GIORGIO 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 STUART STERNE -\- 
 
 AUTHOR OF "ANGELj 
 
 GjeXfe-v>-' 
 
 dU. U£^rt-0^ 
 
 ^. .- COPY RIGHT '*^^ 
 
 ;( ^^AY 4 1881 "^ 
 
 BOSTON "^-^^^ 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 i88i 
 
 C~-- 2. 
 
3zG5 
 
 Copyright, 1881, 
 By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
 Stereotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
To 
 SAMUEL BANCROFT, JR., 
 
 OF WILMINGTON, DEL., 
 
 THIS CHILD OF FANCY, 
 THAT HE HAS CHEERED, ENCOURAGED, AND SENT REJOiaNG ON ITS WAY, 
 
 3fB ©ctJtcatetJ, 
 
 IN CORDIAL FRIENDSHIP, 
 BY 
 
 s. s. 
 
** Among Giorgione^ s friends was one Piefro Luzzo, who lived 
 under the same roof with him . He took advantage of Giorgione's 
 confidence to carry off a girl whom Giorgione passionately loved. 
 Wounded doubly by the falsehood of his mistress and the treach- 
 ery of his friend, Giorgione sank into despair, and soon after- 
 wards died at the early age of thirty-three.'^ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 GIORGIO 7 
 
 Anadyomene . . . . . . . . 133 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Past, Present, and Future . . . .135 
 
 " Through a Wide, Barren. Heath " . . 138 
 
 To R. G. W 140 
 
 " Shall it then be with Swift and Joyous 
 
 Feet" 142 
 
 " What wilt Thou grant me " . . . 143 
 To * *. 
 
 Two Sonnets 144 
 
 Lost at Sea 146 
 
 Blest Memory 148 
 
 "I AM the Resurrection and the Life" . 149 
 
 Sonnet 151 
 
 Like Happiness 152 
 
 In the Stillness of the Night . . . 154 
 
 Song 157 
 
 As to a Fisherman 159 
 
 The Birth of Song 160 
 
 Yea, I MUST die .164 
 
 Not Thine the Accents 166 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Melancholy . 
 
 Reawakening 
 
 Dead 
 
 To A Figure-Head 
 
 Youth . 
 
 Disenchanted 
 
 To a Friend 
 
 Lost . 
 
 Hymn 
 
 Prayer 
 
 Somewhere . 
 
 Oh. veil thy Radiant Face 
 
 169 
 172 
 
 174 
 
 177 
 179 
 182 
 184 
 186 
 188 
 189 
 191 
 193 
 
GIORGIO. 
 
 "What, Giorgio, Giorgio mine ! so hard at 
 
 work 
 You cannot even see a good old friend ? 
 I Ve watched you here five minutes unperceived ! " 
 Cried a gay voice that came from laughing lips, 
 And a dark head peered through the leathern 
 
 curtain 
 That served for door, and now was pushed aside 
 To let the speaker in. 
 
 Giorgio sprang up. 
 Tossed back his hair, uttered an eager cry. 
 And, dropping knife and brushes on the floor. 
 Rushed swiftly forward with wide, outspread 
 
 arms. 
 To clasp the comer in a close embrace. 
 "O Pietro, O my friend, my brother, welcome! 
 A thousand welcomes ! — what a glad surprise ! 
 What joy to see you ! — when arrived you, pray, 
 
8 GIORGIO. 
 
 And wherefore sent you me no word of this 
 By the last messenger that you dispatched ? " 
 
 " Oh, 't was my whim to take you unawares," 
 The other said, and, smiling, drew himself 
 From the encircling arms. " Well, Giorgio mine, 
 How fare you, and how lived you here without 
 
 me 
 These long three months ? Nay, you Ve not 
 
 idled, surely ! " 
 Glancing an instant round the spacious walls 
 Crowded with canvases, — " Ay, by my life, 
 I see a dozen things here new to me ! " 
 
 " No, I 've not idled, but been lone enough, 
 And sad, and yet " — he suddenly paused, and 
 
 then — 
 "I missed you in and out, and up and down, 
 By night and day, all hours, and everywhere. 
 My Pietro ! Ay, could it be otherwise ? 
 They who have shared one roof so many years. 
 Even did they not cleave heart to heart as we, 
 May scarce at last dwell for a day apart 
 Without some pangs ! " 
 
 "Yes, yes," the other laughed, 
 " Had old Dame Nature made you but a woman, 
 
GIORGIO. 9 
 
 You must have been my wife ! " Then banter- 
 
 ingly 
 He added, "And this house yet boasts, I ween. 
 No other mistress save our aged Susanna ? " 
 
 " Nay, Pietro, what a thought ! — while you were 
 absent. 
 
 And in so short a time ! " And Giorgio stooped 
 
 To take his brushes up. 
 
 A searching glance 
 
 Flashed from out Pietro's eyes. Then tossing off 
 
 His cap, bright with gay plumes, into a corner. 
 
 Drew Giorgio down beside him on a couch, 
 
 Where he stretched out full length, and with a 
 sigh 
 
 Of satisfaction. 
 
 " You are weary, Pietro ! " 
 
 " A trifle. I have journeyed fast and hard,, 
 
 The fiery sun most time upon my path, 
 
 Since early morn." 
 
 " I '11 call Susanna up j 
 
 You 've need of some refreshment, — ah, for- 
 give ! 
 
 I 'm a poor friend and host ! " 
 
 " Nay, Giorgio, nay ! 
 
 'T is scarce two hours I feasted like a prince 
 
10 GIORGIO. 
 
 At my last halting-place. And you, I see, 
 Took as of old the accustomed plenteous meal 
 Wherewith at noon you silence clamorous nature." 
 And Pietro pointed to a chair close by, 
 Where stood a dish of ruby glass filled with 
 A heap of silvery fig-leaves. 
 
 Giorgio smiled. 
 " Sleep, then, at least an hour or two, my Pietro. 
 I '11 sit and watch you here and speak no word, 
 Content to look on your dear face once more, 
 And, when you 're rested, we will talk our fill." 
 
 " Sleep ? '* cried the other j " nay, not this bright 
 
 hour." 
 For a brief moment silence fell between ' them, 
 Then Pietro said again, " I missed you, too. 
 Out there 'mid haughty strangers, and the more 
 I learn to know the evil world's dark ways. 
 The more I grow to love you for the deed 
 You did by me. Those who have shared one 
 
 roof 
 So many years, — nay, we '11 not put it thus. 
 My kingly-hearted Giorgio ! Even if you 
 In whole-souled love are wilHng to forget; 
 Yet surely Pietro, to his latest breath. 
 Must with undying gratitude remember 
 
GIORGIO. 1 1 
 
 How you, then but a beardless youth yourself, 
 Who scarce saw promise of the fame that now 
 Rings through the world in loud and louder 
 
 blasts, 
 Took the poor, homeless, friendless, ignorant boy 
 Straight to your house and heart, clothed, fed, and 
 
 taught him. 
 Proved master, father, brother, all in one, 
 Ay, made him what he is ! — small thing enough. 
 Yet what there could be made of such poor 
 
 stuff! 
 How through long years " — 
 
 "Oh, hush, hush, hush, I pray you, 
 Lest you should cut me to the very soul ! " 
 Giorgio exclaimed, and gently laid his hand 
 Upon the other's eloquent lips. " No more ! 
 I loved you, and you me, and we were friends, 
 And therein all is said. And think, my Pietro, 
 What you have been to me ! I 've told you oft 
 My own life was not over-full of joy. 
 I, too, had early known the bitterness 
 Of want and care, and coming here at last 
 From my poor village, to pursue my art, 
 It was not long before " — 
 
 "Before the Master, 
 Who had presumed to teach his lesser skill 
 
12 GIORGIO. 
 
 To one whom Heaven had blest with choicest 
 
 gifts, 
 Perceiving how his pupil far outstripped him, 
 In an ill burst of jealous rage turned him, 
 Who 'd shed rich lustre on his darker name, 
 From off his door, — I know ! " Pietro broke in, 
 As Giorgio suddenly paused. 
 
 " Well, be it so ! ''" 
 He slowly said. " And then kind other friends, 
 For some strange, unknown reason, cast me off, 
 And when you came to me I stood forsaken, 
 A stripling left to fight my fight alone. 
 And hew my lonely path as best I might. 
 And so, my Pietro. — But enough, enough," 
 He suddenly cried, with swiftly changing tone, 
 " Of these sad memories ! Nay, how did we 
 
 drift 
 To such dark waters in this first glad moment! 
 If you '11 not sleep and we must talk, why then 
 Be it of you ! Come, tell me of your life. 
 Your journey, and all else ! " 
 
 "Oh, life is gay 
 Jn the Eternal City, I can tell you ! " 
 Pietro exclaimed, half rising on his couch. 
 " The day is there one glittering, happy feast. 
 The night one round of joyous revelry, 
 
GIORGIO. 13 
 
 Helped and not hindered, brightened, not o'er- 
 
 shadowed, 
 By all the Holy Father's dazzling pomp, 
 Who holds a court like any king. I swam 
 As in a stream of whirling, endless pleasure. 
 Basked in the sunshine of fair ladies' smiles. 
 And favor of great men ! " 
 
 "And saw you him, 
 Whom from afar my soul has worshiped long," 
 Cried Giorgio, eagerly \ " him from Urbino, 
 The young yet greatest Master of them all, 
 The light of this dim world ? " 
 
 " Ay, oft enough ! 
 He 's easily seen, he lives like some gay prince, 
 The darling and the idol of the town. 
 And scarce can walk abroad without a train 
 Of followers, friends and pupils, at his heels. 
 I saw him many times, and once or twice 
 Exchanged a word with him ; he spoke of you 
 With lavish praises of your worth." 
 
 "Ah, then 
 He 's heard of me ! " said Giorgio, with a smile 
 That faded in a moment, while a shade 
 Of deepest sadness crept o'er lips and browj 
 Then, as his head sank low upon his breast, 
 He added, with a heavy sigh, " O Pietro, 
 
14 GIORGIO. 
 
 Sometimes I think wherefore all aching toil, 
 When there 's no hope that we should ever touch 
 The highest goal, the last proud pinnacle ! 
 What are our noblest efforts and achievements 
 Beside his feeblest ! Oh, I comprehend 
 That poor old man, himself skilled in the brush, 
 Who, when there first burst on his dazzled sight 
 The famous altar-piece by him I speak of, — 
 Fairest St. Catharine wedded to our Lord, — 
 Gazed on it long, and then went home and died 
 Of joy and grief. " 
 
 "Nay, Giorgio, nay, methinks 
 That you have but small cause for such com- 
 plaint ! 
 Look round on all your glorious handiwork. 
 And rather bless the gods ! And by great Bac- 
 chus, 
 Who that e'er saw you at a feast, your lips 
 With wine and song and laughter overflowing, 
 Gay as the wildest of your merry fellows. 
 Could fancy that there lurked such sombre 
 
 thoughts 
 In that strange soul of yours ! O Giorgio, 
 
 Giorgio ! " — 
 And Pietro scanned him with a curious glance, — 
 "There are some secret chambers in your heart, 
 Whose threshold even I have never crossed ! " 
 
GIORGIO. 15 
 
 A flush rose into Giorgio's cheek an instant, 
 As he pressed Pietro's hand in both his own, 
 And then he said, — " In that gay life of yours, 
 You can have found but Uttle time for work, — 
 Did you accompUsh aught ? " 
 
 " Not much in truth, — 
 But a few trifles! " And from out his vest. 
 And the silk wrappings folded round the treasure, 
 Pietro drew out and showed a pale green stone 
 Covered with exquisite carving, — Aphrodite 
 Arising from the waves, a gossamer scarf 
 Thrown round the naked shoulders, at her feet 
 Two tiny, sporting sea-gods. 
 
 "Ah, a gem. 
 An ancient gem ! And from the very height 
 Of that great olden time ! " said Giorgio, gladly. 
 " Most favored son of fortune, how came you 
 By such a priceless, rich possession ! " 
 
 Pietro 
 Laughed gayly. " By the gods, I had not thought 
 My lynx-eyed Giorgio could be so deceived ! 
 Ancient ! — no older than a month or two. 
 When I put the last touch to 't with this hand ! " 
 
 " What, Pietro ! nay, — impossible, — your work ! 
 Let me embrace you, friend, with all my heart, 
 You ve grown a consummate master ! " 
 
1 6 GIORGIO. 
 
 " Ah, thanks, thanks, 
 'T is pleasant, in good truth, to hear such praise 
 From your kind, honest lips, my Giorgio ! Yes ; " 
 He said again, as Giorgio sat in silence, 
 Still lost in contemplation of the gem, — 
 " My life was passing gay, yet in the end 
 I wearied of 't, and longed for home and you ! 
 The Eternal City on the seven hills 
 Is fair enough, but give me, gracious Heaven, 
 The Everlasting City in the sea ! " 
 
 And springing up, he hastily snatched aside 
 The heavy curtain drawn o'er half the window. 
 So that the light streamed through the upper 
 
 panes, 
 And pushed the casement open. " Ah ! " he 
 
 said. 
 And with a long, deep breath drank in the air, — 
 " How the strong scent of our blest sea revives 
 
 me!" 
 And then stood mute a moment, gazing out 
 Upon the scene below. 
 
 Tall palaces, 
 Mingled with humbler dwellings here and there, 
 Rose up on every side, their moss-grown feet 
 And broad, low marble steps washed by the 
 
 waves. 
 
GIORGIO. 17 
 
 Their stately fronts mirrored in quivering image 
 Upon the glittering waters, that flowed by 
 Unceasingly, in noble, wide canals, 
 Or narrow streets and lanes, dark with the shadow 
 Of arching bridge, or overhanging roof, 
 But gay with hundred swiftly-gliding boats, 
 That, busily plying East and West, oft crossed 
 Each other's furrowed track. Off to the left 
 Stretched the great, spacious Square, the tower- 
 ing column 
 With the winged lion marking it from far. 
 Where, on the checkered pavement, came and 
 
 went 
 Groups of the loungers, gathering even now, 
 That in the cool of eve assembled here. 
 To laugh and chat the starry hours away. 
 And not far off the port, unseen, save for 
 The bristling forest of tall masts and spars ; 
 While farther on, far out beyond it all, 
 Lay the great open sea, a glassy sheet. 
 Now by the sun turned to such fiery radiance 
 That the eye, blinded, scarce could dwell on it. 
 All the vast panorama here beheld 
 From such a height that the loud sounds of life^. 
 The plash of oars, the cries and songs of boat- 
 men, 
 
1 8 GIORGIO. 
 
 Came dimmed as from far distance, and the ear, 
 Save in the deeper stillness of the night, 
 Ne'er caught the water's voice, that broke against 
 The sombre base of Giorgio's dark old house, 
 With gently lapping gurgle. 
 
 " Early still, — 
 The sun hangs high in heaven. Would it were 
 
 time 
 To plunge into the water with our boats ! " 
 Said Pietro, and turned, sighing, from the window. 
 " But now for a good muster of your work," 
 He added, striding through the room, and passed 
 Swiftly from one great canvas to the other, 
 Pausing a few brief moments here and there, 
 With words and looks of admiration. " Ah, 
 The Judgment of sharp-witted Solomon, 
 On the two women wrangling o'er the babe, — 
 No need to be a wise old king to find 
 The fair, true mother here ! A master-piece 
 Your worshiped idol might not blush to own, 
 Worthy to win you immortality ! " 
 
 Giorgio, who, perching on his stool again, 
 Had, brush in hand, fallen silently to work, 
 Looked up with a half smile, " Oh, thanks, my 
 Pietro, 
 
GIORGIO. 19 
 
 Your words are like soft music in my ear ! " 
 And Pietro, walking on, exclaimed, — 
 
 " And here 
 A proud Madonna on her lofty throne, 
 And this brave knight, arrayed in glittering ar- 
 mor. 
 Who kneels so humbly at her feet, looks like 
 Yourself, methinks ! For her, I know her not, — 
 Not yet," he murmured half aloud, when Giorgio 
 Made him no answer. " Well, the Pagan fair 
 Are here put side by side with Christian Saints, 
 I see, — may we but find it thus in heaven ! " 
 He gayly chatted on, and paused before 
 A sleeping Venus, nude save for the floods 
 Of golden hair that rippling flowed and coiled 
 Down o'er the gleaming, soft, luxurious limbs, 
 While at her feet a Cupid stood, who clasped 
 Two bright-winged birds in dimpled, rosy hands. 
 
 " Nay, by those very Saints, a royal creature ! " 
 Cried Pietro, full of fire. " Ah, my poor soul. 
 To meet her like in the sweet life and flesh 
 Were to be lost past hope ! But what 's this 
 
 here .? " 
 He asked, and pointed to a canvas filled 
 With noble figures, yet but half complete, — 
 
20 GIORGIO. 
 
 A woman, on her breast a weeping babe, 
 Next her a man in cuirass and full armed, 
 One side a youth, wrangling with his companions. 
 And on the other an old, naked man. 
 Bent with the weight of years, and white of hair, 
 A skull held in his withered hand. 
 
 *' Come, come, 
 Do cease from your eternal work one moment ! " 
 Urged Pietro. "Gracious gods, are you not yet 
 Content with all you have accomplished ? Ay, 
 But how you must have toiled ! You 've blos- 
 somed out 
 Like some young, vigorous tree in spring, I swear, 
 In the brief time I left you ! " 
 
 Giorgio turned. 
 Let his swift brush rest idle for an instant, 
 And glancing at the picture from his seat. 
 Said, with a shadow on his brow, " 'T is meant 
 To show the whole, long tragedy of life, — 
 Infancy, youth, manhood, and, last, old age. 
 Sadness and tears, the end and the beginning, 
 A bitter warfare at the very best ! " 
 
 " H'm ! " muttered Pietro, — " tragedy of life ! 
 Methinks most time 'tis a gay thing enough, 
 If one 's but learned the art to catch and keep 
 
GIORGIO. 21 
 
 The fickle wench's favor ! Well, and now 
 I '11 know at last what so absorbs you here ! " 
 And stepping up, he gazed o'er Giorgio's shoulder. 
 " Ah, yes, — small marvel ! Ay, I will forgive 
 
 you 
 For leaving me to wander round alone. 
 O Giorgio, wonderful ! What lights and shades, 
 What noble grace, what glowing life and power 
 In every limb and feature ! — 
 
 Here two youths, 
 One in rich garb, dark-locked and crowned with 
 
 vine-leaves, 
 Who turns his head and looks, with eyes wherein 
 A shade of fear and bold defiance mingled, 
 Upon another who creeps after him 
 Grasping a naked dagger in his hand. 
 " Well, and the end of this most base attempt ? — 
 For it means murder, as I ween ! " asked Pietro, 
 After a moment's silence. 
 
 " 'T is a tale 
 From ancient story, — he that 's crowned proves 
 
 victor, 
 Springs on his foe, snatches the weapon, strikes 
 And finds his heart, — and that 's the end of all," 
 Said Giorgio, and again the pausing brush 
 Fell busily to work. 
 
22 GIORGIO. 
 
 A little while 
 Pietro stood watching him, but never spoke, 
 While a faint, curious smile curled round his lips 
 And crept into his eyes. At length he said, — 
 " Ay, there 's our precious, much-beloved friend ! " 
 And went to take a lute — enriched by Giorgio 
 With a small, exquisite picture — a fair nymph 
 Playing her pipe to two enraptured lovers — 
 From where it lay imbedded tenderly 
 In a soft heap of gorgeous, yellow silk. 
 He swept his fingers over it and asked, — 
 " Has this lain mute while I was gone ? " 
 
 "Oh, no; 
 I 've played on 't many times ! " 
 
 "Ah!" Pietro said; 
 And then, with artful innocence, " My Giorgio, 
 Pray tell me how it is that I jDcrceive 
 But one sweet face on all your later work ? 
 The Mother in the Judgment, — the Madonna, — 
 The woman with the weeping babe, — nay, e'en 
 The Venus, save that her soft lids are closed, — 
 All have you blest with that fine golden hair, 
 The great, dark lustrous eyes and smiling lips, 
 The most enchanting brow and cheek and throat, 
 Cast in the self-same rich yet delicate mould, — 
 How's this?" 
 
GIORGIO. 23 
 
 " Oh, no, — you are deceived, — nay, surely ! " — 
 Giorgio began, but faltered, while the blood 
 Rushed in a hot wave to his cheek. 
 
 Pietro 
 Tossed down the lute, and with a hasty stride 
 Again stood near him. " Friend, what is 't with 
 
 you ! " 
 He cried most earnestly. " Something has come 
 Between us, stands like an invisible wall. 
 Unseen yet sorely felt since I first came. 
 Shutting your heart from mine ! You have a se- 
 cret 
 That you 'd conceal from me ! Confess, 't is not 
 Your over-zeal for work that keeps you here, 
 But fear that if you raised your eyes to mine 
 I 'd read the mystery in them ! — Mystery that 's 
 Not hard to fathom ! — Ay, and by my life, 
 I do believe 't is here ! " 
 
 And with the words 
 He darted to a corner, where he now 
 For the first time perceived a smaller canvas. 
 Hid by a cloth. 
 
 But Giorgio, springing up 
 And hastening after him, stayed hurriedly 
 The boldly outstretched hand. " Oh, no ! " he 
 cried, 
 
24 GIORGIO. 
 
 With pleading voice and eyes. " No, no, my 
 
 Pietro, 
 Pray you not that ! " 
 
 " So we 're no longer friends ! " 
 Said Pietro, coldly, and with sudden pride 
 Let his hand sink. 
 
 " Nay, 't is not much ! — scarce worth 
 Your seeing, — but a feeble sketch of her " — 
 
 " Of her ! Ah, I well knew it was some woman 
 That stole your heart from me ! But what have I 
 Committed, so to forfeit your old trust, 
 I may not even see who robbed me thus ! 
 Oh, this is hard, in truth ! But as you will ! " 
 And Pietro turned away, and, with set lips, 
 Folded his arms upon his breast, when Giorgio 
 In swift repentance cried, — 
 
 '' O Pietro mine, 
 My dearest, best of friends, forgive me, pray; 
 I never meant to wound you ! Ay, you 're right, 
 There is no cause wherefore you should not see 
 My sweetest treasure ! Here — come look on 
 her ! " 
 
 Pietro, unbending, faced him with a smile. 
 And the light words, — " Ah, you 've relented, 
 then ! " 
 
GIORGIO. 25 
 
 While Giorgio set the picture on an easel, 
 Pushed it from here to there, and then at last, 
 Still but half willing, with unsteady hands 
 Drew oif the cloth. 
 
 " Ah ! " burst from Pietro's lips. 
 And then he gazed in silence. Still the same 
 Royal yet passing gracious face and form. 
 About the golden hair, bound in rich coils. 
 Twined a dark, delicate veil, that, framing in 
 A throat whose whiteness seemed like melted pearl. 
 Was gathered loosely in a knot, held fast 
 By one most beauteous hand clasped to the bo- 
 som. 
 O'er the fine, dark-hued silken robe, that flowed 
 In heavy folds down from the shimmering belt, 
 While the fair, tapering fingers of the other 
 Held a white rose, that lay upon a book 
 Open before her. Face and form the same 
 As those so oft repeated on the walls. 
 Yet with a dewy freshness all their own. 
 Like some rare, exquisite perfume breathing from 
 
 them, — 
 The rosy lips half parted in a smile, 
 A witching dimple in the cheek, while down 
 In the dark deepness of the eyes still lingered 
 The happy memory of som^e joyous dream. 
 
