■»»»wnrtii .lriniini i«mi«iiM»nanKi.«.iin.ii»jjT.iimi,..r. ■. . I , ■ , , .. I «9'>)tin'Hill«MmMlMB—i nmnmillllBMIllimil I ■ ' BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Hetirg M, Base 1891 ^...Z..3..L..LLj...^. r?..7././../, 1« .i^\f %^\iii,t Q,svr<\^ SsiPccU) Cornell University Library PS 2246.L35R3 1857 Records of the heart and other poems /B ..™.„,j|IMimiiii«i^iiM™.mi.^ 000 -f B E M g J3T EoTELLS! Ami^a Lewis m mi ME: f.ffi' « EW ¥'0f! (K, LiPi'iETOir i^C'OMiPAirr. RECORDS OF THE HEART. OTHER POEMS. ESTELLE AITNA LEWIS. Illttsfrateir bg %.mmm g.rtisfs. NEW YORK : D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 846 & 8i8 BEOADWAT. LONDON : 16 LITTLE BRITAIN. 1857. P. :n ^. a^\\^°\ Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by D. APPLETON & COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York. TO ARTISTS, WHO ONLT DIFFER FROM POETS IN THE LANGUAGE THEY EMPLOY, AND WHO, LIKE THE POETS, AKE THEIK COUNTRY'S BEST HISTORIANS, BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS, PASE Records of the Heaet. Florence ; a Tale of the Tiber, .... .3 Notes, 55 Isabelle ; or, the Broken Heart. — ^A Tale of Hispaniola, . . 61 Zenel; a Tale of Granada, . 97 Notes, . . . . ■ 123 The Last Hour of Sappho, , 127 The Forsaken, I33 Emilie ; a Florentine's Story, 136 Laone ; the Student's Story, . . . . . . .1-12 Melpomene; a Monody on the Death of L. E. L., . . . 153 The Dead Warrior, Igg Love's Spell, . ] gg The Lovers, . . . , . . , . . .171 To Ernest— L, 17Li To Ernest. — II., I74 My Love for Thee, ... 176 111 Still Love Thee, 178 Impromptu, on being asked "Why this Gloom?" . . . 180 The Spot I Love best, 181 The Request, 182 Vi CONTENTS. FAOI Recoeds of the Hbaet. Impromptu, on being tmatle to find the Grave of Margaret David- son, at Saratoga, 184 Dreams of Italy, . 185 The Ruins of Palenqne 192 To Una 196 The Unmasked, 198 The Beleaguered Heart 199 To One Afar, : . 201 To a Whip-poor- wiU, singing in a Graveyard, .... 203 The Orphan's Hymn, 205 The Bard, 208 The Dead, 210 The Angels, 211 We sat down by the Waters and Wept, ..... 212 Lament of La Vega, 214 The Prisoner of Perots, ....... 218 The Mexican Express, 222 The first Ship to America 225 -Death of Osceola, 227 Wreck of the Cutter, 230 Notes, 233 Child of the Sea. Dedication, 242 Notes 319 Loves of the Minsteels. Dedication 327 The Cruise of Aureana, . 329 The Angel's Visit, 336 Sonnets to my Study. I. My Study, 341 II. It is my Citabii, . , 342 CONTENTS. vii PAGE Sonnets to my Stdty. III. Here Homer teaches, 343 IV. To the Genius of Literature, 344 V. To the Genius of Art, . 345 VI. To Hebe, a Statuette on my Bookcase, .... 346 VH. To a Bust of Homer, standing on my Desk, . . . 347 Vni. To my Books, 348 IX. To my Guitar, 349 X. The Oases, 350 XI. Joys of Intellectual Employment, 351 XII. Heart Joys, 352 XIII. To Poesy.— I., 353 XIV. To Poesy.— ir, 354 XV. The Poet 355 Sonnets translated from the Italian of Petrarch. I. Laura's Beauty, ........ 356 n. The Model of her Face 857 IIL The Spell of her Beauty, 358 rv. The Power of her Virtue, 359 V. Her Personal Appearance 360 VI. The Toi-ture of Loving 361 VII. Laura's Scorn, 362 Vin. Beauty's Arrow, 363 IX. The Mystic Power of Laura's Eyes, 364 X. Love's lofty Food, 365 XL Love's sweet Anger, 366 Sonnets from different LANauAOES. I. The Disappointment, 367 II. My Soul's Physician, 368 in. Fancy's Picture, 369 rv. Best Definition of Man 370 V. To Sidney, 371 viii CONTENTS. Sonnets fbom the iTALtAN — Adalina to Adhemak. I. First Love 372 II. The Time we Met, 373 in. Love bom fall-statured, 374 IV. The City of my Heart's in Ashes, .... 375 v. Natm-e's Masterpiece, 376 VI. Love's Power, 377 VTT. Love's Angelhood, 378 VIII. Love's Constancy, 379 IX. Love's Color, 380 X. Love's last sweet Draught, . . . . . 381 XI. The Change, 382 XIL The River of the Past, 383 Xin. The Parting, 384 XIV. Love without a Parallel 385 XV. Adieu, 386 XVI. Oneness, 387 XVII. Remembrance ... 