494 



Shaken through a silver sieve 



Reach his torpid ear, 



Or move his fixed eye 



But he sits like friendless apathy, 



That never sqed a tear. 



He stands upon the marble stair, 



The very silence is at prayer, 



A sacred stillness every where. 



" Holy Virgin ! is it now 



Her blessed spirit seeks the skies." 



And he pressed his aching brow 



O'er his aching eyes, 



" O Heaven ! will no atoning vow 



Avert this dreadful sacrifice ? " 



Up the steps he goes like one 

 Whose heart is drawn by fear alone, 

 As s'eel by the magnetic stone. 

 One lamp is burning drowsily, 

 The oil within is" nearly dry, 

 A crucifix is standing by. 

 Jppolito a moment knelt, 

 And cross'd his hands upon his breast, 

 And strove to feel perchance, he felt, 

 The cup of bitterness is best. 

 But soon he started to his feet, 

 And mutter'd words it were not meet 

 Unshriven to repeat. 



Gently, gently, ye that spread 

 Ashes on a youthful head, 

 Powers, that do His bidding just, 

 Raise his spirits from the dust, 

 Leave him not in hell, but lift 

 His soul by the Almighty's gift 

 Of grace and voluntary shrift; 

 For oh ! how shall he bear the sight 

 That grows and grows before his eyes, 

 His dream interpreted aright? 

 On a couch in purest white, 

 His Isabella lies. 



The sweetness of that angel face 



Even to Death might ne'er give place, 



Who plied his work without delay ; 



For, well I ween, by that pale skin, 



Death is without and Death within, 



Toiling for his prey. 



And, certes, he is sure to win, 



Who labours every day. 



Ippolito knelt beside the girl ! 



Oh! how beautiful she was! 



Though her eye was the blue of glass, 



Though her brow was the white of pearl ; 



On her shoulders her golden hair, 



Had fallen in many a waving curl ; 



And her small cold hands so fair, 



Were palm to palm on her breast in prayer. 



" Wilt thou not be mine, my bride, 

 Though death our bosoms may divide, 

 Or whatever else betide ! 

 Wheresoe'er our souls repair, 

 Wheresoe'er our bodies are, 

 Soul to soul, and heart to heart, 

 Dearest, we must never part." 

 Gently he pressed his lips to hers, 

 The breath beneath them scarcely stirs ; 



A CHAPTER OF ANNUALS. 



Softly and gently his hand he press'd 

 On her soft and gentle breast, 

 And every throb in strength decreas'd, 

 Gracious Heaven ! has it ceas'd ? 

 Perchance, before her inward eye, 

 Her happy youth was passing by, 

 Or whence that short but heavy sigh ? 

 'Twas but a momentary check 

 To hopes that other mansions seek, 

 'Twas the last billow o'er the wreck 

 Ere the horizon's gilded sttak. 

 She felt her arms around his neck, 

 And drew his lips unto her cheek, 

 And in his bosom, like a bride, 

 Laid her head at peace, and died. 



As some sweet flower that doth confer 



(Growing by the hallow jd tomb 



Of the holy sepulchre) 



Its precious odour and its bloom 



On every air that doth presume 



To wander by the sacred place ; 



Though born beside that awful spot, 



Yet is it absolved not 



From the fate of nature's race, 



But in due time shall rot. 



So Isabella grew beside 



The sepulchre of Him who died 



For all who in that faith abide ; 



And look'd to Heaven w th earnest eye, 



From the mount of Calvary ; 



Yet well it was that she must die. 



Fair virgin ! it is well to die 



The grave hath daim'd thee for the sky ; 



The weary grief that time affords, 



The woe thut life, the miser, hoards, 



Shall prey on that dear flesh no more, 



Thy day of pain is o'er ! 



To flow thy circling blood shall cease, 



Thy dust shall tend to earth's increase, 



But thou shalt sleep in peace ! 



Ippolito wak'd from out his swoon, 

 His face look'd ghastly in the moon; 

 And his brain began to whirl, 

 Madness, I deem, had been a boon 

 When he saw that lovely girl 

 Resting cold and calmly dead, 

 His sheltering arm beneath her head ; 

 And his lips were parch'd and dry 

 As earth beneath a summer sky. 

 And with hollow moan he said, 

 " Ere twice the sun with cleaving edge 

 Sink below the ocean sedge, 

 I will claim thee for mine own ; 

 Ha ! ha ! the reaper comes at last, 

 To gather in what he has sown ; 

 Time's precious till 'tis past." 



He gaz'd beside him and around 

 The very silence seemed a sound, 

 Speaking with a voice profound ; 

 " Look not on the newly dead 

 The panting soul hath scarcely fled ; 

 Let the mortal flesh subside " 

 From his arm the drooping head 

 Of his death-betrothed bride, 

 Cold and still and deaf as stone, 