26 GIORGIO. 
 
 And seeing how with every eager sense 
 
 Pietro drank in her beauty, Giorgio's heart 
 
 Welled over in a sudden burst of joy, 
 
 And, falling on the other's neck, he cried, — 
 
 " O Pietro, I 'm the happiest man on earth ! 
 
 Is she not heavenly as the morning star? 
 
 Oh ! and think not she e'er could come between 
 
 Our priceless friendship ! Nay, for all the world 
 
 Seems brighter, better, dearer for her love ! " 
 
 "Ay," Pietro said, and for the second time 
 Put Giorgio gently from him, — " by great Heaven, 
 If loving fancy here played you no tricks, 
 A fairer creature never left God's hand ! " 
 
 " Fancy ? Nay ; would that my poor, powerless 
 
 brush 
 Could catch but half her grace ! This is her- 
 self, — 
 In all the other efforts I must needs 
 Change this and that to suit the circumstance, — 
 Herself as I could render her, and yet 
 I am not half content, add one touch more 
 Again and yet again. The robe alone 
 Is a fond fancy ; for you know my purse " — 
 And with a meaning smile and shrug he left 
 The sentence there. 
 
GIORGIO. 27 
 
 But Pietro heard not. " Ah ! " 
 He muttered underneath his breath once more, 
 Lost in deep contemplation of her image, — 
 "Ah, gods, gods, gods, to have those Hps un- 
 close 
 And smile on you ! — smile, and " — and then 
 
 his voice 
 Sank to a whisper. 
 
 Giorgio glanced at both, 
 From one back to the other, then his gaze 
 Dwelled long on Pietro : for the first time, may- 
 hap, 
 In all the years of their close friendship, thus 
 Took the full measure of the well-poised head. 
 With its dark, clustering locks, that haughtily 
 Were oft tossed backward from the noble brow ; 
 The deep-set, swiftly-glancing, fiery eye ; 
 The fine, proud lips, half shaded by soft down. 
 That could so subtly smile ; the manly cheek, 
 Of a pale olive tint before, of late 
 Grown ruddy 'neath a warmer southern sun ; 
 The close-knit frame, not tall, but lithe and strong, 
 And now set off by a rich velvet garb, 
 While 'neath the ruff, about the shapely neck, 
 Gleamed a long golden chain. In all his pres- 
 ence 
 That brilliant, graceful elegance and ease j 
 
28 GIORGIO. 
 
 That touch of fineness but the world can give : 
 
 That Giorgio, noting, envied from his heart. 
 
 And suddenly he laid a heavy hand 
 
 Upon the other's shoulder, as he said. 
 
 In a strange, husky voice, " You 're handsome, 
 
 Pietro, — 
 Handsome as — Satan ! " 
 
 Pietro turned like one 
 Startled from dreams, and, with a wrench, at last 
 Broke from the spell that held him. " On my 
 
 soul, 
 A singular compliment ! " he then cried out, 
 In ringing tones. 
 
 " Far more so than I knew 
 Or marked before; small marvel you're the dar- 
 ling 
 Of all fair ladies ! " Giorgio said again. 
 Yet this time with a loving smile, "The journey 
 Did you a wealth of good ! Ay, and tricked out 
 Like any gay young cavalier ! Is then 
 Your purse so full ? " 
 
 " I was in luck and found 
 Some princely patrons in the rich old city. 
 Who bought my work at any price I named," 
 Said Pietro, carelessly. " But you, I fear. 
 While my veins filled with warm red blood, have 
 toiled 
 
GIORGIO. 29 
 
 Too hard, and brooded on dark thoughts too 
 
 long, — 
 Your cheek is thinner than of old, methinks j 
 Yet even thus, and in that sad array, 
 You still might challenge bold comparison 
 With any man on earth ! " 
 
 And glancing from 
 The common work-dress of dark linen cloth — 
 Clasped round the hips by a broad leathern belt 
 Where knife and 'brushes found a place — that 
 
 hung 
 Upon its wearer loose and carelessly. 
 Yet not without an all-unconscious air 
 Of grace and dignity^ Pietro surveyed. 
 In a swift gaze from head to foot, the friend, 
 Taller than he, slender of limb and hand. 
 Yet with a noble breadth of breast and shoulder ; 
 Looked on the silken dark-brown hair, left long, 
 That sometimes well-nigh hid the broad, white 
 
 brow, 
 With the fine, delicately-penciled arches 
 O'er the large, deep, gray eyes, that often sought 
 •The ground, as in grave thought, or fixed them- 
 selves 
 On the dim distance, seeing visions there 
 None other could behold, filled with a calm 
 
30 GIORGIO. 
 
 And gentle light most time, — though once or 
 
 twice, 
 Since he had known him, Pietro found them 
 
 kindle 
 And suddenly blaze and burn with strange, fierce 
 
 fire, — 
 But often veiled as by a shade of sadness. 
 Whereto the lips, — curved in such beauteous 
 
 lines. 
 That, save for the firm, manly strength they 
 
 wore. 
 They might have graced a tender woman's face, — 
 Responded in a downward droop, that yet 
 Could melt away in a most sweet, bright smile. 
 
 "Nay, be content, — nature was kind to you!" 
 Pietro broke out. Then, pointing o'er his shoul- 
 der, 
 Said, with a laugh that jarred on Giorgio's ear, 
 " Or did you mayhap fear in me a rival 
 In the dear favor of that fairest one ? " 
 
 Giorgio said naught, but pressed his lips to-» 
 
 gether. 
 While Pietro flung one arm about his neck. 
 Exclaiming lightly, '' Oh, come, come, dear heart ! 
 
GIORGIO. 31 
 
 'Tis now your turn to scowl, — now my ill tongue 
 Has bruised the wings of your most tender soul ! 
 But be as quick as I was to forgive ! 
 Come, Giorgio mine, pray you be kind, I say, 
 And tell me more of her ! Her name, her 
 
 station, 
 And where she lives, and when and how you 
 
 found her, 
 Led by what gracious gods, — all, all, — I am 
 Athirst to hear the story ! " 
 
 Giorgio passed 
 One hand across his brow, took up the cloth 
 And hid her image, then he slowly said, 
 " She 's called Regina." 
 
 " Oh, a fitting name \ 
 A queen in truth, to grace a royal throne ! " 
 Cried Pietro. "But say on." 
 
 " Her mother 's dead 
 Long years, her father, turned by age and ills 
 Into a crabbed and soured and harsh old man. 
 Who shows his only child but little love, 
 Prospered at trade once in an inland town ; 
 But, losing his small fortune, he came here 
 Not many months ago, and since that time 
 Has tried his luck with other fishermen. 
 But gains no more than daily bread. They 're 
 
 poor, 
 
32 GIORGIO. 
 
 Yet proud as princes, and but rarely moved 
 To take from me such help as I can offer." 
 
 Pietro drew up his brows but did not speak, 
 And Giorgio, with his eyes fixed on the ground, 
 Went on : "I saw her first — 't was but a day 
 After you left, methinks — at St. Sebastian's, 
 Into whose open door I strayed one noon, 
 I scarce know how." 
 
 " At church ! " laughed Pietro, gayly ; 
 "And pray, what sudden whim of sharp repent- 
 ance 
 Had brought you there ? " 
 
 But Giorgio heeded not 
 The interruption. " Think of her," he cried, 
 And, warming with the ardor of his tale. 
 Looked up and spoke more rapidly, his breast 
 Heaving with thick, hard breath, — *' Think of 
 
 her there 
 Rapt in deep prayer, — clad in but humble garb, 
 Yet that dark veil about the golden hair, — 
 Kneeling upon the marble floor, her head 
 Thrown gently back, her eyes upturned to 
 
 heaven. 
 Her hands pressed to her bosom, and o'er all — 
 Her brow, her cheek, her form — the dim, soft 
 play 
 
GIORGIO. 33 
 
 Of varied light and shade from the stained win- 
 dows ! 
 Great gods, I marvel now I did not fall 
 In worship at her feet that very moment ! 
 I glanced around, — thank Heaven, the church this 
 
 hour 
 Was well-nigh empty ! — jealous lest another 
 Might feed upon her sight as I, who grudged 
 The very light and air to look on her, 
 And more than once 't was in my heart to cry. 
 For God's sake, cover up that sweetest face ! 
 Thus, stealing to the shadow of a pillar, — 
 So near I might have touched her, but unseen, — 
 I watched her long, forgetting all the world ! " 
 
 " Well, and what then ? " asked Pietro, with grave 
 
 lips, 
 While yet a subtle smile gleamed in his eye, 
 As Giorgio paused but did not look at him.. 
 "What more : and you approached her ? " 
 
 " When at last 
 She rose and left the church, I followed her 
 With throbbing heart across the Square on foot. 
 But could not muster courage then to speak, 
 For something in her bearing, shy yet proud. 
 Forbade all freedom : later, in my barge, 
 3 
 
34 GIORGIO. 
 
 Skimmed after her from far, keeping in sight 
 Her boat, rowed by one deaf old man, discov- 
 ered 
 Her humble house, and on some slight pretext 
 To see her father, for I know not what, 
 Went there next day and many days, and though 
 At first with maiden coyness and reserve 
 She long hung back and scarce would smile on 
 
 me, 
 I wooed her with such constant, changeless fervor, 
 That in the end I won her answering love, 
 And so at last" — and his melodious voice 
 Sank low and lower still, and in his cheek 
 The color came and went, — " and so at last 
 She gave herself to me, — wholly, forever, — 
 Body and soul ! " 
 
 " O favored of the gods, 
 What is there left that you could ask of fate, 
 After such triumph ! " Pietro cried, and strode 
 Some paces through the room. Then, standing 
 
 still, 
 Said gravely, — " H'm ! — she 's poor and passing 
 
 fair. 
 And has grown up alone, without a mother. 
 Are you well sure, then, Giorgio, my good friend, 
 That you alone possess her ? " 
 
GIORGIO, 35 
 
 Giorgio started 
 As though a serpent suddenly reared its head 
 Right in his path; then he turned ashen white, 
 And a wild flash of fire leaped from his eyes, 
 As with a stifled cry he sprang at Pietro. 
 "God, God!" he panted, in a hoarse, shrill voice, 
 "Breathe that once more, and by the Lord of 
 
 Heaven, 
 What though I love you better than my life, 
 I '11 murder you with these same hands ! " 
 
 Unmoved, 
 With the old haughty chill in look and manner, 
 Pietro shook off the hands that clutched his breast 
 As with an iron grip. " Come to your senses ! 
 Wherefore this needless burst of temper, pray ? " 
 He coldly said. " The thought 's most natural, 
 The thing too common in our town. The words 
 Were meant for no particular offense 
 To you or the fair dame I 've never seen ! " 
 
 A sickly smile came back to Giorgio's lips. 
 "Ah yes, too true — you're right!" he slowly 
 
 answered. 
 "I cannot blame you, for you know her not! 
 She 's pure and innocent as any child ; 
 Has often told me she 'd met no one here 
 
36 GIORGIO. 
 
 Before I came to her, save old Andrea, 
 The fisherman who helps her father. Ay, 
 You know her not! But I will take you there, 
 And you may see and judge her for yourself. 
 Yes ; I forgive you ! " 
 
 Pietro curled his lip. 
 "You — me!" he muttered, " 'T were my turn, 
 
 methinks. 
 To talk of pardon ! " Then he said aloud, 
 " There 's naught would please me better, if " — 
 
 he paused, 
 Suppressing other words. — " When shall it be .-* 
 Let 's go this very eve ! " 
 
 "To-night? Oh, no! 
 To-morrow — in a week," and Giorgio spoke 
 As though he half drew back. 
 
 " At your own pleasure," 
 Said Pietro, distantly, and added, " Come, 
 Change that old work-dress for some other now, 
 And let us out upon the Square a while. 
 You 've need of the fresh air to sweep away 
 All those black cobwebs from your wearied brain. 
 Nay, let me choose for you ! " he cried, and passed 
 Behind the painted screen that in one corner 
 Hid Giorgio's modest wardrobe. " Here ; on 
 
 with 
 
GIORGIO. 37 
 
 This handsome dark-brown suit broidered in silk, 
 Quite new — aha! — It must become you well!" 
 
 Giorgio obeyed without a word, and soon 
 They sauntered off together arm in arm ; 
 But as they went he asked, "Well, friend, and 
 
 you, — 
 Have you no secret to confide to me ? " 
 
 "Pooh, no, not I!" and Pietro gayly laughed. 
 " Naught that were worth a dozen earnest words ! 
 You know I 'm easily snared, but easily, too, 
 Break loose again from Cupid's fine-spread nets ! " 
 
 A brief hour later, 
 While all the glory of the sunset burned 
 O'er the gray city in the sea, a barge 
 Pushed from the crumbling steps of an old 
 
 house 
 In the dim, distant outskirts of the town. 
 An aged man bent over the swift oar, 
 That, like a dipping bird, seemed scarce to touch 
 The crest of each bright wave, while at the 
 
 prow, 
 Near the small cabin with the silken hanging, — 
 
38 GIORGIO. 
 
 Now drawn aside and showing the soft couch 
 Where after the day's toil 'twas passing sweet 
 To lie and rest, rocked into gentle dreams, — 
 Sat Giorgio and Regina, with their hands 
 Locked close together. 
 
 For a time, while thus 
 They threaded the canals, leaving the shadow 
 Of overhanging gables far behind, 
 And gained the open waters farther out, 
 No sound was heard save the monotonous click 
 Of the broad oar slipping from side to side, 
 And the faint gurgle 'neath the gliding keel. 
 For neither of the silent lovers spoke. 
 Giorgio lost in the sight of her beside him. 
 As though he saw her first in this glad hour, 
 Had not on many and many an eve before. 
 Thus floated with her out into the sunset, — 
 Hung there as though his soul had never fed 
 Its fill upon the beauteous face and form, 
 On lip and eye, — on the soft, swelling lines. 
 Rich and yet delicate, hid yet half revealed 
 By a close, simple robe, whose whiteness scarce 
 Relieved the fairer snow of throat and brow, 
 The neck and long, loose sleeves edged round 
 
 with silver 
 And precious lace, — the last fond gift he brought, 
 
GIORGIO. 39 
 
 With the fine, dark-blue silken scarf, that clung 
 In loving folds about the royal shoulders. 
 To guard her from the cooler evening breeze, 
 When his protecting arm could not be round her, 
 As he had smiling said. — Sat thus so rapt, 
 He saw naught else, while she, from time to 
 
 time, 
 Drawn by the speechless passion of his gaze. 
 Or feeling in the clinging hand that clasped 
 Her fingers round, a closer pressure still, 
 Turned with a radiant smile, let him one instant 
 Fathom the liquid depths of the dark eyes 
 Soon wandering off again, out o'er the water. 
 Where far and near swift barges brightly decked, 
 Filled with gay, laughing dames and gallant 
 
 knights. 
 Shot past them. 
 
 " You 've not brought your lute to-night 1 " 
 She asked at length, her voice clear as a bell. 
 
 "No, sweetest love," he softly said. It chanced 
 I came not straight from home, but from the 
 
 Square, 
 Where for an hour or two I lounged with Pietro, 
 The dearest friend I 've often told you of. 
 And who 's at last returned to me to-day." 
 
40 GIORGIO. 
 
 " Ah, has he ? I am glad for you and me, 
 You 've promised I should some time know him, 
 too ! " 
 
 "And so you shall! 'Twas he who made me 
 
 don — 
 Ah, he 's himself a handsome cavalier ! — 
 My gorgeous Sunday vest ! " he said, and smiled, 
 And carelessly glanced down on his rich garb. 
 
 " xA.nd he did well, — I thank him ! for you know 
 I love to see you look your best, my Giorgio ! " 
 She answered. Then, as a great bark passed by. 
 From which clear voices rose upon the air, 
 Began again, — " But if you cannot play, 
 Come sing to me, as those out there ! " 
 
 He drew 
 A long, deep breath, his lips half parting, then 
 He shook his head. "Nay, pray you love, not now! 
 Somehow my heart 's not gay enough to-night. 
 And will not to my lips in song ! " 
 
 She turned 
 And looked at him again. " Oh, no, my darling, 
 Not that I am not happy ! " he cried out. 
 Fancying he read a question in her eyes ; 
 " Oh, happier far than word or song could tell ! " 
 
GIORGIO. 41 
 
 But when he would have flung one arm about her, 
 She gently glided from hhn, moved away, 
 And leaning forward, slipped the hand she drew 
 From his unyielding clasp, out o'er the boat 
 Into the blazing waves. 
 
 Not unaccustomed 
 To find her sometimes full of waywardness, 
 He suffered it with a grave, silent smile j 
 Sat still at first, then softly following her, 
 Said, after pausing for a while, " Beloved, 
 Is it not strange a poor, frail bark should bear 
 The weight of such great happiness as ours ? " 
 
 " Ah, strange ! " she echoed, never looking up 
 From where, bent o'er, she idly watched the play 
 Of the green water, flecked with golden darts, 
 As it purled in and out through her white fingers. 
 
 He plunged his hand in near hers. " Love," he 
 
 said, 
 " Let the warm stream flow from your heart to 
 
 mine ! " 
 But she cried, playfully, — • 
 
 "If I might thus 
 Catch some poor, innocent little fish ! " 
 
 And he, — 
 
42 GIORGIO. 
 
 "Ay, or draw up a net with sunken treasures, 
 To make us rich at once ! But patience, pa- 
 tience, 
 Regina mine ! The day will surely come 
 When I can deck you like a queen in truth ! " 
 
 " But I have this from you ! " she said, and raised 
 Her other hand, where glowed a great, deep ruby 
 Set round with shimmering pearl. 
 
 He caught the hand. 
 Kissed it with fervent lips, and held it fast; 
 Then toying with it, said, and faintly smiled : 
 " It is my loyal heart that you bear here, — 
 See how it glows and thrills and palpitates 
 With burning life and light, all, all for you ! 
 Though sometimes I half wish " — 
 
 " Wish what ? " she asked, 
 When, as unwilling to conclude, he paused. 
 " That you might wear it not so openly ! " 
 
 " So openly ? Where should I wear a ring 
 Save on my hand ? " she said, in honest wonder. 
 But he, without replying to the question. 
 Added, more lightly, — 
 
 "Ay, but dearest heart 
 Easily content, it is your only gem, 
 
GIORGIO. 43 
 
 And had I but my will you 'd wear a crown 
 Blazing all over with a thousand jewels ! 
 'Twas but a happy chance that I owned this, — 
 A noble patron who would have my work, 
 But could not pay for it in ready coin, 
 Sent me the ring." 
 
 " And you brought it to me, 
 The day when first " — she said, and looked at 
 
 him, 
 But with no heightened color in her cheek. 
 
 "When first you blessed me," he cried, eagerly, 
 " At last confessing I had won your heart ! 
 Oh for the hour divine ! O darling, darling. 
 Be not so chary with the heavenly food 
 That I must have or perish ! " he went on, 
 And bending down pressed trembling lips to 
 
 hers. 
 "And do you love me still, my soul's delight. 
 With all that first glad fire, — nay, better, better 
 With every passing day ? " 
 
 "Ay, Giorgio mine. 
 How should I not ? — you are so good to me ! " 
 She calmly answered. 
 
 " Tell me so, — oft, oft, — 
 When we 're together thus ! " He paused again, 
 
44 GIORGIO. 
 
 And drew a deep, long breath, while she glanced 
 
 With a half-wondering look. 
 
 " You sigh ? " she questioned. 
 
 " O love, I know not wherefore," he said, gravely, 
 And letting go her unresisting hand, 
 Pressed his an instant to his breast ; " but some- 
 times 
 My heart 's so full that all its happiness 
 Seems turned into a burden of sore pain. 
 Mine is too great a bliss to long endure : 
 The jealous gods grant mortals no such fortune. 
 Ay, sometimes fearful fancies haunt me how 
 All this must soon be ended, — we shall part ! " 
 
 "And what should part us, dear?" she asked 
 
 again, 
 And languidly laid her soft hand on his. 
 
 " I know not what, nor whence the cloud may 
 
 come, 
 But life is full of thousand snags and snares, 
 Changes and partings," he said, gloomily, 
 Dark trouble in his eyes. " And O great God, 
 The very thought is torture — madness — death ! " 
 
GIORGIO. 45 
 
 " Look not so black, — it ill becomes you, Gior- 
 gio," 
 She said, and passed her hand across his brow, 
 But could not charm the frown away he sternly 
 Now bent on her. 
 
 "Regina," he asked, then. 
 His low voice hoarse and strange, and seized hei 
 
 arm 
 In a close grasp, " if it were possible 
 That we could lose each other, you and I, 
 Would you choose death should tear me from 
 
 your arms. 
 Or that another love should win my heart ? — 
 Nay, answer, I implore you ! " he went on, 
 Releasing her, when she, as half-affrighted, 
 And with a shade of pain upon her face, 
 Moved farther off in silence. 
 
 '' Oh, I know not," 
 Then came her slow reply. " I 've never thought — 
 You ask such singular questions ! For the world 
 I would not see you die ; and if perchance 
 You might be happy, — oh, I cannot say. 
 And wherefore fret our hearts ! And you, with 
 me ? " 
 
 " Die, die, a thousand deaths, so your last breath 
 
46 GIORGIO. 
 
 But spoke my name, my love ! " he fiercely cried, 
 Springing so suddenly to his feet before her 
 That the frail vessel shook from stem to stern, 
 And old Andrea dimly glanced around. 
 
 She pursed her lips, and turned her back on 
 
 him. 
 Then, leaning her soft cheek upon the arm 
 She rested on the ledge, " That 's most unkind," 
 She said, and gazed far out to sea. "You are 
 So strange to-night, I do not understand you. 
 Would you 'd not come, I were at home ! " 
 
 " Where those 
 Tremendous issues, life and death, are staked, 
 There is no room for kindness ! " he said, harshly; 
 But yet his brow relaxed, as he perceived 
 The exquisite outline of her head, darkly 
 Relieved against the glowing sky beyond. 
 Then in a moment, in an altered tone. 
 Began again, " O dearest, you are right ! 
 I 'm strange sometimes, — scarce understand my- 
 self! 
 These are delusions, — whisperings of some de- 
 mon ; 
 But here I blow them to the winds of heaven. 
 Darling, forgive me ! " and, approaching her, 
 He bent a knee. 
 
GIORGIO. 47 
 
 She did not look at him, 
 But gradually a smile crept to her lips, 
 And when he ventured now again to throw 
 One yearning arm around her, suffered it, 
 And softly yielded to the passionate clasp. 
 Stealing one arm about his neck. 
 