388 XVin. The Return 389 XIX. The SpeU 390 XX. I Think of Thee 391 XXI. Buried Years, 392 XXII. The Failure 393 XXIII. The Resignation 394 Sonnets written after Adh^mar's Death. XXIV. The News of Adhdmar's Death 395 XXV. Who Adh^mar was, ....... 396 XXVI. Arrival in Spirit-land, 397 XXVII. My Thoughts hang on the Gates of Paradise, . . 398 XXVIII. Adhemar's Reign, 399 XXIX. Exchange of Love-letters, 400 XXX. Mute Courtship, 401 Adahna's Revery, . 402 CONTENTS. ix PAGB Lykics. Lines on some Violets, left on my Table while I was at a Funeral, . 406 Lines on a Vase of Flowers found on my Desk, . . . 408 Love's &st Kisa, .......... 410 The Kiss, 411 Blanche to Antonio, ......... 412 I'll Share it not with Nellie, 413 The Love-Letter, 414 Lines on being asked for my Autograph, ..... 416 To a Lawyer who was not at my Soiree according to Promise, . 417 Lines to one who wiU understand them, 419 Jist of Illustrations. PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. ESGRAVED BY J. CHENEY, FKOM A PAIunsa BY ELLIOTT. EMILIE. ENGKAVED BY P. HAUIN, FKOM A DRAWINO BY S, W. CHENEY. HiruUe, p. 186. FLORENCE. ENQRAVED BY F. HALPIN, FEOM A DRAWING BY D. HDNTINQTON. Flor&nc^j p. xu LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. UGO'S CASTLE. EKGEAVED BY SMILLIE, FEOM A DKAWING BY T. A. RICILIRDS. " By Tiber Ugo's castle stands, Surrounded by an olive grove." , Florence, Canto L, p. 5. ISABELLE ENGKAVED BY PHILLIBEOWN, FROM A DEAWTNO BY CHAPPEL. " Implore thee to return this ring To Gamba when I am no more, And tell him all this suffering That Isabelle for Gamba bore." leaielle. Canto IL, p. 79. ZENEL. ENQVRAED BY F. HALPIN, FROM A DRAWING BY H. K. BEOWN. " She was a peasant's daughter blithe and fair, Her cheeks fresh as the rose of Paradise, Locks like the raven's wing, dark languid eyes. And young and beautiful beyond compare." Zenel, Canto I., p. 97. LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS. . yiii SAPPHO. ENGRAVED BY F. HAI-PIN, FROM A DRAWING BY D. HHNTINQTON. The Last Hour ofSa^ho^ p. 127. MELPOMENE (L. E. L.) ENGRAVKD BY J. O NEIL, AITEB A DRAWING MADE BY CHAPPEL FROM A PORTRAIT BY MACLISE. Melpomene, p. 153. THE REAPER. ENGRAVED BY SMILLIE, FROM A DRAWING BY DARLET. ■' The reaper rises from his worli, And upward casts a doleful look." Wreck of the Cutter, p. 280. THE WRECK. ENGRAVED BY SMIU.IE, FROM A DRAWING BY T. A. RICHARDS. " TheD, veering round beneath the tempest's shocks — Backs — larches — bilges on the fatal rocks." Chad of the Sea, Canto IV,, p. 313. Xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. ADALINA'S RETERY. ENGRAVED BY SMILLIE, FROM A DRAWING BY T. A. RICHARDS. " 'Tis eve, and by this stream I stand And think, departed one, of thee." AdaUna''8 R&oery^ p. 402, %mxh of tht |5mrt» yf. j^.it-Fa.-limiioma-D-i^^iigVD it»«m|tai. F t ® [^ E Kl © RECORDS OF TIE HEART. FLORENCE. A TALE OF THE TIBER.' " Truth is stranger tlian fiction." CANTO I. THE CASTLE. THE MEETTNG PLIGHTED VOWS THE PAETING. I. Where yellow Tiber rolls his tide Onward in smooth tranquillity, Through myrtle groves and meadows wide, Defying mutability ; Which long hath laid her mould-clad finger On all else death has left to linger ; Where Art and Genius had their birth — The loveliest, fairest spot on earth — RECORDS OF THE HEART. The flocks are gathered to their fold, The fawns reposing on the wold ; The bells are rang, the mass is said, The evening vespers duly made ; In hut, and cot, and castle dun. Sleep hath her silent reign begun. The moon is in her summer glow, And meekly smiles on all below. The stars are burning in the sky Like Angels' censers lit on high ; While weeping lovers lift their eyes Up to those calm cerulean skies. Feeling that in those worlds above Lies the unchequered home of love ; And in their frenzy of despair Implore to be translated there, "Where soul its kindred soul