XXXI. He passed me-and what next?—I looked on two,

Following his footsteps to the same dread place, For the same guilt-his sisters !(5)—Well I knew The beauty on those brows, though each young face

Was changed-so deeply changed!—a dungeon's air

Is hard for loved and lovely things to bear, And ye, O daughters of a lofty race, Queen-like Theresa! radiant Inez!-flowers So cherished! were ye then but reared for those dark hours?

So didst thou pass on brightly!—but for her, Next in that path, how may her doom be spoken!

-All merciful! to think that such things were, And are, and seen by men with hearts unbroken!

To think of that fair girl, whose path had been So strewed with rose-leaves, all one fairy scene! And whose quick glance came ever as a token Of hope to drooping thought, and her glad voice| As a free bird's in spring, that makes the woods rejoice!

XLIV.

And now-oh God! the bitter fear of death, And sore amaze, the faint o'ershadowing dread, Had grasped her !-panting in her quick-drawn breath,

And in her white lips quivering;-onward led, She looked up with her dim bewildered eyes, And there smiled out her own soft brilliant skies, Far in their sultry southern azure spread, Yet sent down no reprieve for earth's poor tremGlowing with joy, but silent!-still they smiled, bling child.

XLV.

Alas! that earth had all too strong a hold,
Too fast, sweet Inez! on thy heart, whose bloom
Was given to early love, nor knew how cold
The hours which follow. There was one, with
whom,

Young as thou wert, and gentle, and untried, Thou mightest, perchance, unshrinkingly have died;

But he was far away;-and with thy doom

Thus gathering, life grew so intensely dear, That all thy slight frame shook with its cold mortal fear!

XLVI.

No aid!-thou too didst pass!—and all had passed,

The fearful-and the desperate-and the

strong!

Some like the bark that rushes with the blast, Some like the leaf swept shiveringly along, And some as men, that have but one more field To fight, and then may slumber on their shield, Therefore they arm in hope. But now the

throng

And, in the freshness of the fanning wind,
Her father sat, where gleamed the first faint
Through the lime-boughs; and with her light
guitar,

She, on the greensward at his feet reclined,

In his calm face laughed up; some shepherd-lay Singing, as childhood sings on the lone hills at play.

XLVIII.

Hear its voice, hear!-a cry goes up to thee, From the stained sod;-make thou thy judgment known

On him, the shedder!-let his portion be The fear that walks at midnight-give the moan In the wind haunting him a power to say "Where is thy brother?"—and the stars a ray To search and shake his spirit, when alone With the dread splendour of their burning eyes! -So shall earth own thy will-mercy, not sacrifice!

XLIX.

Sounds of triumphant praise!-the mass was

sung

-Voices that die not might have poured such strains!

Through Salem's towers might that proud chant have rung,

When the Most High, on Syria's palmy plains,
Had quelled her foes!-so full it swept, a sea
Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free!
Oft when the winds, as through resounding
fanes,

Hath filled the choral forests with its power, Some deep tone brings me back the music of that hour.

L.

It died away; the incense-cloud was driven Before the breeze-the words of doom were said;

And the sun faded mournfully from heaven,
-He faded mournfully! and dimly red,
Parting in clouds from those that looked their
last,

And sighed "Farewell, thou sun!"-Eve glowed and passed

Night-midnight and the moon-came forth and shed

To do beneath that Temple, and profane
Its holy radiance?-By their wavering flare,
I saw beside the pyres-I see thee now,
O bright Theresa! with thy lifted brow,
And thy clasped hands, and dark eyes filled with
prayer!

And thee, and Inez! bowing thy fair head,
And mantling up thy face, all colourless with
dread!
LIII.

And Alvar, Alvar!-I beheld thee too,

Pale, steadfast, kingly; till thy clear glance fell On that young sister; then perturbed it grew, And all thy labouring bosom seemed to swell With painful tenderness. Why came I there, That troubled image of my friend to bear Thence, for my after-years?—a thing to dwell In my heart's core, and on the darkness rise, Disquieting my dreams with its bright mournful eyes?

LIV.

Why came I? oh! the heart's deep mystery!-
Why

In man's last hour doth vain affection's gaze
Fix itself down on struggling agony,

To the dimm'd eye-balls freezing, as they glaze?
It might be yet the power to will seemed o'er-
That my soul yearn'd to hear his voice once
more !

But mine was fettered! mute in strong amaze, I watched his features as the night-wind blew, And torch-light or the moon's passed o'er their marble hue.

LV.

The trampling of a steed!—a tall white steed,