 " See where 
 The King of Day in all his splendor dies, 
 Drawing his wide-spread mantle after him ! " 
 He cried, and pointed out across the waters, 
 While both rose to their feet. " Ay, we must 
 
 stand 
 To do him fitting homage. As he goes 
 He lavishly, with royal hand, flings down 
 To us poor mortals countless treasures, — look ! 
 Diamonds and sapphires, emeralds and rubies. 
 And gold and pearls and amber, — gem on gem. 
 Float on the waves, here at our very feet." 
 
 " Ah, but those jewels melt away so soon ! " 
 Regina said, half sadly. " Would they stayed, 
 And we might catch them up and hold them 
 fast." 
 
 And then they stood in silence for a time, 
 While over them, below them, all around, 
 
48 GIORGIO. 
 
 Rolled flood on flood of mellow, golden glory, 
 Till earth and sea and sky, transfigured, burned 
 As in a gentle fire of sacrifice ; 
 And the two lovers, bathed in purple glow, 
 Alone now, on the waters hushed and still, 
 Seemed to glide onward in a maze of light 
 That marked not where the shining heavens were 
 
 ended. 
 Or the bright earth began. 
 
 ''O my beloved," 
 Said Giorgio in low tones at last, " if we 
 Had both died long ago and floated thus. 
 Freed from all pangs and toils and tears of 
 
 earth, 
 Two disembodied spirits knit in one, 
 Joyously out and ever farther out. 
 To the fair Islands of the Blest ! " 
 
 "Oh, no," 
 She cried, and leaned her head upon his shoul- 
 der. 
 " Nay, Giorgio mine, pray you not now again 
 Those sad, dark thoughts of death." 
 
 " Well, fancy then," 
 He said with his sweet smile, " that you and I 
 Were the proud sea-god and his beauteous queen, 
 And all that lives and moves and crawls and 
 swims 
 
GIORGIO. 49 
 
 In this vast watery kingdom were our own, 
 And nymphs and tritons, mermaids and great dol- 
 phins, 
 Drew on our royal barge ! Ay, we '11 have need 
 To call on them, methinks. I see Andrea 
 E'en now is napping at his post ! " 
 
 For he 
 Had long ago drawn in the oar, and suffered 
 The gently-moving boat to drift at will. 
 Knowing 't was ever Giorgio's pleasure thus, 
 When they had gained the smooth, wide stretch 
 
 of sea. 
 When the dim city with its masts and spires 
 Lay far behind, and other barks scarce ventured, 
 Save that from time to time some fishercraft 
 Afar off glided by, whose spreading sails 
 Gleamed white or purple in the shifting light. 
 And now the old man, ever with them here. 
 But far too deaf and dull to hear or heed 
 All their sweet interchange of love, sat still. 
 His back turned toward them, and his grizzly 
 
 head 
 Supported in his hands, and then ere long 
 Curled up his withered form on the low bench 
 And soundly slept. 
 
 Thus, while Regina heard 
 4 
 
50 GIORGIO. 
 
 With a half smile, Giorgio, his arm still round her, 
 Told of the strange, mysterious life wherewith 
 An ancient faith had peopled the great deep. 
 While the bright glory shed o'er land and sea. 
 Faded to rosy and dim purple tints. 
 And suddenly he paused, and with a glance 
 Upon the heavens cried out, — " Ah, he is gone. 
 And well-nigh all his splendors with him ! See, 
 His gems have vanished, — all he 's left us now 
 Are lilies and pale roses on the waves ! — 
 But now my queen, to please your faithful vassal, 
 Pray you from that sweet head let down the light 
 That I love better than a thousand suns ! " 
 
 With a low laugh she yielded to his prayer. 
 Raised her white arms whence the long sleeves 
 
 fell back. 
 Drew the high silver comb from out her hair, 
 Loosed all the shining coils and twists and braids 
 And shook them out, till the fine golden shower 
 Fell rippling down close to her very feet. 
 And danced in shimmering rings on brow and 
 
 neck, 
 While the soft breeze blew back the sparkling 
 
 threads 
 And mingled them with Giorgio's dark-brown 
 
 locks. 
 
GIORGIO. 51 
 
 Who caught and kissed tjhe floating strands. And 
 
 now 
 Both covered thus as with a lustrous veil, 
 When he enraptured sought her lips again, 
 She, archly smiling, rendered back to him 
 Again and yet again, all she received. 
 Until at last she put him off, exclaiming, 
 " Oh, hark, what music do I hear ! " 
 
 They looked, 
 And close to them moved by with stately slow- 
 ness, 
 Though rowed by many oars, a high-decked barge 
 Of royal pomp, hung round with purple cloth 
 Blazoned with a device in gold and silver, 
 A tall winged lion for its figure-head. 
 And at the prow a band of gay musicians. 
 Who made the lusty sounds of horn and fife 
 Roll far across the waters. Near the stern 
 A silken canopy with fluttering streamers, 
 'Neath which reclined a noble, grave old man. 
 Surrounded by a glittering court. 
 
 "The Doge," 
 Said Giorgio, " with his suite. Fair ladies, too. 
 Are in the train, — ah, but what prince on earth 
 Can boast a queen like mine ! It is not oft 
 That gorgeous barge is met so far from town. 
 
52 GIORGIO. 
 
 The heavenly night — no smallest cloud o'er- 
 
 shadows 
 The crystal dome of the wide, stainless sky — 
 Tempts all the world ! Mayhap the gay train now 
 Sails farther still, — out to the Lido ! " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 Regina quickly cried, and turned to him 
 With eager, brightening face, — "Ah, Giorgio 
 
 mine, 
 Sweet Giorgio, pray, might we not go there, too ? 
 The Lido, — the green island that protects 
 Our city from the open sea. Yes, yes, 
 And where great trees and flowers and grasses 
 
 grow, 
 I 've heard you say, — oh, 'pray you, let us go, 
 I 've wished for it so long ! " 
 
 "Nay, dearest heart," 
 He said, and stroked her cheek with gentle 
 
 touch, — 
 " Ask not to go there now ! It is too late, 
 And 't will be dark, — there is no moon to-night. 
 The Doge's men, past doubt, bear torches with 
 
 them, 
 That we have not, to light his path. And then 
 The Isle is too far off for poor Andrea 
 To row us there alone. And for my arms," 
 
GIORGIO. 53 
 
 He added, with his sweet, grave smile, — " would 
 
 you 
 Condemn them to the oar ? But we '11 go soon, 
 I promise, — pledge myself most solemnly, — 
 Some moonlit night, and take two stout young 
 
 oarsmen ! " 
 She knit her brow, and pursed her lips again, 
 Like a spoilt child crossed in some darling wish, 
 Then said, half sullenly, — " Soon ! - — I Ve heard 
 
 that 
 So often, and ne'er saw the Lido yet ! 
 O happy Doge ! " — and stretched one hand an 
 
 instant 
 After the barge that faded fast from view. 
 "You were not in the city then, but I 
 Was fortunate enough to see the Doge 
 Called to his seat not many years ago, 
 When with a jeweled ring he wed himself 
 Forever to his glorious bride the sea ! " 
 Said Giorgio, artfully, and told her then 
 So much oi all the glittering pomp and pride 
 And wondrous splendors of that festal day, 
 That the white brow grew clear, and lips and eyes 
 Half smiled again ere long. 
 
 "Ay, happy Doge, 
 But happier Giorgio ! " he cried out, exulting, 
 
54 GIORGIO. 
 
 And yet with quivering voice, when he had ended. 
 
 " You are my city in the sea ! All, all 
 
 The glory of her sunsets in your hair, 
 
 The darkness of her ocean in your eyes, 
 
 My love, my bride, my queen ! These arms fold 
 
 in 
 The wealth of all the city, all the world ! " 
 And in a sudden transport straining her 
 To his fierce-throbbing heart, showered burning 
 
 kisses 
 On brow and lips and cheek. 
 
 "Come, Giorgio mine. 
 Enough, enough ! this grows too warm about me, 
 And I must roll it up ! " she said at last, 
 Breaking away from the encircling arms 
 That most unwillingly let go their hold. 
 And tossing back the hair from out her face. 
 Gathered it nimbly in to right and left, 
 One hand scarce holding all the shining mass, 
 And threw it into two great braids, while he 
 Watched the white fingers gleaming in and out 
 Among the silken strands, that even now 
 Still glimmered faintly golden through the dusk. 
 
 Thus rosy twilight deepened to gray eve, 
 
 A light, chill breeze rose from the water, mingling 
 
GIORGIO. 55 
 
 With the warm breath of the caressing air, 
 
 And a blue mist crept over land and sea, 
 
 That, gathering into dark and darker lines. 
 
 Blurred gradually the fading lines and tints 
 
 Of shore and sky and ocean, till at last 
 
 All slowly vanished, wholly lost to view 
 
 In the vague shadows of the night. But from 
 
 The distant city flimmered here and there 
 
 A row of feeble lights, and up on high 
 
 The stars came out, with rich and richer glories 
 
 Filling the wide-spread heavens. 
 
 And suddenly 
 The same strange pang of jealousy seized Gior- 
 
 That when he saw her first had stirred his heart, 
 And he cried out, " Too many look on you ! 
 The treacherous earth and air and sea and sky, 
 And overhead the thousand watchful eyes, — 
 And you are mine, — mine, mine alone, forever! " 
 
 He raised her from the deck, and with a stride 
 Bore her into the cabin, and drew close 
 The curtain shutting out the world. 
 
 And here, 
 In dark and stillness, save that now and then. 
 The water gurgled softly 'neath the keel, 
 
56 GIORGIO. 
 
 Or a mild star gleamed faintly through the hang- 
 ing 
 Stirred by the gentle breeze of night, they sat 
 Hand locked in hand, her head upon his breast, 
 In whispered converse or in happy silence, 
 Till eastward the gray dawn began to glimmer, 
 And old Andrea woke and shook himself. 
 Fell to his work, and rowed them back to shore. 
 
 " So the great moment 's come at last, in truth, 
 When we set out upon this famous journey ! 
 I thought 'twould never rise in all the world, 
 Nor sun nor moon would ever shine upon 't ! 
 Why Giorgio, man, I swear you must have fan- 
 cied 
 I was not made of mortal flesh and blood. 
 To keep my patience (jn the rack so long ! — 
 Show one a gleam of heaven through a small 
 
 crack. 
 And promise — I '11 soon open wide the door. 
 So you may have full view, — then put one off 
 With wait and wait and wait, from day to day, — 
 I tell you 't was most cruel ! Ah, well, well, 
 I will forgive and not complain, if now 
 My pangs be ended ! " Pietro said, and cast 
 
GIORGIO. 57 
 
 A smiling glance upon his grave companion, 
 As he and Giorgio leaped into the bark 
 That waited at their door one balmy night, 
 When the great moon, full orbed, hung o'er the 
 
 city. 
 Pouring such radiance from her silver heart. 
 That e'en the shadow towering domes and spires 
 Cast on the glittering water at their feet 
 Seemed but a darker light in that still air. 
 Clear as a flawless gem. 
 
 "Ah, they show well. 
 Most fair and life-like by this silver lamp, 
 Seem breathing, — moving ! " Pietro said again. 
 As Giorgio, pushing off, made him no answer, — 
 And touched the front wall of their sombre house. 
 That Giorgio long ago had covered o'er 
 With strange, fantastic figures, — nymphs and 
 
 gods, 
 Nude, rosy children sporting in the waves. 
 And monsters of the deep. " Shrewd Giorgio, 
 
 thus 
 To draw on you the eyes of all the town ! 
 'T was a most brilliant thought, and bore rich 
 
 fruit ! 
 What, you've your lute, — will you find use for 
 
 that ? " 
 
58 GIORGIO, 
 
 He asked, as Giorgio, ere he seized the oar, 
 Tenderly lifted his dear instrument 
 To lay it down behind him. 
 
 "Ay, I shall; 
 I have a mind to call her with a song 
 Out on the balcony, unless she 's there 
 Looking for me e'en now." 
 
 " What, and give me 
 A chance to look on her but from afar? 
 Nay, miser, who would gloat upon your treasure 
 In secret and alone, I promise you 
 For once I '11 claim my share, — I '11 speak to 
 her ! " 
 
 " Ay, later we '11 go in," said Giorgio, slowly. 
 
 " And may I touch her garment's hem, per- 
 chance ? " 
 
 "Yes, and her hand," and this time the grave 
 
 lips 
 Unbent in a faint smile. 
 
 " Good, that 's more liberal 
 Than I had cause to hope from you ! But pray, 
 Is 't not too late to go to her to-night ? 
 E'en as I brought the boat around, methought 
 
GIORGIO. 59 
 
 The bells of St. Sebastian chimed out nine. 
 Ah, blessed saint ! " 
 
 " Oh, no j I 've gone to her 
 Later than this sometimes; she waits for me, 
 Sure that I never fail her any eve." 
 
 "Well, let's make haste, then. Come, give me 
 
 the oar, 
 And do you rather tune the charmed strings 
 That are to conjure forth the beauteous vision." 
 
 " Nay, not just yet. After I 've plied the brush 
 Through all the toilful day, my wearied arm 
 Likes well to feel the swing of this a while." 
 And, tossing back his hair, Giorgio drew in 
 A deep, contented breath of cool, salt air. 
 As with long, vigorous strokes he made the boat 
 Fly forward, past the Square, whose scattered 
 
 lights 
 Shone feebly with a sickly, yellow flare 
 In the surrounding brightness ; past the harbor, 
 Its spacious bosom filled with countless masts, 
 Furled sails, and silent decks, where here and 
 
 there 
 Glimmered a lantern, like a spark, high up 
 Among the cordage penciled clear and fine 
 
60 GIORGIO. 
 
 'Gainst the deep, radiant heavens ; and on and on. 
 Skirting the city sometimes, then again 
 Winding through a dim maze of watery lanes, 
 On towards the distant quarter Giorgio's heart 
 Embraced with hungry yearning. 
 
 " Here ; you may 
 Relieve me now," he said, and paused at length 
 While he and Pietro changed their places. 
 
 " Jove, 
 But it is far ! — or does the way seem but 
 So long to my impatience ? " Pietro asked. 
 
 " 'T is none too near, but well-nigh ended now. 
 There — round this corner to the left," said 
 
 Giorgio. 
 And while the bark skimmed swiftly on again, 
 He took the lute and swept his hand an instant 
 O'er the responsive strings ; but then sat still 
 And watched the drops the oar dipped from the 
 
 tide 
 Hang glittering in the light for one brief flash, 
 And then fall back into the great, dark bosom, 
 There mingling with ten thousand other drops ; 
 Looked on the bridge they now drew near, its 
 
 beams 
 And arches clearly mirrored on the waves, 
 
GIORGIO. 6 1 
 
 But such deep shadows clustering underneath 
 That as the boat passed into that eclipse 
 Giorgio one moment fancied he could hear 
 A rumbling sound as of low, distant thunder, 
 And gliding through it. seemed to gaze far down 
 Into a black abyss. 
 
 And so at length 
 The tall, dark house — the last of a long street, 
 But with no other dwelling opposite, 
 Fronting the open water — rose to view. 
 With its much battered, overhanging roof, 
 And the small, crooked balcony below, 
 Where swung a straggling vine that strove in 
 
 vain 
 To twine itself about the one wide window. 
 Dark now and still, the loose-hung shutters closed 
 Upon the blinded panes, — all things decrepid. 
 Feeble, and out of joint with hoary age, 
 Round the gray pile that yet to Giorgio's eye 
 Looked a proud fairy palace. 
 
 " She 's not there ! " 
 He said, and swept the empty balcony 
 With a swift, wistful glance, as they drew near, 
 And Pietro pushed more slowly forward now. 
 With but a gentle paddle. " Such fair nights 
 She 's wont to wait me here. Well, I must call 
 
 her ! " 
 
62 GIORGIO. 
 
 He rose, the lute supported on one knee, 
 With skillful fingers struck a chord that softly 
 Blent with the mellow tones of his rich voice, 
 And chanted forth a melody whose strains. 
 Sweet, low, and yet distinct, were borne far out 
 Across the silent sea. 
 
 - " O thou my eyes' and soul's delight. 
 My sun by day, my moon by night, 
 
 Now as of old 
 
 Let me behold 
 Thine image, love ! — Thy fairest face 
 IncHne to me with tender grace. 
 And grant me bliss untold ! " * 
 
 He paused and waited, 
 But the closed window moved not, all remained 
 Dark, still, and lifeless as before, and he 
 Struck up once more, and this time raised his 
 voice, — 
 
 " The glory of the sun and moon, 
 Without thy smile must fade too soon, 
 
 From sea and shore 
 
 The wide world o'er ! 
 Come forth, come forth into the night, 
 O thou my eyes' and soul's delight. 
 And bless me evermore ! " 
 
GIORGIO. 63 
 
 Again he looked and listened, but in vain, 
 
 No answering voice or glance replied to his. 
 
 " Why, this is strange ! " he cried, impatiently, 
 
 And flung the lute beside him on the seat ; 
 
 ' What means it, — I 've ne'er found it thus be- 
 fore, — 
 
 She cannot well such early hour as this 
 
 Be wrapt in sleep and dreams, — ere seeing me ! 
 
 I trust all 's well, — not her old father, may- 
 hap, — 
 
 But come, come, come j we '11 solve this mystery 
 soon ! — 
 
 Round to the other door there, at the rear ! " 
 
 And with the words pushed Pietro to one side, 
 Seized on the oar, and hastily drove the boat 
 Back a few paces, to an old stone quay. 
 Here grasped a rusty chain, and so leaped out, 
 While Pietro, a half smile upon his lips, 
 Followed him mutely, save that once he asked, 
 " Where found you that new song ? 'T was 
 
 strange to me. 
 And passing sweet." 
 
 " Oh, where but here ! " said Giorgio, 
 Pointing with careless gesture to his heart. 
 As with long, rapid strides he made his way 
 
64 GIORGIO. 
 
 Across the quay, round to the house and 
 
 through 
 A desolate court-yard with a crumbhng wall, 
 Pale lichen clinging to the damp, gray stones, 
 And so at last through the unbolted door, 
 Into a wide, low, dark and empty kitchen, 
 Where dying embers smouldered on the hearth. 
 And up a narrow stair, whose worn stone steps 
 Offered but slippery foothold. " Take my 
 
 hand," 
 Said Giorgio, and drew Pietro after him. 
 Who followed slowly at his heels, groping 
 His dim, uncertain path. 
 
 More swiftly thus 
 They reached the upper landing, and a room 
 Through whose closed door glimmered a feeble 
 
 light, ^ 
 Where Giorgio halted, whispering, — " Wait an 
 
 instant, 
 I think we '11 find her here ! " 
 
 He gently knocked, 
 But when no answer came, felt for the latch 
 And set the door a little space ajar, 
 Cautiously peeping in, but then drew back, 
 With a suppressed, half-startled exclamation. 
 Heard not how Pietro, standing close behind 
 
GIORGIO. 65 
 
 And glancing o'er his shoulder, echoed it, 
 And added, muttering underneath his breath, 
 " Ah, by all gods of love ! " — drew back, — and 
 
 yet 
 Stood rooted to the spot immovable. 
 Transfixed by what he saw. 
 
 The low, wide room, 
 Wrapped in the shadows of a dusky twilight, 
 Opened upon a smaller one, and here, 
 On a low table leaned against the wall, 
 Two tapers, burned beside a tall, cracked mirror 
 Framed in a silver garland black with age. 
 Before it stood Regina j nude, white feet 
 Twinkling beneath the hem of her short skirt, 
 The mass of golden hair piled on her head 
 Like a high, gorgeous crown, and leaving free 
 The exquisite lines of the curved, slender neck,. 
 While the loose linen drapery had slipped 
 From perfect throat and bosom, as her arms — 
 Bare to the gleaming shoulders, save that round 
 The delicate wrists twined strings of scarlet 
 
 coral — 
 Were raised and lowered, for in her hands she 
 
 held 
 Another cluster of rich coral gems. 
 And tried them on, changing from here to there, 
 5 
 
C6 GIORGIO. 
 
 Now in her hair, now round the snowy throat, 
 But a few seconds letting them remain, 
 Though once she Hfted up her arms above 
 Her head, and, slowly bending that far back. 
 Laid it upon the hands clasped under it, 
 Resting a moment in luxurious ease, — 
 Some beauteous nymph might thus perchance 
 
 have floated 
 Upon her native tide, — stood out relieved 
 Against the darkness that surrounded her. 
 Like the white, radiant image of a goddess j — 
 Paused thus and moved, and paused again ere- 
 long. 
 And turned her head, and swayed from side to 
 
 side. 
 To catch the best reflection of the beauty 
 Which the dim mirror cast but feebly back, — 
 Some fairer grace revealed by each new motion, 
 The red lips parted, so the pearly teeth 
 Shimmered between, by a half smile that brought 
 The dimple to the cheek, and the dark eyes 
 Lustrous with proud delight. 
 
 " Oh, by the Lord ! " 
 Thought Pietro, whose hot breath came thick 
 
 and fast 
 Through teeth set hard together, though he stood 
 
GIORGIO. 67 
 
 Without a sound, and wishing he might stop 
 His loudly beating heart, — "A feast for gods ! 
 Ay, thousand times more fair than Giorgio's pict- 
 ure, — 
 Like it, — yet with the playing lights and shades, 
 The shifting lines and curves and melting tints. 
 All, all the glories inexhaustible, 
 Of breathing, throbbing, palpitating life. 
 Great Heaven ! and what a life ! If I " — 
 
 But Giorgio 
 Awoke at last as from a trance and turned, 
 And only now remembering Pietro's presence, 
 Hastily pushed to the door. " Stand back ! " 
 
 he said. 
 In a low, hurried tone. " She is within, 
 But we must wait an instant." 
 
 Then he knocked 
 Once more and louder, and called out, " Re- 
 gina ! " 
 
 A stir and shuffling heard inside, the tapers 
 Went suddenly out, it seemed, for their pale gleam 
 Vanished from off the threshold; swift, light 
 
 steps 
 Passed o'er the creaking floor, and then the case- 
 ment 
 
6S GIORGIO. 
 
 Was flung wide open, for the moonlight streamed 
 Silvery through crack and crevice. 
 
 Giorgio paused 
 A little while, but soon called out again, 
 " Regina, it is I ! " 
 
 " Ah, Giorgio mine, 
 One moment more ! " the answer came at last, 
 In her clear, ringing voice, from out the room. 
 Then, in the briefest space, " I 'm ready now ! " 
 And she herself came to the door and opened. 
 " O dearest, you 're so late to-night ! " she said, 
 Perceiving in the shadowy hall but him. 
 " I waited for you on the balcony 
 Since early eve, and but just now came in, 
 And was at prayers, prepared to go to rest. 
 And sad at heart, thinking you would not come ! " 
 
 She raised her face as for a wonted kiss. 
 But Giorgio did not see or would not heed. 
 Without a word he entered, pushing past her, 
 And only by a mute, impatient sign 
 Bid Pietro follow him. 
 
 "Ah!" she cried out, 
 And started back, her hands crossed o'er the 
 
 bosom 
 Of the long, loose, gray garment she 'd thrown on, 
 
GIORGIO. 69 
 
 That, quaint and old, could yet but ill conceal 
 The royal forms beneath. "Why said you not 
 You had a stranger with you?" 
 
