Which scorn or hate hath wounded—O | Am I not wan like thee? at the grave's how vain!

again.

call

The dagger heals not but may rend I haste, invited to thy wedding-ball
To greet the ghastly paramour, for whom
Thou hast deserted me . and made
the tomb
Thy bridal bed

Believe that I am ever still the same
In creed as in resolve, and what may

tame

. . But I beside your

Will lie and watch ye from my winding

sheet

Thus . . . wide awake tho' dead . . .
yet stay, O stay!

Go not so soon- -I know not what I
say--
Hear but my reasons . .
fear,

My fancy is o'erwrought
not here

I am mad, I

...

thou art

Ambition or revenge or thoughts as stern
As those which make me what I am, or Pale art thou, 'tis most true . . but

And Poverty and Shame may meet and Which, like a serpent thou envenomest As in repayment of the warmth it lent? Didst thou not seek me for thine own

sayHalting beside me on the public way— 'That love-devoted youth is ours-let's

sit

Beside him he may live some six months yet.'

content?

Did not thy love awaken mine? I thought

That thou wert she who said 'You kiss me not

Or the red scaffold, as our country bends, May ask some willing victim, or ye Ever, I fear you do not love me friends

now '_

May fall under some sorrow which this In truth I loved even to my overthrow Her, who would fain forget these words:

Thou mockery which art sitting by my Even the instinctive worm on which we

As the slow shadows of the pointed | But me—whose heart a stranger's tear

grass

Mark the eternal periods, his pangs pass
Slow, ever-moving,-making moments

be

As mine seem—each an immortality!

might wear

As water-drops the sandy fountain-stone, Who loved and pitied all things, and could moan

For woes which others hear not, and could see

"That you had never seen me-never | The absent with the glance of phantasy,

heard

My voice, and more than all had ne'er endured

The deep pollution of my loathed embrace

That your eyes ne'er had lied love in my face

And with the poor and trampled sit and

weep,

Following the captive to his dungeon deep;

Me-who am as a nerve o'er which do

creep

The else unfelt oppressions of this earth, That, like some maniac monk, I had And was to thee the flame upon thy

torn out

hearth,

The nerves of manhood by their bleeding When all beside was cold—that thou on

With mine own quivering fingers, so Shouldst rain these plagues of blistering that ne'er

agony

Our hearts had for a moment mingled Such curses are from lips once eloquent
there
With love's too partial praise-let none
relent

To disunite in horror-these were not
With thee, like some suppressed and Who intend deeds too dreadful for a

hideous thought

name

Which flits athwart our musings, but Henceforth, if an example for the same They seek... for thou on me lookedst so, and so

can find

No rest within a pure and gentle mind.

Thou sealedst them with many a bare broad word

And searedst my memory o'er them,— for I heard

And can forget not . . ministered

they were With the grimace of hate how horrible It was to meet my love when thine grew

Thou wilt admire how I could e'er
address

Like self-destroying poisons in one cup,
And they will make one blessing which Such features to love's work

Shall not be thy defence . . . for since

thy lip

Met mine first, years long past, since Fear me not. . . thine eye kindled

not move

With soft fire under mine, I have not A finger in despite. dwindled

Nor changed in mind or body, or in
aught

But as love changes what it loveth not
After long years and many trials.
"How vain
I thought never to speak

Are words!

again, Not even in secret,-not to my own heart

But from my lips the unwilling accents start,

And from my pen the words flow as I write,

Dazzling my eyes with scalding tears my sight

Is dim to see that charactered in vain

"Alas, love! against thee I would

Do I not live

That thou mayst have less bitter cause to grieve?

I give thee tears for scorn and love for hate;

And that thy lot may be less desolate Than his on whom thou tramplest, I refrain

From that sweet sleep which medicines all pain.

Then, when thou speakest of me, never

say

'He could forgive not.' Here I cast away All human passions, all revenge, all pride;

I think, speak, act no ill; I do but hide Under these words, like embers, every spark

On this unfeeling leaf which burns the Of that which has consumed me-quick

brain

And eats into it

fair

and dark blotting all things The grave is yawning shall cover

as its roof And wise and good which time had My limbs with dust and worms under written there.

"Those who inflict must suffer, for

they see

and over

So let Oblivion hide this grief . .

the air

Closes upon my accents, as despair

The work of their own hearts and this Upon my heart-let death upon despair!"

must be

Our chastisement or recompense- O

child!

He ceased, and overcome leant back awhile,

I would that thine were like to be more Then rising, with a melancholy smile
mild
Went to a sofa, and lay down, and slept
For both our wretched sakes. for A heavy sleep, and in his dreams he

Who feelest already all that thou hast And muttered some familiar name, and

Without the power to wish it thine Wept without shame in his society.
I think I never was impressed so much;
The man who were not, must have
lacked a touch

And as slow years pass, a funereal train Each with the ghost of some lost hope or friend

Following it like its shadow, wilt thou bend

No thought on my dead memory?

Of human nature . . . then we lingered
not,

Although our argument was quite forgot,
But calling the attendants, went to dine

At Maddalo's; yet neither cheer nor Or read in gondolas by day or night, wine Having the little brazen lamp alight, Could give us spirits, for we talked of Unseen, uninterrupted; books are there, Pictures, and casts from all those statues fair

him

And nothing else, till daylight made

stars dim ;

And we agreed his was some dreadful ill
Wrought on him boldly, yet unspeakable,
By a dear friend; some deadly change

in love

Of one vowed deeply which he dreamed In Maddalo's great palace, and his wit And subtle talk would cheer the winter night

not of;

For whose sake he, it seemed, had fixed a blot

Of falsehood on his mind which flourished not

But in the light of all-beholding truth, And having stamped this canker on his youth

She had abandoned him- and how

much more

And make me know myself, and the
firelight

Would flash upon our faces, till the day
Might dawn and make me wonder at my

stay:

But I had friends in London too: the chief

Attraction here, was that I sought relief Might be his woe, we guessed not-he From the deep tenderness that maniac had store

wrought

Of friends and fortune once, as we could Within me- -'twas perhaps an idle

For the wild language of his grief was high,

For

away,

studied all the beatings of his

heart

zeal, as men study some stubborn

art

their own good, and could by patience find

Such as in measure were called poetry,
An entrance to the caverns of his mind,
And I remember one remark which then I might reclaim him from this dark
Maddalo made. He said: "Most

The following morning urged by my The stamp of why they parted, how

affairs

I left bright Venice.

After many years And many changes I returned; the

name

Of Venice, and its aspect, was the

same;

But Maddalo was travelling far away
Among the mountains of Armenia.
His dog was dead.

become

they met :

Yet if thine aged eyes disdain to wet Those wrinkled cheeks with youth's remembered tears,

Ask me no more, but let the silent
years

Be closed and cered over their memory
As yon
mute marble where their
corpses lie."

His child had now I urged and questioned still, she told

me how

A woman; such as it has been my doom | All happened-but the cold world shall
To meet with few, a wonder of this earth
Where there is little of transcendant

not know.

Together at my father's-for I played
As I remember with the lady's shawl-"Perhaps the only comfort which remains