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Kind was thy boyish heart and true,
When rear'd together there, Through the old woods like fawns ye flew
Where is thy brother - where?
“Well didst thou love him then, and he
Still at thy side was seen !
As though they ne'er had been?
Between the good and brave!
Be offer'd to the grave.
" And let them, let them there be pour'd!
Though all unfelt below-
Shall soften as they flow.
Now bid his work be done!
Take, take these babes, my son!”
His eye was dimm’d—the strong man shook
With feelings long suppress'd;
And strain'd them to his breast.
Burst forth to hail the sight;
At the Kaiser's feast that night.
TASSO AND HIS SISTER.
“Devant vous est Sorrente; là demeuroit la seur de Tasse, quand il vint en pélérin demander à cette obscure amie, un asyle contre l'injustice des princes. -Ses longues douleurs avaient presque égaré sa raison; il ne lui restoit plus que son génie.”
She sat, where on each wind that sigh’d,
The citron's breath went by,
Burn'd in the Italian sky.
Full of sweet laughter found,
To the high vineyards round.
But still and thoughtful, at her knee,
Her children stood that hour,
Hush'd as by words of power.
Up to their mother's face,
They stood in silent grace.
While she-yet something o'er her look
Of mournfulness was spreadForth from a poet's magic book
The glorious numbers read; Vol. V. 23
The proud undying lay, which pour'd
Its light on evil years;
The triumph-and the tears.
She read of fair Erminia's flight,
Which Venice once might hear
By many a gondolier;
That wrapt the myrtle grove;
That slew his Paynim love.
Young cheeks around that bright page glow'd,
Young holy hearts, were stirr'd;
Fast o'er each burning word.
Came sweet, each pause between;
Burst on the gentle scene.
The mother turn'd—a way-worn man,
In pilgrim garb, stood nigh,
Of proud yet mournful eye.
It is scarcely necessary to recall the well-known Italian saying, that Tasso, with his sword and pen, was superior to all
But drops which would not stay for pride,
From that dark eye gush'd free, As pressing his pale brow, he cried,
“Forgotten! e'en by thee!
“ Am I so changed ?--and yet we two
Oft hand in hand have play'd;-
From wreaths which thou hast made; We have knelt down and said one prayer,
And sung one vesper strain;
Tell me those words again!
Life hath been heavy on my head,
I come a stricken deer, Bearing the heart, 'midst crowds that bled,
To bleed in stillness here." She gazed, till thoughts that long had slept
Shook all her thrilling frameShe fell upon his neck and wept,
Murmuring her brother's name.
Her brother's name!-and who was he,
The weary one, th' unknown,
A stranger to his own !-
To sway the souls of men ;
He of the sword and pen !
ULLA, OR THE ADJURATION.
“ Yet speak to me! I have outwatch'd the stars,
And gazed o'er heaven in vain, in search of thee.
“Thou’rt gone !-thou’rt slumbering low,
With the sounding seas above thee; It is but a restless woe,
But a haunting dream to love thee! Thrice the glad swan has sung,
To greet the spring-time hours, Since thine oar at parting flung
The white spray up in showers.
There's a shadow of the grave on thy hearth and
round thy home; Come to me from the ocean's dead !- thou’rt surely
'Twas Ulla's voice-alone she stood
In the Iceland summer night,
From a dark rock's beetling height.
“ I know thou hast thy bed
Where the sea-weed's coil hath bound thee: The storm sweeps o'er thy head,
But the depths are hush'd around thee.