 "He did well!" 
 Said Pietro, with a courtly bow, as Giorgio 
 Stood sullenly without presenting him. 
 " I am no stranger : you are none to me ; 
 I Ve known you long, and pray we might be 
 friends ! " 
 
 She courtesied with a gracious dignity. 
 
 But downcast. eyes, then, with a deep-drawn breath, 
 
 In low, melodious accents softly said, — 
 
 " Ah, you are Pietro, Giorgio's friend and brother : 
 
 He 's told me much of you ! " 
 
 " Come, bring a lamp j 
 This is no manner to receive a guest ! " 
 Giorgio broke out now, in a strange, harsh tone. 
 
 She shyly glanced at him in half surprise. 
 Yet went obediently to some dark shelf 
 And fumbled there a time ; and, while she stayed. 
 Lost in deep shadow, Pietro cast a glance 
 About the strange apartment. 
 
 A great loft, 
 More than a room, black rafters overhead, 
 
yo GIORGIO. 
 
 Whence here and there hung bunches of dried 
 
 herbs, 
 Or hanks of tangled yarn ; the rough stone walls 
 Full of odd crooks and angles, bare all round, 
 Save that there gleamed in one a dusty shrine 
 Of the Madonna, with a faded wreath; 
 The knotty floor, lumbered in every corner 
 With nets and ropes and sail-cloth, — odds and 
 
 ends 
 That spoke the fisherman's and sailor's craft; 
 A bare old table with three twisted legs, 
 A wooden bench, a shaky chair or two : 
 In one, as he who gazed perceived but now, 
 A gray-haired, small old man lay back asleep. 
 The only thing of beauty, by the window 
 A yellow bird, in a dark wicker cage. 
 Who, as the flood of moonlight streamed on him, 
 Woke up, and hopped and pecked upon his 
 
 perch. 
 And this was Giorgio's Paradise ! thought Pietro. 
 Then, in a moment, — yet what marvel, gods! 
 With such a star to light its dusky ruin ! 
 When, like a vision growing from the darkness, 
 Gliding across the floor with noiseless step, 
 Regina now came back, and set a lamp 
 Down on the table near them. 
 
GIORGIO. yi 
 
 As its pale blaze fell upon both their faces, 
 She gazed at Pietro. For the first time now 
 Their glances fully met, and seemed to rush 
 Together like a flame, — clung to each other 
 With an intense, long, ever-deepening look, 
 As with hot, thirsty, yearning, spell-bound eyes,. 
 That neither could withdraw, that would drink in 
 The other's very soul. 
 
 At last Regina 
 Half turned her head, and drooped her lids so low, 
 The silken lashes well-nigh kissed her cheeks, 
 And Pietro fancied — ay, or was it but 
 The ruddy flicker of the flaring lamp ? — 
 That the warm blood flushed over cheek and brow. 
 He could not say; and Giorgio noted naught, 
 For, walking over to the old man's chair, — 
 The sleeper now woke up and rubbed his eyes, 
 And stared about with a vague, wondering gaze, — 
 He laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder, 
 With a " Good evening, father ! Nay ; wherefore 
 Not stay here with us ? I have brought my 
 
 friend ! " 
 As the old man arose and shambled off, 
 For all reply gave but a feeble nod. 
 And vanished through the door. 
 
 Still Giorgio tarried 
 
72 GIORGIO. 
 
 There by the window, whistled to the bird, 
 And then gazed out a while into the moonlight, 
 His back turned to the two, who still stood mute, 
 Finding no words. At length he sharply said, — 
 " Well, I confess you hold most lively converse ! " 
 And, suddenly wheeling round, thought he sur- 
 prised 
 So strange a fire in the long, lingering gaze 
 Which Pietro slowly and reluctantly 
 But now drew from Regina's lowered face. 
 That he came hastily forward close to Pietro, 
 And measured him with a keen, searching glance. 
 
 Yet, as their eyes met, Pietro's only wore 
 
 Their wonted dark, impenetrable look, — 
 
 Ay, cold as ice, and hard as glittering steel ! 
 
 Now for the first time they appeared to Giorgio, 
 
 As with unfaltering, half-defiant calm 
 
 He bore the gaze, parried the unspoken question. 
 
 Giorgio's eye fell, and he turned from him. Ah, 
 
 He 'd been deceived ! What a poor fool he was, 
 
 Ay, a most odious fool ! he inly cried, 
 
 With swiftly rising anger at himself. 
 
 And tossed his hair impatiently, as though 
 
 He would shake off some sore, tormenting fancy. 
 
 Yet his set face was pale, a gloomy cloud 
 
GIORGIO. 73 
 
 On his contracted brow, as sullenly 
 
 He flung himself upon the creaking bench, 
 
 And with unsteady hands took from the table 
 
 The corals, which Regina hastily 
 
 Had thrown and left there. 
 
 " Pray, Signor, be seated," 
 She said at last to Pietro, and again 
 In such a low, sweet, gentle voice, that Giorgio 
 Looked up in dark surprise, but only found 
 Her eyes cast shyly on the ground. " And you ? " 
 Asked Pietro, and obeyed. 
 
 But she stole round 
 To Giorgio's side, and drawing close to him 
 Laid one hand on his arm, and softly questioned, 
 " What is 't with you } Pray tell me, Giorgio 
 
 mine! 
 You are not well to-night, — or vexed with me, — 
 Have I done wrong in aught ? " 
 
 ■■:. She felt a tremor 
 
 Run through his frame at her light touch, but still 
 He made no answer, nor looked round at her, 
 But drew his arm away so that her hand 
 Slid down upon the table. Then he said, 
 A cutting coldness in his jarring voice, — 
 "So you had waited on the balcony, 
 And were at evening worship when we came ! " 
 
74 GIORGIO. 
 
 She looked at him wide-eyed without reply, 
 And he went on with infinite bitterness, — 
 " I 've heard of girls who in their lover's ab- 
 sence 
 Consoled themselves by strutting at the glass 
 Like any peacock ! " 
 
 She sat silent still, 
 As though she did not comprehend his words, 
 When Pietro cried, " And what then, if they 
 
 did? 
 Where Heaven's kind bounty grants his noblest 
 
 gift, 
 A matchless image of divinest beauty, 
 Is't not permitted we ourselves should take 
 Some joy and comfort in 't ? " 
 
 A grateful look 
 From the dark eyes, one instant raised to his 
 Then hastily turned aside, as though to fly 
 The fiery glance that ever and anon » 
 
 Drew them resistless back, was his reward. 
 " You are not kind to-night! " she said, and moved 
 Swiftly away from Giorgio with a frown 
 And pursing up her lips. 
 
 " Where got you these } " 
 He asked, his hand still toying with the coral, 
 Strung curiously together with small pearl. 
 
GIORGIO. 75 
 
 " Oh, father brought them home ! " she answered, 
 
 curtly. 
 " And he ? " 
 
 "Bought them from some poor sailor lad 
 Who found them on a wreck." 
 
 Pietro in turn 
 Took up a string, but gave it scarce a glance, 
 For fancying the rich gems had drawn and kept 
 Warmth from the life-blood of the throbbing heart 
 Whereon they 'd rested, shut his hand on them. 
 With a long, clinging pressure. — " Why, methinks 
 They're of rare workmanship," he said, at length, 
 To break the silence that oppressively 
 Hung o'er the three. 
 
 "Oh, I know naught of that," 
 Regina cried ; " I hold them passing dear 
 For their deep crimson tint ! You know, Signor, 
 Corals and shells and pebbles are as flowers, 
 Here in this town so poor in trees and blossoms, — 
 Flowers of the sea they call them. Ah, I love 
 Sweet flowers so well, and get so few ! It was 
 Not ever thus with me ! " 
 
 And then these two 
 Fell into easy talk of this and that, 
 Regina's shyness melting gradually. 
 While Giorgio with his arms crossed on his breast, 
 
'j6 GIORGIO. 
 
 Sitting quite mute and gnawing at his lip, 
 Watched them from under brows whose settled 
 
 gloom 
 Had never lifted, till ere long he rose 
 And urged that they must go. 
 
 " So soon ? " she asked, 
 And as he hastened to the door, said softly, 
 With a reproachful glance, " Giorgio, Good-night ! " 
 
 " Good-night, good-night ! " he said, remorselessly ; 
 Pietro, o 
 threshold. 
 
 Come, Pietro, come ! " and so strode o'er the 
 
 But Pietro lingered and held out his hand. 
 She touched it with her fingers, — and he felt 
 That they were icy cold, — then turned away 
 With a mute gesture of farewell, while he 
 Passed after Giorgio out into the darkness. 
 But as he reached the stair, Giorgio rushed back, 
 Burst through the door left standing half ajar, 
 And strained Regina fiercely to his heart, 
 Pressed a swift, burning kiss upon her lips. 
 And whispered breathless in her startled ear, — 
 " Regina, O Regina ! You my joy, 
 My life, my love, my all, oh wherefore, wherefore 
 Were you untruthful to me ! " — broke away 
 
GIORGIO, 77 
 
 Ere she could speak, and vanished through the 
 
 door, 
 Flinging it to behind him. 
 
 When the two 
 Were seated in the boat once more, and Pietro 
 Plied the swift oar upon their homeward way, 
 Giorgio, relapsing into moody silence, 
 Gazed down into the water with dark eyes 
 Unheeding now all splendors of the night 
 In earth or heaven, long time without a word, 
 Till Pietro said at length, — 
 
 " Ay, she was right j 
 You were unkind j you are too harsh with her ! '* 
 
 " And what is that to you ? " Giorgio burst out, 
 And sharply raised his head. 
 
 " Naught ; true enough," 
 Rejoined the other briefly, undismayed 
 By the gruff answer. " But what profits it 
 To judge her so severely : she 's but young. 
 And meant no harm ! " 
 
 " Ah, yes ; but seventeen ! ' 
 Assented Giorgio, in a softened tone. 
 
 "A child's soul in a woman's royal form," 
 Pietro went on. 
 
yS GIORGIO. 
 
 " O Pietro, best of friends, 
 You, too, then think her wondrous beautiful ? 
 Or did I paint too brightly ? " Giorgio cried, 
 Now suddenly roused to fiery animation. 
 
 " Why — no," said Pietro, slowly, with forced 
 
 calm, 
 A strange, half smile upon his lips. " Surely 
 She is most fair and full of charming grace; 
 But as to that, good Giorgio, I confess 
 That on my journeys — in the Eternal City — 
 I met with women beautiful as she ! " 
 
 *' Did you, in truth ! What, beautiful as she ! " 
 Repeated Giorgio in surprise, a tinge 
 Of disappointment in his lowered voice j 
 But yet he knew not why it seemed that moment 
 As though a leaden weight rolled off his heart. 
 With a glad sense of infinite relief, 
 He drew a long, deep breath, faced round to- 
 wards Pietro 
 And soon discoursed with him on many themes 
 Far off from what was dearest to his heart, 
 Familiarly as ever, all the way 
 Till home was reached. 
 
 Regina long that night 
 
GIORGIO. 79 
 
 Stood leaning at the window, gazing out 
 Into the moonhght, or from time to time 
 Made a swift turn about the silent room, 
 A strange unrest throbbing in heart and pulses. 
 Giorgio was so unkind, — what ailed him ? Ay, 
 What had she done that could displease him so ? 
 He must have seen her at the glass, — what then ? 
 That was no grievous sin ! Yet after all 
 'Twas not of that, 'twas not of him she thought. 
 For where she looked, — out on the glittering 
 
 water, — 
 In the dim shadows round her, — far and near, 
 Ever and everywhere, seemed to rise up 
 Those strange dark eyes, whose burning gaze 
 
 again 
 And yet again had followed, sought, wooed hers, 
 Till, like a bird pursued, her anxious glance 
 Hung captive, fluttering hopeless in the meshes, 
 That closing round cut off escape ! E'en now. 
 Turn as she would, she could not fly from them. 
 Till in despair she closed her eyes at last. 
 Thus to shut out the haunting spell, that yet 
 Thrilled all her heart as with a secret sense 
 Of new, ineffable sweetness ; — thus knelt down 
 Before the shrine, and prayed with fervent lips, 
 " Deliver us from evil, Holy Mother ! " 
 
80 GIORGIO. 
 
 And then put out the lamp and crept away 
 
 To her small chamber with the narrow window, 
 
 And threw herself upon her couch. 
 
 But rest 
 Long fled the wakeful eyes, and when at length 
 Sleep came to her, it brought a strange, sad 
 
 dream. 
 She fancied that she swam in a wide lake, 
 On whose dark bosom shimmering water-lilies 
 Were spread in snowy clusters. Drawing near, 
 She found that they were made of precious pearl, 
 And joyfully stretched out her hand and plucked 
 
 one. 
 And would have twined it with her hair, when, 
 
 gazing 
 Into the golden cup, she met again 
 The self-same awful eyes with their hot glance, 
 And only now perceived the lily's stem 
 Was a live, writhing snake. With a fierce shudder 
 She tossed it from her, hastening to move off, 
 But felt it followed her, and looking back 
 Saw that no lily floated on the water, 
 But Giorgio's still white face, with closed, dead 
 
 eyes, — 
 And with a startled cry awoke. 
 
GIORGIO, 8r 
 
 Two days 
 Had passed since that strange night and now 
 
 the morning 
 Shone in full splendor over land and sea, 
 And kindled e'en the dim, old loft to brightness,. 
 For through the open window poured a flood 
 Of sunlight, gilding every dusty nook 
 And cobwebbed corner, while the wide-set door 
 Gave generous passage to the racy breath 
 Of cool salt air. 
 
 Out on the balcony 
 Regina sat, — on that fair, smiling face 
 No longer now a mark of anxious thought, 
 A trace of fevered trouble or unrest, — 
 A great rent fisher-net spread out before her 
 Upon the balustrade, and in her lap 
 A wooden needle, but her hands not now 
 Busied with any work, for on her finger 
 Perched the bright, yellow bird, freed from his 
 
 cage ; 
 Fluttered and chirped, and pecked the rosy lips 
 Smiling held out to him, with many a soft 
 Caressing word. And chattering thus with him, 
 She never heard a tap upon the door, 
 Nor footsteps on the floor, and but looked up 
 When a dark figure stood beside her. 
 6 
 
82 GIORGIO. 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 She cried, half rising, while the startled bird 
 Flew to her shoulder, — " Ah ! 't is you, Pietro. 
 Nay, but forgive me, Signor, — strange, but I — 
 Methinks I never heard your other name ! " 
 She added, faltering, hesitating first, 
 Then speaking fast, with quickening breath. 
 
 And now, 
 In this clear light, there could not be a doubt 
 That a deep flush o'erspread her cheek and brow, 
 Even the enchanting dimple in her cheek 
 Seemed to o'erflow with delicate color. 
 
 " Nay, 
 I would you never heard another ! Pray you 
 Let it be Pietro still, and only that ! " 
 He answered, and held out one hand to her, 
 Keeping the other carefully behind him. 
 
 She did not take it nor appear to see, 
 But took her seat again with drooping lids. 
 Then rose once more and clasped between her 
 
 hands 
 The bird, who from his new-found perch a mo- 
 ment 
 Had watched the stranger with black, twinkling 
 eyes, 
 
GIORGIO. 83 
 
 Then, as though reassured, began to peck 
 His mistress' rosy ear, half hid beneath 
 Bright, crispy ringlets, — bore him to his cage 
 And closed the door, saying across her shoulder, 
 " I fear me a new face might frighten him, 
 And make him fly away." 
 
 " You love him well ? " 
 "Ay, he is Giorgio's gift to me," she answered, 
 Yet never looked at Pietro, but returning 
 Upon the balcony to her old place, 
 Began with a swift, timid, upward glance, — 
 "You startled me, you came so suddenly 
 And unawares ! " 
 
 " Forgive me ! " he said, softly, 
 "For venturing in at such an early hour; 
 But pray, let these plead my excuse ! I found 
 
 them 
 Down in the mart, and as I heard you say 
 You love flowers well, made bold to bring them 
 
 ere 
 They withered at hot noon." And with the 
 
 words 
 Drew forth his other hand and offered her 
 A fragrant bunch of roses white and red, 
 Fresh dewdrops sparkling on the half-closed 
 
 petals. 
 
84 GIORGIO. 
 
 " Oh, beautiful ! Oh, how most kind ! " she cried, 
 Forgetting all her shyness for a moment, 
 And like an eager child stretched out both hands 
 To seize the delicate gift, and with delight 
 Drink in its sweet, strong odor. " Ah, thanks, 
 
 thanks ; 
 This is a great, rare pleasure ! " 
 
 "Why, in truth, 
 I have a rich reward for my small pains ! " 
 He said, with gladness. 
 
 For a little while 
 She held the flowers and smiling gazed at them. 
 And once or twice bent down her head so low 
 That lips and eyes were hidden, 'mid their 
 
 wealth. 
 Then fastened most of them upon her bosom, 
 Save for a few fair white ones in her hair. 
 
 " Now am I overpaid ; they have a place 
 Upon your heart ! " said Pietro, in low tones. 
 
 She flushed again, and suddenly pulling down 
 The net into her lap, seized on her needle 
 And fell to work in nervous haste. 
 
 He drew 
 A creaking stool out on the balcony, 
 
GIORGIO, 85 
 
 And sitting near her, gazed on her in silence 
 For many long, still moments. She was clad 
 In but a plain, coarse, dark-blue woolen gown 
 With closely-fitting bodice and long sleeves 
 Threadbare and frayed, for when she raised her 
 
 hands 
 He saw the white arm gleaming through a rent, — 
 A red silk kerchief twisted round her neck. 
 Her hair half coiled, half rippling down her back, 
 A broken silver arrow loosely piercing 
 The careless knot, and now well-nigh concealed 
 By the white roses. Ah, and yet, set thus 
 Against the radiant morning sea and sky. 
 What queen on earth was ever half so fair ! 
 "O Heaven!" thought Pietro, "had I but the 
 
 power 
 To deck that form with gold and shimmering 
 
 pearl, 
 What happiness ! " Then said aloud at length, — 
 " Methinks that those fair hands are far too 
 
 tender 
 For such coarse work ! " 
 
 The nimble fingers flew 
 Swiftly as ever, then she slowly answered. 
 The shadow of a smile about her lips, — 
 "They are not wont to do it, but to-day 
 
86 GIORGIO. 
 
 Andrea's off with father, and old Marta, 
 His wife, who comes to help me in the house, 
 Lies ill at home, so I must needs take up 
 Her tasks for once ! " 
 
 " What have you there ? " he asked, 
 And pointed to the ruby on her finger, 
 That glowed 'mid the gray meshes in and out, — 
 " A precious gem, methinks, — pray, suffer me 
 To see it closer by." 
 
 She stopped her work, 
 And would have slipped the ring from off its 
 
 place. 
 But could not easily, for the soft, white hand 
 Seemed to refuse to yield it up. 
 
 " Nay, there 's 
 No need of that," he cried, " for I can well 
 Look at it here ! " 
 
 And thus compelled, she put 
 Her hand reluctantly into his own 
 Held out once more, but even now her eyes 
 Were never lifted to his face, and Pietro 
 Felt how her breath came thicker. 
 
 " Yes," he said, 
 " Of priceless value ! " yet his downcast glance 
 Scarce grazed the ring, but fastened eagerly 
 On the fine, slender fingers that he clasped 
 
GIORGIO. Zy 
 
 With gentle pressure. ^' Giorgio's gift, past 
 
 doubt ? " 
 He questioned, looking up. 
 
 She nodded softly 
 For all reply, with swiftly-changing color; 
 Then suddenly snatched her hand away from him 
 As though his touch had burnt her, — hid both 
 
 hands 
 With a quick, fluttering gesture 'neath the net, 
 Worked on the ring until she drew it off, 
 And turning slid it down into her bosom, 
 Dimly remembering now some tender words 
 Giorgio once spoke, of how he wished she wore it 
 Not thus, — so openly. 
 
 Pietro looked on 
 In silence till she took her work once more. 
 And then began to chat, — told of his travels, — 
 Of the old city on her seven hills. 
 Of the strange lands and people he had seen 
 Long ere this last, brief journey to the South, — 
 Till she forgot the net and dropped her needle. 
 Looked bravely up with wondering eyes, and 
 
 cried, — 
 " Oh, would I too might see the great, wide 
 
 world ! " 
 Or when he interwove a merry tale, 
 
8S GIORGIO. 
 
 Threw back her head and laughed like some 
 
 gay child, 
 A low, light-hearted laugh, such as not often 
 Was heard 'neath this old roof. And thus, too 
 
 swiftly 
 An hour or two sped by ere either knew. 
 
 " Well, it is time to go and get to work. 
 Ere toiling Giorgio chide me for an idler ! " 
 Said Pietro, breaking off, and rose at last. 
 
 She put her hand out half unwittingly. 
 
 As though to hold him back, then let it sink. 
 
 And closed the parted lips without a word. 
 
 "And may I come again, some time, ere long?" 
 He gently asked. " As your dear Giorgio's 
 
 brother, 
 Grant me that privilege ! " 
 
 Again her eye 
 Faltered and fell, and with surprise he noted 
 That she turned white e'en to the very lips. 
 Then suddenly she flung both trembling hands 
 Before her face, and cried out breathlessly, 
 " Nay, do not come again ! No, never, never, 
 By the dear Virgin's love ! " 
 
GIORGIO, 89 
 
 And .rushing from 
 Her seat, across the sill into the room, 
 She would have fled, but that the heavy net 
 Tangled its meshes round the hurrying feet. 
 She tripped, and slipping uttered a low cry, 
 When Pietro, springing forward, caught her up 
 Ere she could fall. 
 
 For one brief instant thus — 
 Her drooping head still white and with closed 
 
 eyes, 
 Yet ne'er so fair, pillowed upon his shoulder — 
 He held her in his arms, upon his breast, 
 Felt her sweet breath warm on his flushing cheek, 
 The young hot heart throb close against his own. 
 His flying pulses kindled, a fierce stream 
 Of living fire poured through each fevered vein, 
 His very senses seemed to reel and faint 
 Beneath the precious burden he sustained. 
 But when he would have led her tenderly 
 To a near seat, and laid her there, he fancied — 
 O gods, O heavenly powers, could it be true, 
 Not but a wild freak of his whirling brain ! — 
 That she resisted softly, hung on him 
 Not all unwillingly, clung to his breast 
 With gentle force. 
 
 O'erpowered by the thought, 
 
90 GIORGIO. 
 
 In a mad impulse irresistible, 
 He strained her to his heart with frenzied pas- 
 sion, 
 Pressed one long kiss on her resistless lips. 
 She did not turn from him, nor raise the arms 
 That hung down helpless by her side, as those 
 Of one in a deep swoon, to ward him off, 
 But by her quivering eyelid, and the color 
 That now rushed brightly back o'er throat and 
 
 brow. 
 He could perceive that she was full awake 
 And knew it all. 
 