wUl greet. And baffled hearts each other meet. Enfranchised from the iUs of earth — The children of a holier birth. And there, beneath the moon's pale sheen Eises full many a mournful scene — The wide Campagna dim and lone — The Catacomb of nations gone. And Rome's seven hUls o'er Ruin's hearth, The mimic Pleiades of earth ; FLORENCE. The cypress, in funereal gloom, O'erhanging many a hero's tomb, Whose glorious memory shall outlive All that vain pomp and wealth can give, And shine until Time's latest day, A halo hovering over dark decay. Yes, there they sleep ! th' immortal hrave. Entombed in holy Freedom's grave — The mighty arm that grasped the sword, To put to flight the savage horde, The tongue that pleaded with applause For liberty and God's Mgh laws — Caesar and Tully, when — oh ! when Will such bright stars lume earth again ? There thrones and temples lie around. There wrecks of empires strew the ground ; Decay and Slavery have wed. And Genius rests her drooping head ; And placid Beauty still appears. Meek smiling through her limpid tears. And Death sits throned on Glory's tomb, Triumphant o'er the wrecks of joy and bloom. II. By Tiber, Ugo's Castle stands. Surrounded by an oljve grove, RECOKDS OF THE HEART. And glassy seas, and nayrtle strands — The hallowed shrine of Peace and Love. The guards are dozing round the wall, Nor lamp nor step is in the haU, And at this late and lonely hour One waning light reveals the tower ; And there, her rosary completed, Lord Ugo's only child is seated. Her untuned harp and jewels nigh, A web of rich embroidery. And flowers that breathe around the room From golden vases sweet perfume. She weeps not, but her restless eye Betrays her deep anxiety ; Now lost in thoughtful mood she sits — Now hurrried o'er the carpet flits — Then by the lattice bends her ear — "A step .?— 'Tis he ! " God ! her fear If Ugo should her lover spy, This night — this night, they both must die ! Her slight frame like the aspen shook. And Reason half her throne forsook ; With terror pale — with joyance drunk, Eeeling, upon the couch she sunk. FLORENCE. III. 'Tis past ! Leon is in her room — A stately youth in manhood's hloom, With cloak of black and hood of blue, And hair and eye of sablest hue ; And by his side a sabre gleaming, And from his eye his high soul beaming, Lighting his lofty olive brow Paling with apprehension now — " Be calm ! sweet Florence, do not fear ; The wall is scaled, and I am here," He said, half drawing from its sheath His blade, " Thy champion until death ; Nor have I breath nor time to waste — Nay, Prudence bids me be in haste ; A few words only would I say. Which I could trust none to convey — Words far too pure — too sacred — dear. For other ears than thine to hear — Wilt thou be mine ? — for ever mine ? — Speak, fairest ; Angels hover near, From thy sweet hps love's pledge divine To waft unto a hoHer sphere. Oh ! is the smile in that bright eye, That cheek's soft blush my blessed reply ! — RECORDS OF THE HEART. Now I am bappy ! come what will. Life hath for me nor storm nor ill. IV. " I know the grudge and lasting ire, Thy father bears my haughty sire ; The danger of a secret union — Ay, e'en if known, this brief communion ; That if discovered, Ugo's wroth And hate may fatal prove to both : But, dearest, this sbaU part us never — Death — only death — our destinies shall sever ! " To-morrow morn before the dawn Awakes the lark upon the lawn, My ship will sail for Sicily, Where two months absent I must be, Ere I return to Italy, And, lovely Florence, back to thee. Twice thirty days just from this night, Prepare thee for a speedy flight ; When bells proclaim the vesper hour, ' Be near the Tiber, in the bower. Where, by the stars and pale moonlight, Before we've met, on many a night ; FLORENCE. And ready there my bark shall be, To bear us swiftly o'er the sea To some bright land afar to dwell — Till then, sweet