er my path like sounds that breathe of spring:
These are denied ine- -dreamt of still in vain-
Therefore my brief aspirings from the chain,

Are ever but as some wild fitful song,

Rising triumphantly, to die erelong
In dirge-like echoes.

1V.

Yet the world will see

Little of this, my parting work, in thee— Thou shalt have fame !-Oh, mockery! give the reed

From storms a shelter-give the drooping vine Something round which its tendrils may entwine

Give the parch'd flower a rain-drop, and the meed
Of love's kind words to woman! Worthless fame!
That in his bosom wins not for my name
Th' abiding place it ask'd! Yet how my heart,
In its own fairy world of song and art,

Once beat for praise! Are those high longings o'er?
That which I have been can I be no more?
Never! oh, never more! though still thy sky
Be blue as then, my glorious Italy!

And though the music, whose rich breathings fill
Thine air with soul, be wandering past me still;
And though the mantle of thy sunlight streams,
Unchanged on forms, instinct with poet-dreams:
Never! oh, never more!
Where'er I move,

The shadow of this broken-hearted love
Is on me and around! Too well they know,
Whose life is all within, too soon and well,
When there the blight hath settled!—but I go
Under the silent wings of peace to dwell;
From the slow wasting, from the lonely pain,
The inward burning of those words—“ in vain,”
Sear'd on the heart-I go. 'Twill soon be past,
Sunshine, and song, and bright Italian heaven,

And thou, Oh! thou, on whom my spirit cast
Unvalued wealth—who know'st not what was given
In that devotedness-the sad, and deep,
And unrepaid farewell! If I could weep
Once, only once, beloved one! on thy breast,
Pouring my heart forth ere I sink to rest!
But that were happiness, and unto me
Earth's gift is fame. Yet I was form'd to be
So richly bless'd! With thee to watch the sky,
Speaking not, feeling but that thou wert nigh:
With thee to listen, while the tones of song
Swept even as part of our sweet air along—
To listen silently: with thee to gaze
On forms, the deified of olden days-
This had been joy enough; and hour by hour,
From its glad well-springs drinking life and power,
How had my spirit soar'd, and made its fame

A glory for thy brow! Dreams, dreams!-the fire

Burns faint within me. Yet I leave my name

As a deep thrill may linger on the lyre
When its full chords are hush'd-awhile to live,
And one day haply in thy heart revive

Sad thoughts of me :-I leave it, with a sound,
A spell o'er memory, mournfully profound-
I leave it, on my country's air to dwell—
Say proudly yet-"'Twas hers who loved me well!"

GERTRUDE; OR, FIDELITY TILL DEATH. [The Baron Von der Wart, accused-though it is believed unjustly as an accomplice in the assassination of the Emperor Albert, was bound alive on the wheel, and attended by his wife Gertrude, throughout his last agonizing hours, with the most heroic devotedness. Her own sufferings, with those of her unfortunate husband, are most affectingly described in a letter which she afterwards addressed to a female friend, and which was published some years ago, at Haarlem, in a book entitled Gertrude Von der Wart; or, Fidelity unto Death.]

"Dark lowers our fate,

And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;

But nothing, till that latest agony

Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose

This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house,

In the terrific face of armed law,

Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be,

I never will forsake thee."

JOANNA BAILLIE.

raised,

HER hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes

The breeze threw back her hair;
Up to the fearful wheel she gazed-

All that she loved was there.

The night was round her clear and cold,
The holy heaven above,

Its pale stars watching to behold
The might of earthly love.

"And bid me not depart," she cried,
"My Rudolph say not so!
This is no time to quit thy side-
Peace! peace! I cannot go.
Hath the world aught for me to fear,

When death is on thy brow?

The world! what means it ?-mine is here

I will not leave thee now.

"I have been with thee in thine hour Of glory and of bliss ;

Doubt not its memory's living power

To strengthen me through this!
And thou, mine honour'd love and true,
Bear on, bear nobly on!

We have the blessed heaven in view,
Whose rest shall soon be won."

And were not these high words to flow
From woman's breaking heart?
Through all that night of bitterest woe
She bore her lofty part;

But oh! with such a glazing eye,

With such a curdling cheek—

Love, love of mortal agony,

Thou, only thou, should'st speak!

The wind rose high—but with it rose
Her voice, that he might hear:

Perchance that dark hour brought repose

To happy bosoms near;

While she sat striving with despair

Beside his tortured form,

And pouring her deep soul in prayer
Forth on the rushing storm.

She wiped the death-damps from his brow
With her pale hands and soft,
Whose touch upon the lute-chords low
Had still'd his heart so oft.

She spread her mantle o'er his breast,
She bathed his lips with dew,
And on his cheek such kisses press'd
As hope and joy ne'er knew.

Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!

She had her meed- -one smile in death-
And his worn spirit pass'd.

While even as o'er a martyr's grave
She knelt on that sad spot,
And, weeping, bless'd the God who gave
Strength to forsake it not!

IMELDA.

"Sometimes

The young forgot the lessons they had learnt,

And loved when they should hate-like thee, Imelda!" 4

"Passa la bella Donna, e par che dorma.'

Italy, a Poem.

TASSO.

WE have the myrtle's breath around us here,
Amidst the fallen pillars ;—this hath been