 Again and yet again 
 He clasped her thus to him in blinded rapture, 
 So fiercely that the roses in her bosom 
 Dropped out half crushed, and scattered their 
 
 frail leaves 
 Upon the floor, — again and yet again, 
 His lips thus burned on hers. Then suddenly, 
 Trembling in every limb, he let her glide 
 From out his arms, — without another look. 
 Tore himself from her, and like one pursued 
 Fled now in turn her presence and the house. 
 
 She watched him go with half unclosing lids, 
 And when his echoing footsteps died away, 
 
GIORGIO. 91 
 
 Lifting her head sprang up, what though her feet 
 Well-nigh gave way beneath her, and the room 
 Whirled round and round as in mad, headlong 
 
 dance. 
 She pressed her hands to burning eyes and 
 
 temples 
 Aching and throbbing as in fever, then 
 Upon her heart, that with its wild pulsations 
 Seemed .bursting, — strangling her. But when they 
 
 touched 
 The few poor roses there that still were left, 
 Spared by the tossing storm, she started back, 
 A shudder shook her frame from head to foot, 
 And then she hastily snatched them from their 
 
 place 
 With trembling fingers, found her way once more, 
 Unsteadily yet swiftly, through the window. 
 And tossed them out across the balustrade 
 Into the sea. But yet a moment after 
 She leaned far over from the balcony. 
 And with a yearning cry stretched out her arms 
 As though to call them back, but only saw 
 The cruel waves lapped at them eagerly. 
 And even now had rolled them off a space, 
 And bore them ever farther ; but ere long 
 Bethought herself of those still in her hair, 
 
92 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 And drew them out and put her lips to them, 
 
 And after took the ruby from her bosom, 
 
 And kissed that too, looked at and hung o'er 
 
 both, 
 Now laid them down, then snatched them up 
 
 again, 
 Walked to and fro the floor and wrung her hands, 
 Till, bursting into passionate tears, she stood 
 And wept and laughed, and wept o'er both her 
 
 treasures, 
 Pressed the white roses and the glowing gem, 
 Now one in turn, then both clasped close together, 
 A thousand times to quivering heart and lip, 
 Convulsed by pain ; and from tumultuous joy 
 Tossed back to piercing grief. 
 
 And thus at length 
 She flung herself into the seat where he 
 Had left her, — oh, so long ago, it seemed ! — 
 And wearied with the struggle, closed her eyes 
 Smarting and dimmed from long, unwonted tears. 
 For rest that deepened soon to gentle slumber. 
 When she awoke 't was noon, — bells far and near. 
 Proclaimed it from all towers, — time to prepare 
 Her father's simple meal, who would return 
 And ask for it ere Ions:. 
 
GIORGIO. 93 
 
 A few brief weeks 
 Sped lightly by, as swift winged as of old, 
 And naught seemed changed from its accustomed 
 
 course. 
 Giorgio still gave, as ever was his wont, 
 The day to labor and the night to love, 
 Snatching but few brief hours of rest between, 
 For as he sometimes said half smiling, time 
 Must well-nigh evenly be meted out 
 'Twixt the beloved Mistresses he served, 
 So neither might have cause to fret her soul 
 With foolish jealousy. The jarring sound 
 That grated harshly on his sensitive ear 
 On that ill-fated night, from his Regina, 
 Had long ere this died out, resolved itself 
 Back into sweetest harmony again. 
 The wound she gave him then unconsciously 
 Been soothed and healed and soon forgotten. — 
 
 Ay, 
 
 Upon the very next eve following that, 
 
 She had half coaxed, half laughed the lingering 
 
 shadow 
 From his grave brow. Nay, what had vexed him 
 
 so ! 
 All had been as she said j she had in truth 
 Waited upon the balcony a while, 
 
94 
 
 GIORGIO, 
 
 And then come in and made her prayers, and 
 
 then, — 
 If she tried on the coral at the glass 
 Was that so great a wrong? she questioned, 
 
 smiling, 
 And looked into his eyes, and stroked his face. 
 And gently laid her cheek against his own ; 
 And he, but all too easily won o'er 
 By such rare softness, took her to his heart 
 And closed her lips with kisses, bidding her 
 To speak of it no more, but rather craved 
 Her own forgiveness, — "I was rough and rude j 
 I 'm but a churlish fellow sometimes, darling. 
 Pray, can you love me still ? " And she had an- 
 swered 
 By throwing both her arms about his neck 
 For the first time in all their love. Ay, if 
 One thing could make his joyful soul o'erflow 
 As with an added drop of happiness. 
 It was that she had somehow seemed of late 
 More loving and more tender than before j 
 Clung to him sometimes with a fond caress 
 That brought a new delight, though now and then 
 He marked on her, with half anxiety, 
 A fluttering, restless spirit, strange in one 
 Whose soul serene he 'd ever known untroubled 
 
GIORGIO. 95 
 
 As a calm lake. But when he spoke of it 
 
 She laughed it off, — said she was tired, had 
 
 worked 
 So hard that day that now her hands and feet 
 Could scarce forget their tasks. And on one eve 
 She, weeping, threw herself into his arms, 
 And cried to him in a half -broken voice, ^ — 
 "O Giorgio, Giorgio, my sweet bird has 
 
 flown ! " — 
 Ah, it was "true, the wicker cage hung empty! — 
 " I left his cage door open carelessly ; 
 Oh, and I loved him so ! and he will die 
 Out on the barren sea ! And my poor plants 
 Out there are dead. I had neglected them, 
 And never gave them water two whole days, — 
 Oh, scold me, scold me, — I 'm a wicked girl ! " 
 And moaned and sobbed as though her heart 
 
 would break ; 
 So it was long ere he could comfort her, 
 Kissing the tears away, and promising 
 To bring another bird when he should find 
 A new one pretty as the old. 
 
 They passed 
 Many another eve upon the sea 
 Amid the golden sunset, many a night 
 On the dim balcony 'neath moon and stars, 
 
96 GIORGIO. 
 
 Or when the heavens were dark, and rain and 
 
 wind 
 Beat on the panes mayhap, — for coming autumn 
 Now sometimes sent his messengers ahead 
 To tell the world of his advance, — sat by 
 The window hand in hand, and watched the 
 
 storm 
 Spend all its harmless fury. 
 
 Since that night 
 Pietro had never once begged leave again 
 To bear him company when he set out 
 To visit his Regina ; only sometimes 
 Asked lightly, " And how is your pretty Queen ? " 
 Scarce giving heed what answer might be made, 
 While she in her turn seemed to look on Pietro 
 With like indifference ; for when Giorgio once 
 Questioned how she had liked him, she replied, — 
 And as she said it stooped to latch her shoe, — 
 " Oh, well enough ! Methinks he is in truth 
 A gallant, handsome, gay young cavalier. 
 As you had often told me of your friend, " — 
 And there stopped short, and spoke of him no 
 
 more. 
 And Giorgio, marveling in his secret heart. 
 Was yet content enough. Strange, strange, he 
 
 mused. 
 
GIORGIO. 97 
 
 I 'd thought that they would like each other bet- 
 ter, 
 Grow to some fondness, mayhap, for my sake \ 
 Yet it is well. Well, as for him, past doubt 
 Some fair one has ensnared and holds him fast 
 In flowery fetters ! For he had not seen 
 O'ermuch, in truth, of Pietro all the weeks 
 Since his return. Often he strolled away 
 At early morning, and 't would be high nOon 
 Ere he came back into the common workroom, 
 And settled to his labor; then perchance 
 Carved a few lines, hastily touched up his gems. 
 And, in an hour or two, flung out again. 
 Saying he could not sit shut up so long. 
 But must have air and motion j and sometimes- 
 From morn till eve would not appear at all, 
 Spending much precious time, both day and night, 
 In merry company, with reveling friends. 
 As he confessed to Giorgio. And though he 
 Shook his grave head, and chid him now and 
 
 then, 
 A moment after he would ever think 
 With a fond smile, — Oh well, he is but young,. 
 And must be gay a while ! ' — Some time he '11 
 
 mend ! 
 Forgetting, in his generous indulgence, 
 7 
 
98 GIORGIO. 
 
 That but a few brief years divided him 
 From his own toilful youth. 
 
 Thus came one evening 
 When a fierce storm seemed brewing in the 
 
 heavens. 
 All day oppressive, sultry heat had hung 
 Like a pale, stifling mist above the city, 
 The sea had groaned and muttered, and towards 
 
 night-fall 
 The brazen sky grew overcast, great banks 
 Of leaden clouds, piled mass on mass, towered up 
 'Gainst the horizon, their dark, quivering hearts 
 Rent by red lightning; now a hissing tongue 
 Darted towards earth, then one broad, lurid flash 
 Revealed below the seething, white-capped waves 
 That reared their heads and plunged as in mad 
 
 glee. 
 While in the distance sounds of rumbling thunder 
 Made muflled, threatening answer. 
 
 Giorgio long, 
 Alone and in the darkness, stood and gazed 
 Out through the open window of his workroom, 
 Upon that scene of awful majesty. 
 And, when the very skies seemed parting, 
 
 thought, — 
 Oh if the soul set free could wing its way 
 
GIORGIO. 99 
 
 Through that bright gap straight to the heart of 
 
 heaven ! 
 Yet when the tempest did not fairly burst, 
 But slowly rolled away to sea, he turned 
 And lit two torches, set them by his easel, 
 And brought Regina's picture forward, now 
 At length to give it that last master-touch 
 That he could never find. 
 
 He sat thus busy 
 When Pietro hastily entered. — '•' What ! " he 
 
 cried, 
 And started back as though in half alarm, — 
 " You here — at this late hour ! " 
 
 " And wherefore not ? " 
 Asked Giorgio, so intent he scarce glanced up. 
 
 " At work by this red, flaring light ! " 
 
 " Why, sometimes 
 I fancy I can thus more easily catch 
 The shifting tints that played upon her face 
 When I first saw her; 'tis no new device, 
 I 've many times attempted it before." 
 
 "And she, — where is she?" Pietro asked again, 
 Slowly and falteringly. " Methought there was 
 No eve but what you spent with her ! " 
 
100 GIORGIO. 
 
 "Ay, true, 
 Nor is there ; but I 've been with her to-night 
 And found her tired : the coming storm, she said, 
 Had wearied her past wont, and craved my leave 
 To go to rest, and so I came away. 
 But you, friend Pietro, — nay, I 'm more astounded 
 To see you here ! — and wherefore, pray, are you 
 Not with your gracious lady at this hour ? " 
 And at the bantering words Giorgio at length 
 Looked up with a half roguish smile. 
 
 But Pietro 
 Saw not the look nor seemed to hear the query, 
 But walking over to the window, stood, 
 His back towards Giorgio, and his hands behind 
 
 him, — 
 And Giorgio, had he watched, must have perceived 
 Those hands from time to time twitch nervously, — 
 And mutely peered into the gloomy night, — 
 Like Giorgio but a brief half hour ago, — 
 Making no answer, and without a word 
 For many minutes ; and, as neither spoke. 
 All grew so still that in the dusky room 
 The sound of the swelled waters, sullenly 
 Dashing themselves against the stones below. 
 Came plainly through the silence. 
 
 Then at length 
 
GIORGIO. 10 1 
 
 Pietro moved off, and with long, restless strides 
 Began to pace the floor, halting sometimes 
 Before a sketch or picture for an instant, 
 Then passing on again, until he paused 
 Before a canvas thrust into a corner, 
 And long, intently, fixed his gaze on it. 
 — A raging, fearful tempest, sea and sky 
 Whirling in one mad eddy of confusion ; 
 Water and clouds seething and bubbling o'er 
 With strange, fantastic forms of grinning demons, 
 Who brewed the storm, sent flashes through the 
 
 dark, 
 Hurled madness, death, destruction everywhere. 
 But, floating calmly in their midst, a barge 
 That bore a goodly company of saints, 
 With prayer and hands uplifted exorcising 
 The evil spirits, and in one bright star 
 That glimmered in the tossing gloom above them, 
 Hope shone triumphant that the power of heaven 
 Would yet prevail. — An older sketch of Giorgio's, 
 And often seen before, but here and now. 
 In this weird light, while the low, muttering 
 
 thunder 
 Blent its long roll with that wild harmony, 
 Instinct with wondrous power. 
 
 And suddenly Pietro, 
 
102 GIORGIO. 
 
 In a strange, husky voice, began, — " And what, 
 What if the heavenly powers had not prevailed, 
 And Hell and madness triumphed ? " 
 
 "Then, in truth, 
 There must have come the end of all the world ! " 
 Said Giorgio, gravely. 
 
 Pietro did not speak 
 Until he asked again, " You love me, Giorgio ? " 
 
 " Why, Pietro mine ! " cried Giorgio, wonderingly, 
 " Pray, wherefore put the question ! Know you 
 
 not 
 I love you better than all else on earth, 
 Save only her I need not name ? " 
 
 " So well," 
 Said Pietro, coming close to Giorgio's side. 
 And spoke with heaving chest and laboring 
 
 breath. 
 But gradually moved round and fully faced him, 
 "You could forgive me, — nay, great gods, not 
 
 that! 
 Impossible ! — but think of me sometimes 
 Relenting, — without hatred, — even if I — 
 Were guilty of a foul, most fearful sin, — 
 Should prove an infamous villain ? " 
 
 "Oh, come, come!" 
 
GIORGIO. 103 
 
 Exclaimed the other, lightly, with his eye 
 Fixed on his colors, too bound up in work 
 To catch but half the utterance, nor take in 
 Aught of the awful import lent the words 
 By Pietro's singular manner. "You employ 
 Harsh names, I say ! A villain ! — you ! But 
 
 now 
 I 've my revenge at last, and cause in turn 
 To call you strange and filled with gloomy fancies ! 
 Well, down upon your knees, man, and confess. 
 For it is plain you 've something on your con- 
 science. 
 Quick, out with it, and ease your fretful mind ! 
 What awful thing have you committed, then ? 
 Is it a case of jealousy, perchance ? " 
 And Giorgio smiled. " I tell you I Ve the power 
 To shrive you speedily ! " 
 
 " An infamous villain. 
 The groaning earth ne'er bore a blacker one ! " 
 Pietro repeated slowly, 'neath his breath. 
 In such heart-broken accents, that at last 
 Giorgio was startled into looking up. 
 
 " Great heavens ! " he cried, and rose as he be- 
 held 
 
 A face white and convulsed with some great 
 anguish. 
 
104 GIORGIO. 
 
 " What is it, brother, friend ? Nay, lean on me j 
 I do implore you, tell me all ! " 
 
 " Not now : 
 I cannot — you will learn it all too soon ! " 
 And Pietro shook his head and turned to go; 
 But in another moment darted back, 
 With a fierce gesture flung his arms round Gior- 
 gio 
 And clasped him in swift embrace, and then, 
 While tears burst suddenly from his downcast 
 
 eyes, 
 And crying out, "God bless you ! — Oh, God bless 
 
 you ! " 
 He broke away and vanished through the curtain, 
 Ere Giorgio, all confounded with surprise. 
 Could hold him back or question more. 
 
 "Kind Saints!" 
 He thought, left thus alone, and paced the floor 
 Himself now, half alarmed. " What could have 
 
 ailed 
 The poor, dear boy ? Some serious business this 
 
 time ; 
 For in good truth I never knew him yet 
 To fret his soul with over-tender scruples, 
 Nor ever saw him moved like this ! Strange, 
 strange ! 
 
GIORGIO. 105 
 
 A drunken brawl, mayhap, or jealous quarrel, 
 Some rivalry. Ay, ay, fair eyes, I 'd swear, 
 Have done their wonted mischief! Well, pray 
 
 Heaven 
 His hands may not be stained with human 
 
 blood, 
 That his hot temper led him not to do 
 Some serious harm, — to slay his adversary, 
 And be compelled to fly the town, perchance, — 
 Nay, God forbid it be so bad as that, 
 And keep us clean from guilt ! " 
 
 And musing thus 
 In fatal blindness and security, — 
 Guessing at naught, — he gradually took comfort, 
 And walked till he grew calm enough again 
 To seize his brush once more. 
 
 But on the morrow 
 He flung it down earlier than was his wont, 
 And started out to seek Regina. Pietro 
 Had been from home all night, nor that whole 
 
 " day 
 Had shown himself, nor even sent a message. 
 Yet well accustomed to such freaks in him. 
 This of itself had ne'er roused aught of fear 
 In Giorgio's unsuspecting soul. But somehow, 
 Despite all arguments he might employ, 
 
I06 GIORGIO. 
 
 Pietro's wild looks, acts, and wilder words, 
 That then scarce listened to, came one by one 
 Back to his memory till he knew them all, 
 Haunted him strangely and persistently. 
 Would he forgive him, — had he not asked 
 
 thus ? 
 For some black sin ! Forgive, — wherefore just 
 
 he? 
 What had he to forgive, — v/hat wrong had Pie- 
 
 tro 
 Done him who knew it not ? It might have 
 
 been 
 His tongue and senses were confused by wine. 
 Yet no, impossible ! It was not that. 
 He 'd been in sober and most fearful earnest. 
 What could it mean ? And Giorgio's wearied 
 
 heart 
 Revolved the unanswered question without end. 
 
 He slept but ill, tossed restlessly about. 
 And often started up from feverish dreams 
 Of some great terror, undefined yet awful, 
 That left its shadow on his waking hours. 
 For all the day a dread, foreboding sense 
 Of coming evil, of some dark disaster, 
 Had hung upon his soul with heavy weight, 
 
GIORGIO. 107 
 
 Clogging his hands till they grew nigh unfit 
 To do their wonted tasks, until he yearned 
 To pour his troubles into her sweet ear, 
 Lay all his burdens down on her loved breast, 
 Who only could give comfort. — Oh what balm, 
 What rest, what joy, in those deep, lustrous eyes 
 Fixed still and tenderly upon your face. 
 Drinking the words from off your lips ! — Ah 
 
 heaven, 
 He never yet had craved the sight of her 
 More hungrily than on this very eve. 
 Would this slow oar had wings ! he thought, 
 
 and drove 
 His bark so swiftly forward that the water 
 Dashed sharply hissing round him. 
 
 'Twas yet fa? 
 From sunset, but the storm of yesterday, 
 Whose fury mayhap was not wholly spent, 
 Was either rolling back to its old haunts. 
 Or had left memories of its threats behind, 
 For a wide strip of sullen clouds again 
 Hung low in the horizon, spread itself 
 Far out, right in the pathway of the sun, 
 Quenching his dazzling light from time to time, 
 So that a shadow suddenly seemed to fall 
 O'er land and sea. 
 
I08 GIORGIO. 
 
 They were thus dimmed when Giorgio, 
 In briefer time than he had ever made 
 The weary way, drew near the house that looked 
 Bleak, silent, and deserted, — ah, but then 
 She was not wont to watch for him so early! — 
 And hastened through the court-yard eagerly, 
 To enter at the ever open door. 
 But when he reached it, lo ! 'twas closed and 
 
 bolted. 
 For when he tried the latch it would not yield. 
 Great Heaven, what did this mean ! A sicken- 
 ing fear 
 Crept to his heart and shook the hands where- 
 with 
 He knocked, and too impatient to wait long 
 Thumped loud and louder, looked and listened 
 
 vaguely 
 Upward and down, and round on every side 
 For any sign of life, and then called out, — 
 " Regina, open, open ; for God's sake, — 
 'T is I, your Giorgio ! " 
 
 Many minutes long, 
 To him a torturing, dread eternity. 
 Naught stirred inside, none seemed to hear. — 
 
 Were all 
 Within there dead, kind mercy ? — Then at last 
 
GIORGIO. 109 
 
 The one small window o'er the door swung back, 
 A grizzly head peered out, — Regina's father, — 
 And asked, in querulous, whining tones, " Who 's 
 
 that ? 
 Who makes such noise down there, — who comes 
 
 to me, 
 A stricken, sick, betrayed, undone old man ? " 
 
 " Father, 't is I j pray, haste and let me in ! " 
 Cried Giorgio, with imploring look and gesture. 
 
 The old man shaded his dim eyes, and leaned 
 Still farther from the window. " Ah, 't is you ! " 
 He then exclaimed, and now his croaking voice 
 Rose high and shrill with fury, — "You, you, you, 
 The vile, damned, cursed seducer of my child ! — 
 But now you 've your reward ! " 
 
 God, what was this ! 
 Yet for a moment e'en the deadly anguish 
 Rising in Giorgio's soul was overwhelmed 
 By blazing indignation, and he cried, — 
 " What, have you then gone mad, Giovanni Sarto ! 
 What prate you there, — curse me for her seducer ! 
 In sight of God she is my rightful wife. 
 And in a little while, I swear to you. 
 When I Ve scraped gold enough to keep her fitly, 
 
no GIORGIO. 
 
 I '11 make her so in sight of all the world, 
 And clinch our union, sanctify the bond, 
 By all the priests you please ! " 
 
 " You ruined her ! " 
 The other heedlessly went on, as though 
 Giorgio had never spoken. "Ay, foul villain, 
 You first corrupted her sweet innocence. 
 For ere she saw your face, — but now, but now," 
 And then he broke into a hideous laugh, 
 " You 've your reward, — to think on 't comforts 
 me ! ''* 
 
 " By the great Lord of heaven, what mean you 
 
 there ! 
 Where is Regina. Let me in, I tell you, 
 Or I '11 break down the door ! " cried Giorgio, 
 
 wildly, 
 Half frenzied with despair, — "I '11 in to her 
 This very instant ! " 
 
 " Ay, come in, come in. 
 And find her ! " cackled the old man above, — 
 "Come, look for her, — she's gone!" 
 
 " Gone ! " Giorgio shrieked. 
 "Yes, fled with that fine, gallant gentleman. 
 Your noble friend, Pietro by name, I think. 
 Who came to see her morn and noon, — all times 
 When he 'd not meet you here ! " 
 
GIORGIO. 1 1 1 
 
 A thunderbolt 
 Seemed to fall crashing into Giorgio's soul, 
 Striking him dumb and senseless, paralyzing 
 Pulses and brain and power of speech and mo- 
 tion. 
 His heart stood still, a purple cloud of blood 
 Floated before his eyes, then dizzy darkness, 
 A roar like thunder filled his deafened ears ; 
 He reeled, and plunging forward would have fallen 
 But that the hands which he threw blindly out. 
 Struck on the rough stone wall, and with a shock 
 Brought back dim consciousness. Then rushed 
 
 on him 
 That first strange look he had surprised in Pie- 
 
 tro, 
 His absences, — his words and tears last night, — 
 Regina's restlessness of late, — all, all 
 For crushing, damning, overwhelming proof 
 That it was true. And yet his soul rebelled, 
 Reared itself madly up 'gainst the conviction. 
 And steadying himself as best he might, 
 He tried to speak, but vainly gasped for breath, 
 While the old man, who first gazed on trimnphant, 
 Moved by the awful anguish he beheld, 
 Burst now into a piteous moan and wailed, — 
 " My child, my child ; O my sweet only child, 
 
112 GIORGIO. 
 
 How could you have the heart to leave me thus, 
 Your poor old father ! " 
 
 " It is false^ I say ! 
 You lie, you lie, and may the damned lie 
 Stick in your throat and choke you ! " panted 
 
 Giorgio, 
 In a hoarse, stifled voice that struggled still 
 In vain for one loud note. 
 