maiden, fare thee well." " Must — must we part ? " — the pallid maid Kaised her dark eyes and trembling said, " Oh ! I would rather die to-night. Than thou should' st leave one hour my sight. I fear the guilt — I feel the woe, To love thee 'gainst my father's will ; He bids me swear it to forego — I swear, and doubly love thee still. He bids me wrench thee from my heart. But in that act would life depart. With thee to live — and love — and die, Whether beneath our native sky. Or in some wild, forsaken land — In cave, or isle, on desert strand. Is all I wish, is aU I hope, Whate'er the ills with which we cope. This morn, before the holy Mother, My sire betrothed me to another, And if this meeting he divine, — Loved Leon ! I shall ne'er be thine — 10 RECORDS OF THE HEART. He will not sleep till I be wed To Leonardo — or am dead. Oh ! must tliou go ? Will the dark sea, Dear Leon ! give thee back to me ? — I know not why — I fear no more, Leon, thou'lt see Italia's shore." " Florence ! fairest ! speak not thus — The grave alone can sever us ; My journey shall be brief, and then I will not J)art from thee again, Nor now in soul : as o'er his track The Hadji's spirit stealeth back To worship still at Mecca's shrine, Or faithful Jew's to Palestine ; So, wandering o'er the dark blue sea, My spirit will return to thee. When thou art singing in the grove. When thou dost tune thy harp to love. Then hovering nigh my soul shall be. To catch the heavenly melody ; When evening shade the green earth dims, When slumber sweet enchains thy limbs, It will be here to guard thy form, And save thee, loveliest one, from harm." FLORENCE. JJ He said, and as quick tears did start, And overrun each silken lid. He clasped her sobbing to bis heart. While down his cheeks the bright drops slid. To hearts wrapt in such holy dream, Ages could but a moment seem ; So lost to everj'- thing around, They might not hear the earthquake's sound. Around his neck her white arms wreathed — Save that at intervals they breathed. As sympathy their bosoms heaved, — One looking on would have believed Them alabaster figures there, Sculptor had wrought with strictest care : Love prompts him ever thus to stay, Now Danger urges him away ; And from the hallowed speU he started. As at the tread of arm6d men, — One long embrace — and then they parted To meet — but never thus again. CANTO n. THE DETECTION THE PRO&nSE THE MURDER. I. Theke are some men and women born With young volcanoes in their hearts, Which from their craters ne'er are torn, Nor curbed by ethics, nor by arts. But, like Vesuvius, for some reason Inexphcable, have their season, By Nature's Telegraphic wires, Of throwing off their lava fires ; — And of this class, erratic, wild. Was Ugo's rare and radiant child. Flung back her long, rich, raven hair, Pale as a statue of despair — Her small hands clasped, her lips apart, The maiden lists her lover dart Along the silent corridor. Descend the terrace to the shore, Leap lightly down into his boat. Lying beneath the mossy moat. FLORENCK. 13 And dash adown the yellow tide — " The saints he praised ! he's safe ! " she sighed- Then reeling upon the divan sunk, And from the Bacchanalian cup, Cupid for her had just filled up, Deeper than Ariadne, drunk : — But in this world the scenes must shift, — And bliss is not Heaven's largest gift, Nor Love by Truth the oftenest crowned — As Ariadne — Florence found. II. A voice of thunder shakes the Castle — The mastiffs, chainless, to and fro Yelpipg along the Tiber go. Urged to the scent by slave and vassal. The maiden's bosom quakes with fear — Oh God ! what sounds salute her ear ! A step is in the corridor — A hand upon the yielding door — And now with sabre gleaming high, And lowering brow, and flashing eye, And heart and pulses leaping wUd, Old Ugo stands before his child. " Arise ! thou fair dissembler, rise ! Fierce hissing through his teeth, he