 "Would that I did!" 
 Sarto whined out. " O Holy Virgin mother, 
 'T is but too true ! She must have let him in 
 Last evening late when I was long asleep, 
 And they were off this morning ere the dawn. 
 For while 'twas dark yet, I woke up and heard 
 Swift, muffled footsteps coming down the hall, 
 And whispering voices at my door, and then 
 She softly called to me, 'Farewell, dear father, 
 Forgive your child, — you '11 hear from us ere 
 
 long!' 
 And he said, louder, * Here, we leave you some- 
 thing ! ' 
 When I sprang up and opened, they were gone, 
 But I found this, — this gold upon the doorstep ! " 
 His shaky hand held up a well-filled purse. 
 And for a moment thrust it out, as though 
 He'd toss it from the window, in the next 
 
GIORGIO. 113 
 
 He hugged it to his heart, and moaned again, — 
 " My child ; O my sweet daughter ! " 
 
 Giorgio waited 
 To hear no more, but flung himself full weight 
 Against the groaning door; one desperate effort, 
 And the loose bolts gave way and let him through, 
 Who, storming on, in one bound gained the stairs, 
 Flung the old man aside who came to meet him, 
 And cried, " Hold, hold ! where now ? " and dash- 
 ing up 
 Another flight, reached in an instant more 
 Her well-known room, — still, empty, and deserted. 
 
 The door was left wide open and the sun. 
 Unclouded now, lit through the narrow window 
 A drear, disordered scene. On every hand 
 Signs of the flurried haste of swift departure, — 
 The curtain pulled aside and half torn down, — 
 The bed untouched, — a broken chair o'er- 
 
 turned, — 
 Wardrobe and drawers gaping wide and bare, — 
 Nought left to tell that she had once dwelt here- 
 Save her poor work-dress, tossed into a corner 
 Beside her slippers, — floor and bed and chairs 
 Strewn broadcast here and there with worthless 
 
 scraps 
 
n4 GIORGIO. 
 
 Of crumpled ribbon, lace, and faded flowers, 
 A hundred bits of tinsel finery, 
 Such as were once her pleasure. 
 
 Giorgio stood in the middle of the floor, 
 Cold, dead, immovable, as turned to stone. 
 And gazed at all ; — only when he beheld 
 Close to his feet a broidered gauntlet, — Pietro's, 
 He 'd seen it on his hand, — he turned away, 
 With a chill, sickening shudder at his heart. 
 And not till then perceived upon the table 
 A folded note. He darted toward it. " Giorgio," 
 Was scrawled on it in hasty characters 
 Scarce legible. Fiercely he tore it open, 
 And never marked that something hard and round 
 Dropped out and rolled across the floor. The 
 
 paper 
 Shook in his hand, the letters whirled and danced, 
 A gathering darkness blurred his straining sight. 
 Till, blinded, he scarce read the few brief lines : 
 "May Heaven help you, and God forgive us 
 
 both! 
 Though I were damned, I must have loved her 
 
 still, — 
 And she, — returns your ring, — forget us ! — 
 
 Pietro." 
 
GIORGIO. 115 
 
 The crumpled paper fluttered down. The world 
 Toppled to ruin over Giorgio's head, 
 The spinning ground slid from beneath his feet, 
 And, sinking on his knees, he beat his breast 
 With his clinched fists. Somehow that seemed to 
 
 ease 
 The intolerable agony within. 
 Soothe for a moment the convulsive throes 
 That shook the bursting heartstrings, while his eye 
 Rolled wildly as in frenzy. God, God, God ! 
 If there had yet been room for lingering doubt, 
 Here was an end of all ! Then suddenly 
 A crimson light flashed near him; he perceived 
 The ring, his gift to her, and springing up 
 He set his foot on it with frantic gesture. 
 Ay, let that too be crushed, destroyed, undone, 
 As faith was broken, hope and joy had perished, 
 Friendship and love gone down to hell together ! 
 And so he trampled it and ground it down 
 With iron heel, until the delicate pearls 
 Burst from their setting, and the shivered ruby 
 Lay scattered o'er the floor like drops of blood, 
 
 " Ay, blood, blood, blood ! " he shouted out 
 
 aloud, — 
 And a fierce stream of vivifying fire 
 
Il6 GIORGIO. 
 
 Shot tingling through his chilly, lifeless limbs 
 Down to his very finger-tips, infused 
 New thrilling, quickening power into his soul, — 
 This shame could be washed out, this anguish 
 
 drowned 
 But in the red heart's blood of both of them. 
 " Ah, infamous villain, — murderer, murderer ! " 
 He cried again, — " You 've murdered all of us. 
 Yourself and her and me ! " — and with the words 
 Rushed madly from the house, like one who hears 
 The scourges of the furies hiss behind him, 
 And breathless gained his boat. 
 
 As he leaped in 
 A figure skulking on the shore drew near 
 Offering his services. 'T was old Andrea, 
 Who on so many and many a golden eve 
 Had rowed the lovers out to sea. But now 
 Giorgio cried wildly, — " No, no, no ! — stand off ! 
 I will no more of you ! Vile cur, I swear 
 You knew of 't, — helped the other, — though you 
 
 gape 
 Like one surprised ! Away, or by the Lord ! " — 
 And with a threatening gesture raised the oar 
 As though to strike at him, so the old man 
 Sprang back in half affright, and stood and gazed 
 In wonder and alarm long after Giorgio, 
 
GIORGIO, 117 
 
 Who rowed away in furious haste, and then 
 He tapped his forehead with his horny finger, 
 And shook his head, and muttering to himself 
 Went off to find young Beppo and his bark. 
 All seemed not well, — Ay, it were best, he 
 
 thought, 
 If some one followed him ! — pointing his thumb 
 Backward across his shoulder towards the sea, 
 Where Giorgio's skiff, just dashing round a point, 
 Vanished from sight. 
 
 Home for an instant first, -^ 
 O Heaven, what bitter mockery in the namej 
 Where was home now, on all the whole wide 
 
 earth ! — 
 To fetch the dagger that should drink their heart's 
 
 blood, 
 And then, — ay, and where then ? — where had 
 
 they fled, 
 Where should he seek, where find, where follow 
 
 them t 
 Fool that he was, — cursed fool ! The flying oar 
 Paused in mid air ; — then suddenly rose before 
 
 him 
 A long, low island, — grass and trees, — the 
 
 Lido, — 
 She 'd ever wished to go there. Ay, ay, ay I 
 
Il8 GIORGIO. 
 
 He knew it by the wild leap of his heart, 
 He saw it clearly with his inward vision, 
 There he should find them. And the bark sped 
 
 on, 
 Nor made another halt till, with a shock, 
 It struck upon the steps of Giorgio's house. 
 
 He cleared the stairs and flew into the work- 
 room 
 With winged feet ; snatched from a dusty nook 
 The dagger, buried somewhere 'neath a heap 
 Of gorgeous drapery, — O God, till now 
 It ne'er had served but peaceful purposes ! — 
 And would have hastened out with equal speed, 
 When his eye lit upon Regina's image 
 Smiling in undimmed beauty from the easel 
 Where he had left it yester eve. 
 
 He plucked 
 The dagger from its sheath, fell on the canvas. 
 And plunged the steel again and yet again 
 Into the tender bosom, that seemed swelled 
 With gentle heart-throbs and warm, living breath ; 
 Struck right and left at the fair face and hands ; 
 And when at last the work of many days. 
 Of his most anxious care and loving toil, 
 Fluttered in ribbons from the empty frame. 
 
GIORGIO. 1 19 
 
 He drew the dagger out, stared at it vaguely, 
 Wiped it upon his sleeve, tossed down the sheath, 
 Hid the bare, glittering blade deep in his vest, 
 And rushed away, while a wild, ringing laugh 
 Echoed behind him through the silent room. 
 
 Now for the Lido ! He bent o'er his task 
 Like one who stakes all powers of mind and 
 
 body, 
 Nay, life itself, on one sole, cherished aim ; 
 Reached, passed, and left behind all other barks, 
 The Grand Canal, the watery lanes and alleys. 
 The town itself, ere long, and drifted soon 
 Far out upon the open sea alone, 
 Still rowing on and on and ever on 
 With unabated speed. 
 
 The sun that now 
 Hung low within the checkered dome of heaven. 
 From time to time flashed through the jealous 
 
 clouds 
 That hid his royal pomp, and sent a burst 
 Of glory to the earth, that strewed the waves 
 With dancing gold and many-colored jewels, 
 As on that other eve, on many eves 
 When he, — and Giorgio would not see them, 
 
 halted. 
 
I20 GIORGIO. 
 
 Raised up the oar again and furiously 
 Struck at the water, so the spurting spray 
 First sprang up high, and then fell back in 
 
 showers 
 Like glittering raindrops. In another instant 
 He labored on once more, till his hot brow 
 Grew moist with chilly damps, his nostrils quivered 
 With panting breath, and he set down his teeth 
 So firmly on his lips that purple drops 
 Started from under them, — sped, toiled, strained 
 
 on 
 Till aching nerve and muscle could no more, 
 And he was forced to pause. 
 
 He gazed around. 
 O God, God, God ! and what were now to him 
 Or sun or stars, day, night, earth, sea, or sky, 
 But desolation, endless desolation ! 
 The darkness of the grave, the pall of death 
 Hung o'er the universe, stared in his face. 
 Had overshadowed, buried, swallowed all ! 
 A bitterness untold, unspeakable, 
 A sickening, deadly loathing of all things 
 O'erwhelmed his soul, rose in a swelling flood 
 Up to his very lips. The fire there kindled 
 Still smarted in his breast, yet sent not now 
 A vivifying stream through every vein, 
 
GIORGIO. 121 
 
 But smouldered on like a fierce, creeping flame 
 That gnaws and saps the inmost props of being, 
 With hungry eagerness consumes, drinks up 
 The founts of life itself. And yet, and yet, 
 'Mid all this wreck and ruin of his soul, — 
 For all the damning proof he had beheld, — 
 A feeble doubt crept to his frenzied heart. 
 Was he awake ? Was he not ill — not mad ? 
 Was not all this a fevered, fearful dream, 
 A nightmare, a delirium ? Ay, past doubt ! 
 He thought, as now and then a sickening chill 
 Shook his sore limbs and made his set teeth chat- 
 ter 
 Until a flying heat rushed over him. 
 It was not true he had been thus betrayed 
 By her and him, — those two on whom he lav- 
 ished 
 The wealth of all his love ! Impossible ! 
 He should awake ere long and find his head 
 Pillowed upon her bosom ! 
 
 He sank down 
 Upon the seat behind him, leaning o'er 
 The boat's low edge exhausted. Then there 
 
 seemed 
 To rise up suddenly from the darkened waves, 
 Close to his own, a face so white, so ghastly, 
 
122 GIORGIO. 
 
 So hollow-eyed, with such drawn, deathlike feat- 
 ures, 
 That, seized with awful pity, he threw out 
 His arms as if to help it, and perceived 
 It was himself he saw, — struck both his hands 
 Before his face, and groaned aloud. — O God ! 
 And wherefore wait till he had slain them both 
 Ere he could die himself ? — put a swift end 
 To this insufferable, maddening torture, 
 This fiery fiend devouring heart and brain. 
 Wherefore not here seek cool forgetfulness 
 111 that black flood below, this very instant ? — 
 And springing up so that the rocking boat 
 Dipped water on each side, he had leaped out, 
 But that his hand struck on the dagger's hilt. 
 " Nay, blood, blood, blood ! " he wildly cried 
 
 again ; 
 " I '11 have their blood, their blood, I say ! My 
 
 head 
 Was pillowed on a serpent, — ay, a thing 
 Foul, baleful, poisonous, that must be crushed ! " 
 And thus fell back upon his seat, and seized 
 The oar again, and plied it as before. 
 Speeding away, still on and on and on. 
 Farther and farther out, until the Lido 
 Rose from the sea at length. 
 
GIORGIO. 123 
 
 A little while 
 New power appeared once more to bear him up, 
 And then gave suddenly way. His head swam 
 
 round, 
 Black shadows blurred his sight, his fluttering 
 
 heart 
 Pulsed with slow, broken throbs. Great God, 
 
 the way 
 Was long, interminable ! Now the goal 
 Loomed up so near he might have touched the 
 
 banks. 
 Then seemed again miles, endless miles, away. — 
 If he should swoon, — sink, — die, ere he could 
 
 reach it ! — 
 But suddenly glancing feebly round again. 
 He saw at last, at last, — the Lord be thanked ! — 
 The island close behind him. One turn more, 
 One brief, last, desperate effort, and the boat 
 Swept round into an inlet, — ground its keel. 
 
 Giorgio sprang out so swift and furiously 
 That his light bark, ere he could grasp the chain, 
 Drifted away from shore and out to sea. — 
 What matter, — ah, he ne'er should need it 
 
 more ! — 
 Without a further glance he hastened on 
 
124 GIORGIO. 
 
 To a dark clump of trees, there to the left, 
 Whence as he thought came sounds of whispering 
 
 voices 
 And a low laugh. Tall bushes on one side 
 Grew round the spot, and to this sheltering wall 
 He softl}^ crept, and parting it looked through. — 
 O God, O God, what sight smote on his eyes ! — 
 He had not been deceived, — there, there they 
 
 were ! 
 
 'Twixt high, o'erhanging trees a stout, old vine 
 
 Had tossed its twisted stem from trunk to trunk, 
 
 And once had let it down nigh to the ground, 
 
 So that it formed a swinging, airy seat. 
 
 Here Pietro sat, one arm twined round the branch, 
 
 The other folding close Regina's form, 
 
 Who rested on his knees. He in dark velvet 
 
 And golden chains, she in a gorgeous robe 
 
 Of pale-blue, flowered silk, a bunch of lilies 
 
 Upon her bosom, and about her throat, 
 
 That, bared far down, showed all its dazzling 
 
 whiteness, 
 A string of pearl, shimmering like molten gold 
 As now the sun, triumphant o'er the clouds. 
 Poured out a last deep flood of parting glory, 
 While on the hands, clasped in her lap, where once 
 
GIORGIO, 125 
 
 The ruby had its place, a diamond flashed. 
 Her loosened hair coiling round both their feet, 
 The heads of both crowned with a wreath of vine- 
 leaves, 
 Smiles on their parted lips, — silent that moment, 
 But surely they had spoken but just now, 
 For on Regina's cheek a faint flush lingered, — 
 They sat like beautiful Bacchantes, drunk 
 With love and joy. In his hot eyes that hung 
 With unslaked craving on her face and form, 
 A hungry passion burned ; and her dark eyes. 
 Though now turned half away from him, o'erflowed 
 With happy tenderness and clinging love. 
 Such glad, complete surrender of herself. 
 That they seemed melting in sweet tears. 
 
 Giorgio, 
 With one devouring glance that stamped the scene 
 In living fire upon his brain, saw all. 
 Marked every smallest thing so fully, sharply. 
 He could have told each wrinkle in her robe, 
 As he stood motionless, all his whole life 
 Concentred in his glaring eye, save that. 
 As his right hand held back the bending twigs, 
 The other slowly, steadily drew forth 
 The dagger from his vest, grasped the bare blade 
 So tightly that the two-edged steel cut deep 
 
126 GIORGIO. 
 
 Into the encircling fingers. He nor knew 
 Nor felt it. For just then Regina, turning, 
 With the soft words, " O Pietro, O my love ! " 
 Twined her white, clinging arms about his neck, 
 And hid her flushing face upon his breast. 
 While he, both arms thrown round the pliant form, 
 That seemed to quiver 'neath his touch, strained 
 
 her 
 Passionately closer still, and bending down 
 Showered kisses on the golden head, — and both 
 Thus mutely clasped in one long, deep embrace, 
 Folded each other from the whole wide world. 
 
 Now was the moment come, — now would he 
 
 strike 
 At those two hearts, there, there so close to him 
 Mingling in one hot throb, — O God, O God ! — 
 And Giorgio snatched the blade to his right hand, 
 Prepared to burst from out his hiding place. — 
 Then suddenly rushed on him, distinct as life, 
 A vision of his picture, — those two youths 
 Where one armed with the steel creeps after him 
 Who walks in proud defiance, and how he 
 That 's crowned, proves victor, turns and slays 
 
 the other, — 
 And that's the end of all, — all, all the tale, 
 
GIORGIO. 1 27 
 
 As he had said ! And then a sickening sense, 
 That here or there, if they or lived or died, 
 What could it profit now, or what avail : 
 For life or death, time or eternity. 
 All was to him forever lost, lost, lost ! 
 
 The dagger trembled in his burning hand ; 
 
 In the next instant it was raised on high, 
 
 And flashing through the air in one long sweep, 
 
 Dropped with a hissing sound into the sea. 
 
 The sunlit water spurting up like blood. 
 
 Where in the deep it sank from sight. And then 
 
 An awful cry burst from the ashen lips, 
 
 He tossed his arms up wildly in the air, 
 
 And so fell forward prone upon his face 
 
 Like one shot through the heart. 
 
 How long he lay 
 Thus wrapt in utter, blest unconsciousness. 
 Clutching the turf in his cold, rigid hands, 
 He never knew j but when he woke at last. 
 And slowly raised himself on hands and knees. 
 And painfully sat up and gazed about. 
 And suddenly then remembered all, — 't was night. 
 Stillness and darkness round, save that the sea 
 With gentle murmur lapped the quiet shore. 
 
128 GIORGIO. 
 
 And that the waning moon cast feeble lights 
 Down through the leafy branches overhead. 
 The moon ? Nay, nay, but that was not the moon, 
 The twisted, greenish sickle that hung there 
 Low in the heavens ! that was a crooked sword, 
 Short, sharp, and deadly, such as Eastern kings — 
 Ha, ha, he knew it well ! — were wont to use 
 To shed the blood of former favorites ! 
 Blood ! had he, too, shed blood ? Theirs, — 
 
 hers, — his own ? — 
 He gazed upon his hands, — ay, there were stains, 
 Dark stains, — the scent of blood on his left 
 
 hand ! 
 But yes, — he 'd held the steel there, and felt now 
 A feeble smart in the deep gash it made, 
 And his right palm was clean. Yet, after all, — 
 Those two, — should he not find them on the 
 
 ground, 
 Locked in each other's arms in death? 
 
 Tottering, 
 He rose upon his feet and staggered forward 
 A few short steps, groped through the thickset 
 
 bushes. 
 Until he stood upon the very spot 
 Where he had seen them. No, they were not 
 
 there ; 
 
GIORGIO, 129 
 
 Here, too, but emptiness, darkness, and silence. 
 Had they been ever liere in flesh and blood ; 
 Was it not all, mayhap, a mocking phantom? 
 No, no, for 'twixt the trees there hung the vine 
 That had supported both; and oh, close by, 
 Upon the ground, lay a white lily, — dew 
 Shone on the stainless leaves, — a lily such 
 As she had worn ! 
 
 He stooped to pick it up 
 So hastily that his feeble limbs gave way. 
 And he sank down upon his knees once more, 
 Pressing the lily to his lips. — O God ! 
 Had it not rested on her heart, her bosom ! — 
 Then falling wholly prostrate, kissed the turf 
 Her feet had pressed. Sweet heaven, if she were 
 
 dead. 
 And this a flower plucked from her quiet grave, 
 God, God, what rest, what balm, what joy were 
 
 that! 
 A stream of tears broke from his eyes, and then 
 He lay quite still, crushing the odorous blossom 
 'Gainst burning cheek and lip. 
 
 Thus, shortly after, 
 Andrea and his young companion, Beppo, 
 Found him at last whom they had vainly sought 
 To gain on long ere this. For he had rowed 
 9 
 
I30 GIORGIO. 
 
 So fast and furiously, and had the start, 
 And oft unwittingly swerved from his course, 
 To travel round and round in sweeping circles, 
 That more than once they nigh lost sight of him. 
 Willing, resistless as a feeble child, 
 He suffered them to raise him, lead him off 
 Into their boat, and lay him gently down. 
 And while he neither spoke nor made a moan 
 The whole long way, they bore him slowly home 
 To faithful old Susanna. 
 
 "When I'm dead,— 
 And, God be praised, the end is near at hand ! — 
 Bury me on the spot where I was found. 
 Out on the Lido, — 't is my sole, last wish ! " 
 Said Giorgio, loudly, suddenly sitting up 
 With clear, bright eyes, when he had groaned 
 
 and tossed 
 Three days in raging fever on his couch. 
 
 " Oh, Heaven be with you, child, you will not 
 
 die ! " 
 Exclaimed his nurse, rejoiced to see him thus, — 
 But then broke off aghast. 
 
 An awful look 
 
GIORGIO. 131 
 
 Convulsed the wasted features, and he made 
 A plunge at her with his clinched fists, and 
 
 cried, — 
 "Old woman, tell me not that I could live, 
 Lest I should strangle you, — go from the world 
 A murder on my soul ! " 
 
 The Lord preserve us ! 
 Susanna thought, and shrank affrighted back, — 
 He raves again, — the fever's come once more, 
 But please the Saints and the dear Virgin Mother, 
 We '11 save him yet, — poor, darling boy ! — 
 
 But God 
 Had otherwise ordained. 
 
 An autumn day. 
 Chill, dark, and cheerless, 'neath a heavy sky 
 Sunless since early morn, and gray with fog 
 That might each moment break in drizzly rain, 
 Hung o'er the silent city in the sea, 
 When a strange convoy passed from Giorgio's 
 
 door. — 
 An endless line of barges draped in black. 
 And filled with solemn mourners, men and women, 
 Who mute and tearful gazed upon a bark 
 That floated in their midst, its freight a bier 
 
132 GIORGIO. 
 
 Hung with a pall, whereon a silver cross 
 Shone darkly. Round about at head and foot 
 Tall tapers feebly burned through the damp air, 
 Like eyes grown dim with weeping. At the prow 
 Stood the still figure of a dark-robed priest, 
 Holding a crucifix aloft. — And thus 
 While a low funeral chant rose up on high, 
 And distant bells tolled faintly 'mid the strain. 
 The dreary train moved o'er the leaden tide. 
 Slowly through the canals, — beyond the city, — 
 On towards the Island. — 
 
 But far out at sea, 
 'Neath cloudless skies, a ship that spread its sails 
 Like a white dove on sunny waters, bore 
 Two lovers, standing hand in hand on deck, 
 To foreign countries and an unknown fate. 
 
ANADYOMENE. 
 
 "And this the vision that sometimes made radiant 
 The poet's solitary midnight hours." 
 
 From the dark bosom of the ocean born, 
 
 From white-capped billows of the surging sea,. 
 In matchless beauty thousand times more fair 
 
 Than all the splendors of the golden morn. 
 The silver spray down-showering from her hair, 
 
 Whose swelling meshes tenderly embrace 
 Each pearly limb, fashioned in perfect grace, — 
 
 She rose into the light that flushed the skies. 
 Yet breathless paused upon the verge of heaven 
 
 To gaze at her, — within her starry eyes. 
 The smile upon her lips, the peace divine 
 
 Of her white, placid brow, no faintest sign 
 Of the fierce storms that ever shake and rend 
 
 The troubled floods, unceasing, without end. 
 The throes and travail that did cleave and sway 
 
 The storm-tossed deeps that gave her to the 
 day. 
 