cries — 14 RECORDS OF THE HEART. " Look not imploringly, nor falter, But robe thee for the Bridal Altar ! Ere morning fling her portals wide Thou shalt be Leonardo's Bride — Then we shall see if Leon call, And tread unhid my Castle haU — If Leonaedo, thy Betrothed, Be doomed to meet this rival, loathed, Descending from his Lady's tower At such unseasonable hour ! " " Oh ! be not angry with me, sire, I know no law but thy desire. No happiness apart from thine. To-morrow, ere Saint Peter's spires The Day-god gild with golden fires. To Leonardo, at the shrine, This willing hand I will resign. Then pardon, sire, this luckless greeting. This last and most unhappy meeting Between me and Gtjdoni's son — We'll meet no more as we have done. Perchance, no more beneath the sun- To Sicily he's gone to dweU, And only came to say, farewell. Leaving his compliments for thee — The noblest lord in Italy." FLORENCE. 15 " Come to my bosom, fairest flower, That buds and blooms in Tiber's bower ! Thy loveliness disarms mine ire, And leaves me only one desire. Which is to see my Florence blessed ! " Old Ugo said, and closely pressed His erring daughter to his breast — " Poor Leonardo's ill at rest — Hear ! hear him pace the corridor, Thy seeming falsehood grieves him sore — Bringing, to-night, the minstrel here With Bridal songs to charm thine ear. He met Lord Leon on the strand, And to the heart had stabbed the Viper, Had not the hoary-bearded Piper Flung down his harp, and stayed his hand. Ho ! Leonardo ! hither come, Doff — doff for evermore thy gloom ; From all the lords of Italy, Fair Florence has selected thee To lead her to the nuptial shrine, Which thou wilt do to-morrow at nine — Again I place her hand in thine — Again invoke the saints divine — Now let us leave our lovely Idol To slumber and to thoughts of early bridal." 16 RECORDS OF THE HEART. " Pardon me / " Leonardo sighed, " If I address my blushing Bride — Of all the lords in Italy, Young Leon is most fascinating — Perchance the worthiest to be " " Leonardo ! cease debating The question which it is my pride In thy dear favor to decide ; There's not another in the land So worthy of this willing hand," Lifting it to his lips, she said — - " One whom I would so proudly wed." " Beautiful ! beatific blossom ! Come to this reverential bosom ! "While through it ebbs one crimson billow Thy head shall have no other pillow ! But heart to heart, and hand in hand, As now in blessed embrace we stand, In Hymen's consecrated bowers. We'll dream away the rosy hours. Or down the streams of Beauty rove, Teaching the Angels how to love. And lighting all the lonely places With love-iUuminated faces ! " FLORENCE. 17 Thus ardently the bridegroom sighed, Embraced his blooming, blushing Bride, And then elate with hope, desire. Departed with her hoary sire. III. " The saints he thanked ! I am alone ! " She sighed in stifled undertone — And from her finger flung the ring As snake whose fangs envenomed tore her, Touched for her trusty page a spring. Who, in an instant stood before her. Thrice up and down the room she flew, Then from her belt a dagger drew, And fixed, and fierce, as she-wolf gazed Into his eyes, with terror glazed — " Art thou afraid of blood \" she said — " Thou need'st not speak, thy thoughts I've read- Muffle thy feet — fly — plunge this dart Deep into Leonardo's heart ! Nor leave a witness of the deed. Or for the act thou too shalt bleed ! " IV. The page departed — and returned With crimson spots upon his soul, 2 18 RECORDS OF THE HEART That eating down into it burned, As secret flames into a scroll. " Hast thou complied with my commands ? " " 'Tis done, my Lady, thoroughly ! " " Is there no blood upon thy hands ! To fix the crimson deed on thee ? Where did'st thou leave that friendly dart ? " " Buried in Leonardo's heart. Lady ! " " It is his own stiletto — one He gave to me — 'tis known to none — Upon this evidence, if there's No stain upon thee, nor the stairs. The astute jury will decide That it is but a suicide, — Upon the dead will fix the crime. And send the case to Heaven for trial— 'Tis four o'clock by yonder dial — Gro, tell my maids that it is time To robe me for the nuptial shrine — The Wedding is to be at Nine." Promptly the anxious maids attend, And o'er their youthful mistress bend. FLORENCE. ^g One braids her showers of raven hair, Another laves her temples fair, Another fits the satin shoe, That for a fairy's foot might do. Then vest her in a robe of white. And laces limpid as the light, With pearls and diamonds twine her brow. And o'er her drop a veil of snow. TI. Aurora, weary of the night, Has flung apart the gates of light — And through the drapery askance, That fairy fingers draw aside. The Day-god shoots his amorous glance, Upon the richly jewelled Bride, Who from her bridesmaids sits apart, Holding the portal of her heart Against the knocking of Kemorse, That soon will wrench it ope perforca VII. Aghast and pale the bridesmaids start — Wild glances on each other dart — " Ho ! Murder ! murder ! " through the Castle Bursts from the lip of slave and vassal — 20 RECORDS OF THE HEART. " Blood ! " rings along the corridor — Old Ugo staggers through the door, His white hair bristling like the frost That chngs around the Boreal pole — "Ho! Florence! Bridesmaids! we are lost 1 Say mass for Leonardo's soul ! All pale, and still, and stark, he lies ! His own stiletto in his heart, Death's white film drawn across his eyes, And icy cold in every part ! For reasons none may e'er divine, For Heaven he's changed the nuptial shrine 1 Oh ! Saints ! Oh ! Holy Virgin ! hear ! For Leonardo's soul my prayer ! " "Oh ! Holy Mary ! I'm undone ! " In faltering tones the Bride begun ; " Sustain my trembling hmbs, my sire ! Give ! give me air, or I expire I Although I cannot make thee blessed, Oh ! let me weep upon thy breast ! These tears have given my heart relief ! Methinks— I now can curb my grief- Lead me where Leonardo lies— Once more I'd bend on him mine eyes. FLORENCE. 21 And clasp the hand that death has won : Alas ! thou ne'er wilt have a son ! " " Take courage, dearest ! " Ugo sighed ; " Bridesmaids ! assist to lead the Bride To her dead Leonardo's side : Instead of nuptial festival, This day we have a funeral ! " VIII. Within that Castle's highest tower, At this serene and roseate hour, When Beauty walks on heath and hill. And nuptial guests the temple fiU, Lies Leonardo stark and still. So cold, so pale the beams of day Turn trembhng from his icy clay — Vassals and slaves around him stand, A ghastly, terror-stricken hand, And, through the solemn portal, glide The Bridesmaids, Ugo, and the Bride, Who, kneeling by the bloody bed. Begins to say her Kosary ; When up before her stands the dead, And, bowing to the company. As only dead Bridegroom could bow, Wrote " murderess" in blood upon her brow. 22 RECORDS OF THE HEART. CANTO m. rHE VOYAGE— THE HAEPEK — THE ACQUAINTANCE THE WEDDING. I. MoKN is abroad, the sun is up, The dew fills high the lily's cup ; Ten thousand blossoms blushing there Diffuse their incense through the air, And smiHng hail the morning beam ; The fawns plunge panting in the stream. Or through the vale with light foot spring ; Insect and bird are on the wing. And all is bright, as when in May Young Nature holds a holiday. n. The rising tide with heavy flow From sea to shore rolls to and fro, And wailing, breaks upon the shoal, Like Sorrow's tempests o'er the soul Afar upon the restless sea, Bound to iEtnean Sicily, FLORENCE. 