134 ANADYOMENE. 
 
 So from the bosom of my deepest soul, 
 
 Shalt thou rise up, O my immortal song! 
 More witching fair, more passing sweet and strong 
 
 Than all the warbling heard in wood or vale 
 Of gladdest lark or saddest nightingale, 
 
 So perfect in thy simple majesty, 
 The accents of thy honeyed melody, 
 
 Thy fame shall echo sea and shore along, 
 The eager nations round about thee throng. 
 
 To list entranced. And in thy magic strain, 
 No jarring note, no broken chord betray 
 
 The soreness of the hot, unceasing fray. 
 The aching burden and the bitter pain, 
 
 The dreams fulfilled not, and the hope proved 
 vain, 
 The prayers unanswered, and the burning tears, 
 
 The thousand ills of many patient years, 
 That gave thee to the world ! 
 
THREE SONNETS. 
 
 PAST. 
 
 Irrevocable, changeless, deathless Past, 
 Thou wholly and forever art our own, 
 Who canst not be undone or overthrown 
 By scorching suns or withering tempest's blast, 
 But dost defy the gods! — We hold thee fast 
 As we may grasp that gem from shores un- 
 known, — 
 Itself the symbol of a day long flown, — 
 That surging sea-waves bring and upward cast. 
 And what thy shining chambers may enfold, — 
 The pearly dew-drop of some ecstasy. 
 Or a dark sting of anguish, that of old 
 Drew smiles or bloody tears relentlessly, — 
 Even sorrow into beauty grows at last. 
 Embalmed in thy transfiguring gold, O Past! 
 
136 THREE SONNETS. 
 
 PRESENT. 
 
 But Present, thou, who through eternity 
 Flow'st Hke a river in whose midst we stand, 
 Where we would vainly stay with outstretched 
 
 hand 
 One of the drops rolled on resistlessly, — 
 What shifting image may be glassed in thee, 
 Or clouds or lights, a fruitful, fragrant land, 
 Or barren fields of burning desert sand, 
 We comprehend not thy strange mystery. 
 Thou art, yet art not, thou dost live and die 
 Each moment, — from the hour that goes before 
 Tak'st wherewith to sustain and satisfy 
 The life that for a breath endures, no more 
 To yield it up to her who, still and fast, 
 Even now has changed into that deathless Past. 
 
 FUTURE. 
 
 And thou, unfathomed Future, all unknown, 
 That coverest like a misty cloud and gray, 
 The darkness of an unfamiliar way. 
 How long, how brief until thou too hast grown 
 
THREE SONNETS. 1 37 
 
 Into that gliding drop or shimmering stone ? — 
 What hidest thou? The lightning's lurid ray- 
 That shall destroy us, or the smiling day 
 Whence night and tempest have forever flown ? — 
 We cannot guess; — as our blind path we grope 
 Like one to whom the sunlight waxes dim, 
 May but reach out and with undying hope 
 Cling closer to the tender hand of Him 
 To whom no day is ended or begun, 
 But Present, Past, and Future are as one ! 
 
TWO SONNETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Through a wide, barren heath, where dank and 
 
 gray 
 Low grass and weeds creep feebly o'er the ground, 
 'Mid whose hard blades no bright-hued flower is 
 
 found, 
 Where life seems fainting, and the pallid day 
 Dying perpetually, cheered by no ray 
 Of happy sunlight, and no gladsome sound 
 In earth or sky — there circles found and round 
 On heavy wing, yet ceaseless, without stay, 
 My weary soul, like a lost, voiceless bird. 
 Oh, who shall find a path whereon to flee 
 From out these shades ? — who speak the magic 
 
 word 
 Might from this dread enchantment set me free? 
 Who held such power supreme, seemed great as 
 
 He 
 That made the lame to walk, the blind to see. 
 
TJVO SONNETS. 1 39 
 
 II. 
 
 I know full well what with supernal might 
 Could burst the fetters of this bitter thrall, 
 Turn into flowering Spring the brown-leaved 
 
 Fall, 
 Put the gray, ghastly shadows to swift flight, 
 Transform the darkness of the blindest night 
 To so resplendent, golden day, that all 
 The earth and sky should to each other call 
 In one great anthem of untold delight. 
 It is but love that holds such power supreme, 
 Love, I but knew as in a broken dream, 
 A fleeting image passing fair. And He 
 That made the lame to walk, the blind to see, 
 Pray and was He not Love, and shall that be, 
 O my sad soul, not sweet enough for thee ? 
 
TO R. G. W. 
 
 Stand off, all ye who in the darkness blind 
 Left me to fight dark waters far from shore, 
 And now press round me ! — would chilled limbs 
 
 restore 
 With purple and fine linen, haste to wind 
 The death-damp brow with laurel, and to bind 
 Soft sandals on the feet, that, pricked and sore, 
 So long unshod their weary burden bore, 
 So long alone their rugged path did find ! — 
 Now, when God's grace my soul from ills has 
 
 freed, 
 The shore is gained and breaks the golden 
 
 morn, — 
 Now do ye come ! — Away ! — alike I scorn 
 Your smiles or frowns, who in my deepest need 
 Had suffered me to perish utterly, — 
 Stand off, I say, now will I naught of ye ! 
 
TO R. G. W. 141 
 
 II. 
 
 But thou, whose voice, thyself unseen, unknown, 
 
 Even like a light pierced through those shadows 
 gray, 
 
 And gave me first Godspeed, and bid me stay 
 
 My soul with hope and courage, — thou whose 
 own 
 
 Is wrought so fine, that some strange fate alone 
 
 Shut in forever the immortal lay 
 
 Thou mightest have sung, — thou, near in dark- 
 ness, pray 
 
 When that pale morn to full-flushed noon has 
 grown. 
 
 Be with me in the day ! — Ay, suffer still 
 
 That sitting at thy feet with humble heart, 
 
 A deeper wisdom and a subtler art 
 
 I learn from thee, for though my fame should 
 fill 
 
 All the wide earth, to me thy smile or frown 
 
 Is still the sharpest thorn or proudest crown. 
 
SONNET. 
 
 Shall it then be with swift and joyous feet, 
 And smiles upon her lips, and beaming eyes, 
 My soul shall pass the gates of Paradise, 
 Where rest unspeakable and bliss complete 
 Wait each new guest ? Shall it be passing sweet 
 Above the shadows of the earth to rise, 
 That deep below in troubled darkness lies 
 A far, faint speck ? Nay, but methinks that fleet. 
 Like a great wave, shall seize on me once more 
 All ills and bitterness and agony. 
 All hopes and pangs and tears I knew of yore 
 On that poor earth whose aching memory 
 Through all eternity my heart must keep — 
 That I shall cover up my face and weep. 
 
SONNET. 
 
 What wilt thou grant me, Heaven, if thou be 
 
 found 
 But half as fair as dreams have pictured thee? 
 The answer to life's unsolved mystery. 
 Whose shifting shadows our dim path surround ? 
 The welcome of dear friends, whose voices sound 
 In our glad ears no more ? The victory 
 Of that great love at last, that hopelessly 
 Held all my deepest life forever bound ? 
 Nay, not these joys, how passing great and sweet, 
 I crave of thee, O Heaven ! But that once more 
 Unto the soul that with slow, shrinking feet 
 Enters thy fields unknown, thou mayst restore 
 That godly fire of youth, that long ago 
 Clothed earth itself in Heaven's unfading glow. 
 
144 ^"^ 
 
 TO 
 
 TWO SONNETS. 
 
 Thou know'st it now, O Love ! whose eyes un- 
 sealed, 
 Drink gladdened in the dewy flush and blow 
 Of golden Springs, that do not come and go, 
 But linger evermore on wood and field. 
 Where Life's new streams glide deep and still, 
 
 nor yield 
 Their sweet, eternal course to swifter flow. 
 Save when they thrill, as in a blinding glow 
 The Godhead one brief moment stands revealed, — 
 Thou know'st it now, if some time, moved per- 
 chance 
 By tender grief and pity, from amid 
 Those passing joys, thou turnst a backward glance 
 On the gray earth, in dark and dimness hid, — 
 How I have loved thee through long, silent years, 
 With a great love grown strong in hopeless tears ! 
 
TJVO SONNETS. 1 45 
 
 And yet not this, O Love ! — for it may be 
 That when I too know that new Life, e'en there 
 My lips may keep the broken breath of prayer, 
 Mine eyes the shadow of those tears, — to thee 
 Shall plead for answering love unwillingly ! 
 Nay, if not freely as the joyous air. 
 And swift as fire to fire leaps in one fair 
 Undying flame, thy soul may come to me, ^ 
 I pray thee pass me by, nor cast behind 
 One pitying glance ! — What then, I dare not 
 
 ask, — 
 But God will answer. He will surely find, 
 In mercy there as here, some sacred task 
 To feed my heart and give my hands employ, 
 And turn grief's bitterness to sweetest joy! 
 10 
 
146 TO * *. 
 
 LOST AT SEA. 
 
 HEART ! my heart ! 't is many years ago 
 
 1 sent thee out upon a sparkling sea, 
 Beneath a smiling sky, 
 
 A gallant argosy! 
 
 All thy gay pennons fluttering high, 
 All thy white sails spread proudly to the breeze, 
 Rich with a noble freight, 
 
 Laden with youth and hope and love and joy ! — 
 But so long did I wait, 
 Such a long weary time 
 Watch vainly thy return from day to day, 
 I fancied in some far-off unknown clime, 
 Upon some rock-bound shore, 
 Thou hadst been wrecked, and wouldst be seen 
 no more ! 
 
 But heart, my heart, now after many years, 
 Upon the billows of a murky sea. 
 Beneath a leaden sky, 
 Dost thou return to me ! — 
 
LOST AT SEA. 1 47 
 
 Not with thy pennons fluttering high, 
 
 Not with thy sails spread proudly to the breeze, 
 
 But furled and bound with black, — 
 
 Lighter by half thy freight, and yet full heavier, 
 
 Dost thou at last come back ! 
 
 For oh ! the gallant Captain did command thee, 
 
 For so long happy time. 
 
 He, in good truth, in some far distant clime, 
 
 Upon some unknown shore. 
 
 Was lost at sea, and shall be found no more ! 
 
148 TO * 
 
 BLEST MEMORY. 
 
 Thine image brings such mingled joy and pain, 
 
 I may not know or tell which in my heart 
 Does hold the wider share, the larger part — 
 
 If that the smile be sad, or, yet again. 
 Glad be the tears wherewith I think of thee, 
 
 Bitter the bitterness, the sweetness sweet; 
 Bitter the sweetness, swift and incomplete. 
 
 Or sweet the bitterness, thou givest me ! 
 I know but that in darkness of the night. 
 
 When the world's noisy sounds have died 
 away. 
 As in the fullness of the life and light 
 
 New-born to earth with every rising day, 
 Whatever hour brings thy blest memory, 
 
 It is most sad, most sweet to think of thee! 
 
"/ AM THE resurrection;' ETC. 1 49 
 
 I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE 
 LIFE ! " 
 
 Bury him, bury him, 
 Where sun nor stars may shine, 
 Deep in this heart of mine ! — 
 Lest, gazing e'er on him, 
 These eyes shall grow too dim 
 To see the onward path 
 They yet must travel ! 
 Lest, clasping his too long, 
 These hands no more be strong 
 For the great labor they 
 Yet must accomplish ! 
 These lips to his lips pressed,. 
 Know neither power nor rest, 
 To sing the godly song, 
 Speak the brave, noble words 
 They yet must utter ! 
 
 Bury him, bury him, 
 Deep in a sacred shrine, 
 
150 TO * *. 
 
 In this dark heart of mine 
 
 Far out of sight! — 
 
 Yet shall sweet memory blest — 
 
 My loving thought of him, 
 
 Each hour of day or night 
 
 My soul has need of him, — 
 
 Burst his tomb's portals dim, 
 
 Bid him come forth again, 
 
 Under the skies ! — 
 
 And he in flaming majesty arise. 
 
 Immortal power within his shining eyes, 
 
 Crying, with lips of fire, 
 
 " I am the resurrection and the life I " 
 
SONNET. 151 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Love, when thou com'st — too rare and far be- 
 tween ! — 
 
 In dreams to me that with night's stars must 
 set, 
 
 Canst thou, like him who finds at morn not 
 yet 
 His friend awake, and should not call, but lean 
 Tenderly o'er him, then steal out unseen. 
 
 But leave for greeting on the coverlet 
 
 A starry branch of fragrant blossoms, wet 
 With early dew, — thou, too, not let me glean 
 
 A brief, bright joy from thy fleet visiting ? 
 And not for my sole portion leave the slow, 
 
 Undying throb of grief, sharp as the sting 
 Of pricking thorns ? O Love, yet be it so, — 
 Come even thus ! That bitterness untold 
 Is sweeter than all else the earth may hold ! 
 
IS2 TO 
 
 LIKE HAPPINESS. 
 
 Dear love, thee, too, I 've laid away 
 There where fond hope lies low, 
 
 Who, in the spring-time of her days, 
 Perished full long ago. 
 
 And both like babes ye nestle close 
 
 At his beloved feet 
 Who rests where whispering trees above 
 
 His silent dwelling meet. 
 
 Yet e'en from thy dead eyes, dear love. 
 
 There breaks a tender light. 
 So strong and brave and beautiful, 
 
 So wondrous fair and bright. 
 
 That, reaching forth the dark earth through, 
 
 With all a sunbeam's power. 
 It quickens into life the germs 
 
 Of fragrant grass and flower, 
 
LIKE HAPPINESS. 1 53 
 
 Whose passing sweetness rises up, 
 
 My heart to fill and bless, 
 With a strange sense of deep content 
 
 That is like happiness. 
 
154 ^^ * 
 
 IN THE STILLNESS OF NIGHT. 
 
 In the stillness and the darkness of the solemn, 
 
 star-filled night, 
 Spreads my yearning soul her pinions, takes to 
 
 thee, O Love, her flight ! 
 
 But it pauses fluttering, trembling, hovers for a 
 
 while apart. 
 Ventures not to circle nearer, nestle close upon 
 
 thy heart. 
 
 For with tears do I remember, and in bitter sad- 
 ness own. 
 
 That I gave the name to others, which was thine 
 and thine alone. 
 
 That I left thee and renounced thee, for a dreary 
 
 night and day, 
 Turned my life-blood from its currents, from thy 
 
 face my face away; 
 
TN THE STILLNESS OF NIGHT 1 55 
 
 Thine for whom my waking spirit, when young 
 life was first begun, 
 
 Reached with eager, joyful thirsting, as a blos- 
 som for the sun, 
 
 Blest in all this thirst that ever full contentment 
 
 was denied, 
 More than those who, gazing earthward, may be 
 
 filled and satisfied. 
 
 Like a foolish lamb that straying from its gentle 
 
 shepherd's fold. 
 Far from him seeks sweeter pastures, fresher 
 
 streams of limpid gold. 
 
 Like a child who would discover, sailing in a 
 
 puny shell, 
 Far from home, some land of magic, fairer than 
 
 the tongue can tell, — 
 
 So sought I, — my King, my Shepherd, thou my 
 refuge, peace, and rest ! — 
 
 Far from thee a fount of gladness, beauteous Isl- 
 ands of the Blest. 
 
156 TO * * 
 
 But I found the fruit but bitter that had mocked 
 
 me with their gleam, 
 Fierce and dark the sea that shattered feeble 
 
 bark and idle dream. 
 
 And through all and all, how often failed the 
 
 lips in constancy, — 
 Yet the heart, past its own knowing, evermore 
 
 was true to thee, 
 
 In its deepest core forever, guarded still 'mid 
 
 smiles and tears. 
 But thine image unforgotten, through the weary 
 
 course of years ; 
 
 In its tenderest secret whispers, ever called but 
 
 thee its own. 
 Gave to thee the name forever, that is thine and 
 
 thine alone. 
 
 Open, then, thine arms and take me, — bruised 
 
 and broken-pinioned dove, — 
 To thy heart, O my immortal, first and last and 
 
 only Love ! 
 
SONG. 157 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Perchance I now sing songs of thee no more, 
 
 As in the years gone by, 
 
 Love, dearer now than in those days of yore ! 
 
 Yet something of the sweetness of the love 
 
 That was thine own for aye, 
 
 And of the passing greatness of the grief 
 
 That thou hast gone from me, 
 
 And of the strength of that deep constancy, 
 
 That naught of heaven or earth can win away, 
 
 Does surely mingle with my every lay ! 
 
 And sometimes in the stillness of the night 
 
 Arises in my soul 
 
 The memory of thee, a stainless, white. 
 
 Fair shining lily, like that strange, fair flower 
 
 That to the stars alone 
 
 Discloses all her tender loveliness, 
 
 Filling the thirsty air 
 
 With overflowing perfume, rich and rare, 
 
158 TO * *. 
 
 And all whose beauty in the darkness blown, 
 Long ere the dawn returns, has paled and flown. 
 
 And I remember then, but weep no more, 
 
 The proud, fond, foolish dreams 
 
 That in the golden, distant days of yore 
 
 Quickened my youthful heart with ecstasy, — 
 
 How strangely it befell 
 
 That love yet lives, where hope and joy are dead. 
 
 And that all bitterness 
 
 Fades from the memories that my soul possess. 
 
 Too sweet, too sad for mortal tongue to tell, — 
 
 And cry aloud, " God doeth all things well 1 " 
 
AS TO A FISHERMAN, 1 59 
 
 AS TO A FISHERMAN. 
 
 As to a fisherman who does not stay 
 His busy hands, but draws from morn till night 
 The dripping nets, and yet with listless sight 
 Looks on the common spoils of every day, 
 But when the golden shadows fade to gray. 
 Suddenly beholds with kindling eye grown bright. 
 And a heart swelling high with deep delight, 
 'Mid the dim sands a pearl of lustrous ray, — 
 Thus sometimes unto me when sinks the sun. 
 That in its course but small contentment brought, 
 When the long toil of weary hours is done. 
 That joyless seemed and vain, — comes the swift 
 
 thought, 
 My soul with trembling ecstasy to fill. 
 That I have loved thee once and love thee still. 
 
THE BIRTH OF SONG. 
 
 O Song, O power to sing! whence flowest and 
 
 comest thou, 
 From heaven or lowly earth ? From out the 
 
 skies, 
 A radiant falling star, dost thou float downward, 
 Or from the depth of the dark ground arise 
 A shining lily; or on wide-spread pinions 
 Speed like a shimmering bird of paradise. 
 From lands too fair for mortal eyes to see; 
 Or from the rocks leap forth a golden fountain ? 
 Who ever fathomed yet the mystery 
 Of thy strange birth and being? Who can say 
 When first the angel came to make announce- 
 ment, — 
 In what divinest hour of night or day 
 Fell thy immaculate conception ? Nay, 
 We know not ! Like the Virgin Mother, only 
 That somehow, sometime, all unseen, unsought, 
 The wondrous, sweetest miracle was wrought, 
 
THE BIRTH OF SONG. l6l 
 
 And feel how in the deepness of our bosom 
 
 A sense of new-born life stirs secretly, 
 
 A tender pulse, a timid breath awaken. 
 
 Close with our heart-strings knit, throbs flutter- 
 
 ingly 
 A tiny other heart, a soul set free, 
 Begins her trembling winglets to unfold ; 
 And gladly do we send the richest currents 
 Of the warm, fertile blood that once of old 
 Sustained our own existence, now to nourish 
 That second sweeter life, to build and mould 
 The quickened, swelling seed that hourly gathers 
 Stronger and fairer shape. Aye, we do hold 
 Our very life but dear, while we may bear 
 This precious burden, its unceasing care, 
 Till in the rapture of this double being 
 Our spirits overflow with grateful prayer, 
 And we cry out. What other joy could equal, 
 What earthly transport, or what heavenly bliss, 
 The unutterable ecstasy of this? 
 
 Then comes an hour, when full matured to ripe- 
 ness 
 And perfect form, the blossom from the night. 
 Where long it grew and slumbered, bursts a 
 passage 
 
 II 
 
1 62 THE BIRTH OF SONG, 
 
 To the glad day ; the spirit takes its flight 
 Into the golden air. And what sharp travail 
 With passing pangs our quivering souls may 
 
 smite 
 In the great labor of this birth, — forgotten 
 Are all things in the speechless deep delight 
 Wherewith we see, what though our eager sight 
 Be blind with happy tears, the little face 
 That opens sweetest eyes wide as in wonder. 
 The rounded, breathing life, whose tender grace 
 May now be touched by hands, a dream no 
 
 -longer, 
 And full familiar seems, yet strangely new, 
 For in its every line and tint we trace 
 All beauties fondest fancy ever drew. 
 Yet thousand other charms we never knew. 
 
 O child of infinite joy and nameless sorrow! 
 And what may prove thy strange, dark destiny? 
 Shall simple shepherds by the star led onward 
 Seek thee at night to come and worship thee, 
 And sceptred things, their pride and pomp for- 
 gotten, 
 Do homage to thy greater majesty 
 With heart and lip? Shalt thou go forth to free 
 The groaning earth of all its weary burden 
 
THE BIRTH OF SONG. 1 63 
 
 Of sin and suffering? Make the blind to see, 
 The lame to walk, bring peace to the forlorn, 
 Life to the dead ? And for thy meed and por- 
 tion 
 Shalt thou reap but contempt and stripes and 
 
 scorn, 
 Reviled, denied, betrayed and crowned with thorn 
 Atone the sin of thy divinity 
 Upon the cross ? O child of nameless sorrow ! 
 What if such prove thy strange, dark destiny ? 
 Shall thy triumphant immortality 
 Not rise upon the world a sun, forever 
 Leaving its light a priceless legacy 
 To untold ages yet to come ? And we. 
 That have conceived, sustained him in our bosom,. 
 What if we stand beneath the cruel tree. 
 Transfixed as with a sword of agony ? 
 Still shall the deathless consciousness uphold us,. 
 E'en 'mid the bitter streams of tears and blood,. 
 Have I not borne Him is the Son of God I 
 
YEA, I MUST DIE. 
 
 '* Yea, I must die ! I know my hour is come ; 
 
 The sands of life run low ; 
 Nor do I mourn to leave the weary world, — 
 
 Most willingly I go ! 
 
 ^'Yet would I pass not poor as when I came, 
 
 But solemnly and great, 
 Like some old king, descend into my tomb 
 
 In royal pomp and state. 
 
 " Give me, then, of thy gold, O noon-day sun ! 
 
 To fashion for my crown, — 
 And thou, O evening ! of thy purple glories 
 
 Wherewith to weave my gown. 
 
 ^' And thou, O morn ! thy shining pearl, where- 
 with 
 
 My mantle round to gem, — 
 And thou, O night ! thy silver stars, to bind me 
 
 Fillet and diadem 1 " 
 
YEA, I MUST DIE. 1 65 
 
 And they obeyed; and we, on looking up 
 Through eyes whose sight was dim, 
 
 Saw half the splendors of the earth and heavens 
 Had passed away with him. 
 
NOT THINE THE ACCENTS. 
 
 Not thine the accents, O my English tongue ! 
 
 Were those that first fell on my dreaming ear, 
 When at my far-off cradle there was sung 
 
 The first soft lullaby, forever dear 
 For my sweet mother's sake ; nor thine the sound 
 That first my stammering lips for utterance found, 
 Nor thine the magic word at whose command 
 
 Opened before the child's enraptured eyes 
 The wide-spread realms of golden fairy-land. 
 
 Too soon to sink away, no more to rise. — 
 In all the memories close-knit with our heart 
 By dawning, earliest life, thou hast no part. 
 
 But thine, O tongue ! the power that first lent 
 voice 
 To the young, waking, fluttering soul, that 
 learned 
 With thee to suffer and with thee rejoice. 
 
 Through thee to tell the thousand hopes that 
 burned 
 
NOT THINE THE ACCENTS. 1 67 
 
 In the hot heart, whose all too eager haste 
 Grasped at the bright fruit, bitter to the taste, — 
 Through thee the storms it knew, and scanty- 
 gleams 
 
 Of pallid sunshine, and the dark despair 
 Of love, rudely aroused from joyous dreams, — 
 
 And thine the breath bearing the first faint 
 prayer 
 That burst from untaught lips, confused and dim, 
 To cry to God my soul had need of Him. 
 
 Thine all the deeper life, the riper thought 
 
 Of golden later days, when storms are past 
 And patience with unfading sunshine fraught. 
 
 And white-winged peace through God are gained 
 at last. 
 Thine all of these, that ever grow'st more dear 
 And more familiar with each passing year. 
 O matchless tongue ! whose power and beauty 
 sprang 
 
 From two great peoples, perished long ago j 
 Whose voice is strong as the broad war-club's 
 blow 
 
 Wherewith of old the dusky forests rang. 
 Yet tender as a maiden's whispered breath, 
 To speak the griefs and joys of life and death. 
 
1 68 NOT THINE THE ACCENTS. 
 
 And should it fall some cruel destiny 
 
 Ordained for me to choose, renounce, forget 
 One of the two — my mother-tongue or thee — 
 
 Even as of all the world my heart is set 
 On thee, O land ! beyond the Western tide, 
 Where freedom rolls her currents deep and wide;, 
 So would I turn from her who taught me speech, 
 
 What though with tear-dimmed eyes and heart 
 that bled, 
 And with each fibre of my being reach 
 
 And cling to her who is forever wed 
 To me by thousand bonds than death more strong, 
 Love of my soul, to thee who gave me song ! 
 
MELANCHOLY. 
 
 O STRANGE, mysterious stream of melancholy ! 
 With ceaseless murmur flowing on thy course, — 
 In whose dark, deep, unfathomable waters 
 The changing lights, the shifting clouds of heaven, 
 Are mirrored but in broken images, 
 Upon whose shores since days of early childhood 
 My solitary soul .has pitched her tent, — 
 What magic spell, what secret power, subtle 
 Yet irresistible, holds me forever 
 Upon thy barren banks ? where sparely grow 
 A few frail flowers, pallid and odorless. 
 And stunted willows, swaying in the wind, 
 Hang their long branches down into the waves 
 Where sometimes a lone, voiceless bird, per- 
 chance. 
 Dips his slow wing. 
 
 For howsoever oft 
 My feet have strayed from thee to other lands. 
 Where the glad morning dawns wdth clearer light, 
 And evening in more royal splendor shines, 
 
1 70 MELANCHOL V. 
 
 Where meads are green, and sweet with bright- 
 
 hued flowers, 
 And limpid brooks flash gayly in the sun, — 
 Or soon or late, with yearning at my heart, 
 My face was ever set towards thee again, 
 Swift wandering back I welcomed e'er in thee 
 My long familiar home. 
 
 Oft have I gone 
 Close down unto the water's edge, and stood 
 Where bolder waves rolled up and washed my 
 
 feet, 
 And sometimes, venturing in still deep and deeper, 
 Breasted full daringly thy chilling flood 
 With a strange sense of joy. And other times 
 Have I sat on thy banks and silently, 
 Beneath the dim white light of moon or stars, 
 Watched long the beauteous forms that drifted by 
 On thy dark tide, O stream of melancholy ! 
 With fair, dead faces upturned to the heavens. 
 Forms that I know so well, — all the sweet hopes. 
 The fervent prayers, the brave, high faith and 
 
 courage. 
 The golden dreams, the passionate, great desires. 
 That once were warm with life-blood from my 
 
 heart, 
 And long ago have perished ! — 
 
MELANCHOLY, 171 
 
 How great space 
 I yet shall dwell upon thy shores, O stream ! 
 I may not say, — perchance some day thy current 
 May seize me in strong arms and bear me on 
 Far and yet farther out, until the shores 
 Shall sink away, the waters round about 
 Grow clear and beauteous like an azure sea, 
 The heavens above flush suddenly with deep gold. 
 And then, perchance, shall my beloved dead 
 Thrill and pulsate with new-found, other life, 
 Ope their sweet eyes, and look on me and rise, 
 And gently take me by the trembling hand j 
 And so my soul, her tent forever folded, 
 A cloud of radiant angels in her train. 
 Shall leave thy shores, O stream, and floating up- 
 ward, 
 Hear but thy distant murmur far below ! 
 
REAWAKENING. 
 
 O FULLNESS of the earth and sea, 
 
 O splendors of the sky, 
 Have ye no power wherewith to stay 
 The voice whose music ebbs away. 
 
 The song whose accents die ? 
 
 For, as in him whose days are done. 
 
 Whose sands of life run low. 
 Spirit and senses faint and fail, 
 And round about grow dim and pale 
 Starlight and sunset's glow, — 
 
 To chilly ashes sinks and fades 
 
 The flame of all desire. 
 And mute, as though no feeblest strain 
 It evermore could sound again, 
 
 Hangs the long silent lyre. 
 
 Where love itself can wake no more 
 
 Its wonted tender lay; 
 For love but glimmers from afar. 
 E'en like some white, swift-dying star, 
 
 Through shifting shadows gray. 
 
RE A WAKENING. 1 73 
 
 And, like a bird whose heavy wings 
 
 In vain would rise on high, 
 Unto dim earth my soul alone 
 Can cleave, nor reach God's sunlit throne, 
 
 Nor send to Him its cry. 
 
 Yet praise to Him, the dawn is near, 
 
 The hour of night is past, 
 Faint life revives and earth grows fair, 
 As on my lips this dumb despair 
 
 Bursts into song at last ! 
 
DEAD. 
 
 Thou who hast been, 'mid toilful days of dark- 
 ness, 
 My staff and star and guide, — My love, my 
 friend. 
 Faithful and ever near ! I fondly trusted 
 Thou shouldst be with me to the very end. 
 And thou wilt go from me, — art dying, 
 
 dead, — 
 Oh, even now thy last, sweet breath is fled ! 
 
 Long have I watched thy joyful step grow feeble, 
 
 Thy beaming eye wax dim, and mortal shade 
 Gather on thy loved brow, and knew too surely 
 In all thy beauty thou ere long must fade, 
 And yet stood helpless, with no power to 
 
 hold 
 The life that in my clinging arms grew cold. 
 
 And I still live and breathe ! Ah, my beloved ! 
 And not so bitter e'en thy loss, — so sore 
 
DEAD. 175 
 
 The utter solitude is now my portion, — 
 
 As the sharp thought to me, that where of 
 yore 
 My heart had burst in speechless agony, 
 It faints not now, throbs onward sluggishly ! 
 
 I gaze in awful calmness on thy image, 
 
 E'en now, in death's gray light, surpassing 
 fair, 
 Cover thy early bier with pallid blossoms. 
 And murmur o'er thee a submissive prayer, 
 And kiss thy silent lips and eyes, while mine 
 Quiver nor weep at that chill touch of thine. 
 
 Life, thou hast robbed me of such countless treas- 
 ures, — 
 Of youth, that would not linger long with me, 
 Of love and hope and joy, that grew and flour- 
 ished 
 Like fragrant flowers upon that parent tree. 
 And pride has perished, and fond faith is 
 
 fled, — 
 I stand subdued with humbly-bended head ! 
 
 Give me not now to know that mournful patience, 
 That is content with bitterness alone, 
 
176 DEAD. 
 
 That saddest courage of a much-tried spirit, 
 Through all its suffered ills so callous grown, 
 It dumbly bares its bosom, to await 
 Unflinchingly the fiercest shafts of fate. 
 
 It is no royal gift, O Life, stern master, 
 
 I pray of thee ! — but that through coming 
 years 
 Thou leave me still, however long the journey, 
 The slender boon of sorrow and of tears. 
 Whatever else thou yet mayst give or take, 
 My heart the single power to bleed and 
 break. 
 
TO A FIGURE-HEAD. 
 
 O SOLITARY woman ! all alone 
 
 In thy strange empire 'twixt the sea and sky, 
 'Neath the fierce darts the sun sends from his 
 tPirone, 
 
 Or the cold smile of midnight stars on high — 
 Alone forever ! Thou hast never known 
 
 Dear companionship, though far and nigh, 
 Above, below, around thee everywhere. 
 Throbs a glad life wherein thou hast no share. 
 
 Unmoved, untouched by any earthly thing, 
 
 Alone and stern and silent evermore, 
 Whether soft wavelets murmuring round thee 
 sing. 
 Or the wild breakers o'er thee rage and pour, 
 A gentle bird touch thee with fleeting wing. 
 Lightnings split heaven, or sullen thunder's 
 roar, — 
 
 12 
 
lyS TO A FIGURE-HEAD. 
 
 Naught those set eyes and lips can shake, nor 
 
 wrest 
 The close-locked hands from the unheaving 
 
 breast. 
 For if here ever pulsed a fluttering heart, 
 
 The deathly calm to hopeless patience grown 
 Through the long years that chained thee thus 
 
 apart 
 Has made it mute, till like a senseless stone 
 It thrills or bleeds no more with joy or smart, 
 Though hurl'd by storms toward heaven or 
 
 hell. My own 
 I read in thy dark fate, for I, like thee. 
 Hold my lone course through a wide, unknown 
 
 sea. 
 
 solitary woman ! who at last 
 
 Lonely and silent and with hands still bound, 
 Shalt perish with the shattered keel and mast. 
 
 Though thou canst never catch the words' 
 faint sound, 
 God bless and help thee, where thy lot be cast \ 
 
 And as I gaze a dimness wraps thee round — 
 
 1 know not if the waters o'er thee rise, 
 Or the hot tears rush blinding to my eyes. 
 
YOUTH. 
 
 O YOUTH, sweet youth ! — never so dear to me 
 As now when I shall miss thy company. 
 
 Must thou so soon, then, go — haste thee away? 
 It is not long, but a brief summer day 
 
 Which quickly sped, methinks, that thou and I 
 Together walked 'neath bright or sombre sky. 
 
 Our path made ever gay by hope and joy ; 
 Thy beauteous, white-winged doves, that tame, yet 
 coy, 
 
 Fluttered and played around us ceaselessly, 
 Perched on thy hand or shoulder lovingly j 
 
 Then in the blue above would soar and dip, 
 And then return to feed from out thy lip. 
 
l80 YOUTH. 
 
 Thou wast a grave companion — passing fair 
 Thy brow and eyes, but thy sweet smile too rare. 
 
 And unto me, perchance, thou 'st scarcely proved 
 Too kind and fond a friend ! Hast thou not 
 moved 
 
 My eager soul with promises, that brought 
 How many a golden dream and happy thought, 
 
 Yet never knew fulfillment — all too vain ^ 
 In air had vanished when I looked again ! 
 
 But yet what couldst thou more ? wherefore chide 
 
 thee ? 
 Didst thou not give me all thou hadst for me ? 
 
 And now the hour has come for us to part, 
 I do remember with a bleeding heart. 
 
 Thou canst not even leave thy birds, to bless 
 My solitude with timid tenderness. 
 
 How dark shall be the path where I must go 
 Alone henceforward, only God may know ! 
 
YOUTH. l8l 
 
 Kiss me once more, Sweet ! one last long embrace, 
 One lingering look upon thy fading face. 
 
 And then farewell — nor cast one glance behind, 
 I cannot see, my eyes with tears are blind ! 
 
DISENCHANTED. 
 
 CRUEL years ! not great the burden borne 
 In but your number, yet what gifts sublime 
 
 Have ye not robbed me, leaving me forlorn 
 Like a poor barren tree in winter time. 
 
 Like leaves the whirling winds have scattered 
 wide 
 Youth and fond dreams, and hope and joy have 
 flown, 
 And what of love the withering storms defied 
 I know but by its bitterness alone. 
 
 But yet all these I mourn not, — hope and bliss, 
 Youth and its dreams, I willingly forgot, 
 
 And even love perchance my heart might miss, 
 Whose sweet it never knew, and perish not. 
 
 1 weep ! the thrill of rapture that is fled 
 
 Was wont to start so swift the gushing tears, 
 The sacred flame whose fires are quenched and 
 dead 
 That stirred my pulses in more youthful years. 
 
DISENCHANTED. 1 8 3 
 
 The generous ardor that would send the blood 
 In gladsome leaps through every quivering vein, 
 
 The living faith that brought me near to God 
 Made earth seem fair, and heaven not hard to 
 gain. 
 
 Who now shall fan to vital glow once more 
 The spark yet lingering 'neath the ashes cold ? 
 
 What quicken now, to warmer heat restore. 
 The sluggish throbbings of my heart grown 
 old? 
 
 What passing marvel now, what magic hand. 
 The shivered glories once again make whole, 
 
 Now conjure up the sunken fairy-land 
 That long has lost my disenchanted soul ? 
 
 Oh would that I had died that early hour, 
 In the full flush of some deep ecstasy ! 
 
 Then had my spirit in unbroken power, 
 A phoenix, soared to immortality, 
 
 On golden wings unto the heights sublime, 
 Into the undimmed splendor of the skies, 
 
 Whither I now on rugged pathways climb, 
 With weary feet and undelighted eyes ! 
 
TO A FRIEND. 
 
 I NEVER thought thee like the branching vine 
 
 Within whose swelling veins 
 The generous blood, mellowed by golden suns, 
 
 Quickened by summer rains, 
 
 Should ripen to luxuriant, purple fruit, 
 
 Wherefrom I hoped to press 
 The strong, sweet draught that on my lips hath 
 turned 
 
 So oft to bitterness. 
 
 I never asked of thee the sparkling cup, 
 
 Brimming with liquid fire, 
 That should intoxicate my kindled soul 
 
 With passionate desire, — 
 
 But I have found thee like the spreading tree 
 'Neath which white blossoms grow. 
 
 At whose brown foot the waters of a spring 
 With ceaseless murmur flow, 
 
TO A FRIEND. 1 85 
 
 In whose cool shadow I have ever known 
 
 Rest from the heat of day, — 
 And so I pray that God may bless thee, friend; 
 
 May keep thee thus for aye ! 
 
LOST. 
 
 My little boy, where art thou ? — To be found 
 On earth no more ! With pain I know thee fled 
 
 Forever, past return ! yet the dark ground 
 Has never closed above thy sunny head. 
 
 They tell me thou art he who tall and strong, 
 In youth's first flower, stands here. But can 
 this be 
 
 The image that through changeful years and long 
 My heart has kept in fondest memory? 
 
 On this young brow, aged by a deep-drawn line 
 No noble sorrow made, can I retrace 
 
 The white serenity and peace divine 
 
 That marked it once with dreamy tender grace ? 
 
 In these bright eyes, now filled and brimming 
 o'er 
 With broadest sunshine, ever find again 
 
LOST. I Zj 
 
 The shadows of the still deep thought of yore 
 That wisely seemed to search the souls of 
 men ? 
 
 From those gay lips, that surely must have known 
 Laughter and wme and kisses, till they turned 
 
 Away in weary fullness, where has flown 
 
 The sweet, grave smile of childhood, long un- 
 learned ? 
 
 O Life, than Death more cruel unto him 
 
 Whom thou with roses and not thorn hast 
 crowned, 
 
 And who, ere yet the light of earth grows dim. 
 Within himself a strange dark grave has found ! 
 
 Away, vain tears ! that these grieved eyes would 
 shed. 
 
 When I remember I had seen with joy 
 The grasses wave above thy sunny head, 
 
 O thou, my unforgotten, darling boy! 
 
HYMN. 
 
 Amid the unbroken night that everywhere 
 
 Compassed me round, 
 Yet softly seemed to fold me, and was filled 
 
 With pleasant sound, 
 
 A cry for light went up to Thee, my God. 
 
 And Thou hast sent 
 A flash that like a flaming, two-edged sword, 
 
 The darkness rent. 
 
 And pierced my upturned eyes with such great 
 pang 
 
 Of agony, 
 Hot tears, that made me doubly blind, rushed 
 forth 
 
 Unceasingly. 
 
 And yet it is Thy blessed light, my God, 
 
 For all its sting! 
 And evermore, dear Lord, my quivering lips, 
 
 Thy praises sing ! 
 
PRAYER. 
 
 NOT again, Lord, suffer me to know 
 
 The gall and wormwood mingled in the draught 
 That in the sunnier days of long ago 
 My eager spirit all too often quaffed! 
 
 1 am athirst, athirst, but not for this; 
 
 Let this sore cup pass by me, O my God ! 
 The parching lips refuse to bend and kiss 
 The thorny sharpness of Thy heavy rod ! 
 
 If bitterness, to those who call on Thee, 
 
 Turns in the heart to drops of honeyed dew, — 
 
 Then by its broken dreams my life should be 
 Sweet as the fairest rose that ever blew ! 
 
 If yearning unfulfilled and hope deferred 
 
 Chasten the heart that hungers for delight, — • 
 By all its burning tears, its prayers miheard, 
 ^ Then walks my soul in robes of stainless white ! 
 
1 90 PRAYER. 
 
 If sorrow elevates, and dumb despair, 
 
 And bleeding anguish, — oh, by Thy great love, 
 
 Then does my spirit float in golden air, 
 My soul sit throned amid the stars above! 
 
 But O my Lord, my God, my Father, no ! 
 
 Forgive ! — Thyself has wrung from me this cry 
 My stricken heart has ne'er confessed it so, 
 
 My burdened spirit cannot rise on high ! 
 
 But like a weary bird with stunted wings, 
 
 Close to dim earth it flutters round and round, 
 
 With hopeless grasp to barren grasses clings. 
 Where neither dew nor sweetness more are 
 found. 
 
 Grant me for once a cup of perfect joy. 
 
 Full, brimming o'er ! — in all the sum of years 
 
 A single hour of bliss without alloy, — 
 
 For one such drop outweighs a thousand tears ! 
 
 And from that magic potion there shall grow 
 Strong pinions to my soul, till, eagle-fleet. 
 
 Bursting the bonds that chain it here below, 
 It soars rejoicing to Thy very feet! 
 
SOMEWHERE. 
 
 Somewhere, I know, 
 
 The sun and stars below, 
 
 Is made for me a quiet dwelling-place. 
 
 Not winter's drifting snow, 
 
 Nor spring-time's gentle showers, 
 
 Nor summer's clustering flowers, 
 
 In all their pride, can cover or efface 
 
 The unswerving shadow cast 
 
 By that lone house and last, 
 
 That in some shady nook. 
 
 By whispering tree or brook, 
 
 In some deep valley still, 
 
 On some high, barren hill. 
 
 Far oif in foreign earth, 
 
 Or nearer home's dear hearth. 
 
 In flowery field or by the sounding sea, 
 
 Through all the fleeting years 
 
 Waits for its silent inmate patiently. 
 
 Sometime, I know. 
 
 While sea-tides ebb and flow. 
 
192 SOMEWHERE. 
 
 There in the dark, where window nor yet door 
 
 Lets in the sun's red glow 
 
 At noon, nor yet at night 
 
 The kind stars' silver light, 
 
 I '11 dwell alone, with eyes that ope no more ; 
 
 With helpless hands at rest, 
 
 Folded upon my breast. 
 
 Over a heart whose beat. 
 
 Stilled like the busy feet. 
 
 Has done its life for aye; 
 
 While near, yet far away, 
 
 In the glad light of day, 
 
 Ever unseen, unheard. 
 
 Live flower and bee and bird, 
 
 And o'er me and around 
 
 Hangs the chill, heavy ground 
 
 For sombre, only sky. — 
 
 Pray but that when I lie 
 
 Lost in that dreamless sleep, 
 
 For all, I still may keep 
 
 Some feeble consciousness of God above. 
 
 And through the eternal years. 
 
 Some dim, sweet memory of those I love. 
 
OH, VEIL THY RADIANT FACE. 
 
 " No good that comes to us in after years can ever in any measure 
 compensate us for the loss of that early enthusiasm which is the most 
 precious possession of youth." Old French Writer. 
 
 Oh veil thy radiant face, glad morning-star. 
 
 In shadowy, tearful night ! 
 And fold your wings, soft winds, who from afar 
 
 Brought balmy, sweet delight ; 
 And, joyous birds, who singing soared so high, 
 
 Grow dumb, and droop and die. 
 As all the blossoms hang their delicate head, — 
 
 For he, for he is dead \ 
 He with the sunny eyes and golden hair. 
 Who was akin to you and all things fair, 
 Himself, — oh, lent me for too brief a space ! — 
 Of infinite beauty, tenderness, and grace! 
 
 What name to call him by, I cannot say, 
 
 But this alone I know. 
 It is the fervor of my youthful day, 
 
 Spring's living warmth and glow, 
 13 
 
194 OH, VEIL THY RADIANT FACE. 
 
 That in my sight here, blinded and grown dim, 
 
 Lies cold and still in him, — 
 Him who made beautiful earth, sea, and air. 
 
 The wide world everywhere ! 
 Whose lips were melody, beneath whose feet 
 Sprang flowers and babbling brooklets clear and 
 
 sweet. 
 With whose dear life so close-knit was my heart, 
 Dying, he left me but its saddest part ! 
 
 They tell me, as the weary seasons pass, 
 
 There will be born to me 
 Another child for comfort. — But alas ! 
 
 I know that he shall be 
 A grave, sad man, with thoughtful, pallid brow, 
 
 Who looks beyond the now, 
 Searching the future's dim, uncertain skies 
 
 With sombre, joyless eyes. 
 That long life's darkest mysteries have read, — 
 Who walks with silent lips and bended head, 
 Whom no sweet flower attends, or warbling bird. 
 That blooms unseen by him and sings unheard. 
 
 Oh, how could he, think you, in thousand years, 
 
 Make my poor heart forget 
 Him who is gone ! — dry up the ceaseless tears 
 
 Wherewith my cheeks are wet 
 
OH, VEIL THY RADIANT FACE. 1 95 
 
 For him with sunny eyes and golden hair, 
 
 Sweeter than all things fair, 
 In infinite beauty, tenderness, and grace ! 
 
 Oh, veil thy radiant face 
 Proud morning-star ! — How far thy beams are 
 
 shed, 
 Thou shalt not find him who is dead, is dead, 
 Canst never to the darkened earth restore 
 The light gone out, that gladdens it no more !