23 Lord Leon's bark with swelling sail Bushes before the rising gale, Across the brine, where wildly tost On rocks Eneas' fleet was lost,' On — on she flies, before the wind. The main ahead, the shore behind, Keceding to a misty speck. The sailors gather upon the deck, To bid their native land good-night, And drop a tear to past delight. On the lofty poop Lord Leon sits, His elbow resting on his knee ; And when the wave no more permits Him sight of sunny Italy, Like one whose thoughts are far away, He murmurs to himself this lay. SONa. Thou hast faded from my sight, Fair Italy ; But still, thy star shines bright To me — to me. Thy sweetest, fairest flower. My Italy, 24 RECORDS OF THE HEART. I'll soon pluck from its bower In secrecy ; — And bear it to some isle Far o'er the sea, To feast upon its smile Unceasingly. ni. While Leon sang, a minstrel old, Whose wrinkled brow a story told Of wonder, woe and want, drew near. To give his song attentive ear. IV. His frame was bowed, his limbs were weak. Sorrow had furrowed deep his cheek ; And o'er his thin, dishevelled hair, That bore no marks of recent care. And beard that on his bosom hung, A century her frost had flung. He may have been descendant of The wandering tribe of troubadours, Who sang of war and ladye love. And knightly feats on Paynim shores. V. His harp lie loosened from his arm, And while he eyed young Leon's form, His flashing features closely scanned. He touched the strings with tremhling hand. SONG. In Sicily there lives a maid Of youth and heauty rare : With step as light as Elfin fawn's, With form beyond compare. Her hair is fair as the fairy floss Her skin like ivory, Her cheeks more fresh than freshest rose Of spicy Arahy. Her sire — ^he is of noble birth. His gold and lands are great ; Young EosALiE the only heir Of aU his high estate. And many a lofty knight, and lord, And baron of the land, Have sought upon their bended knee That lovely lady's hand. 26 RECORDS OF THE HEART. But she dotli turn away from all, With a tear in her blue eye, And vows that she will never wed But the Lord of Italy. He is a youthful nobleman Who follows much the sea, And often anchors in the bay Of rocky SicUy. 'Tis said he soon will wed a maid Fair as his native sky — If this be so, young Kosalie With grief will pine and die. VI. The song lit up Lord Leon's eye. His pulse beat quick — he knew not why. He gently waved the harper near, That he the song might better hear ; Prayed, if it were not too much pain. The minstrel would repeat the strain. The veteran moved his harp along. Twice o'er again he sang the song ; And while Lord Leon lauds his skill, Thoughts dark and deep his bosom thrill. FLORENCE. 27 VII. " Where dost thou dwell ? where hast thou been ? A minstrel so infirm and gray As thou, before I ne'er have seen Or heard of, save in harper's lay Or legend old ; " the youthful lord With gentle seeming, asked the bard. Tin. " Stranger ! in sooth this frame is weak. These trembling Umbs great age bespeak ; Yet oft I dare the stormy deep. And strive my mournful lyre to sweep. Save it, my only source of bliss, I roam the world companionless ; The minstrel's fire, his dreams divine, His heritage of woe are mine. Stranger ! for years my care hath been. The heart from love's despair to win ; My harp on Hellas' shore I've strung, Afar in Palestine have sung ; And where the Hakim's art hath faUed, My melody hath oft prevailed ; Me far on land and sea they've sought. Many the mighty cures I've wrought, And timid love to Hymen brought. 28 RECORDS OF THE HEART. IX. I have been to Ausonia's shore, To heal the lovely Emilie ; To Sicily am crossing o'er, To see the Lady Kosaiie. And when I dissipate her fears, Believe her heart, and dry her tears. By speaking many a cheering word Of love, and the Italian lord, I shall return to Italy To soothe the mournful Emilie." " I'd fain, sweet minstrel, thou would'st call, And sweep thy lyre in Ugo's haU ; There dwells a lady young and fair, Who'll give thy song attentive ear." " 'Tis Florence, Ugo's child," he said, " Whom Leonardo soon wUl wed. Beneath her window many a night I've tuned my harp to her delight — When thou wert coming from her tower Last night we stood beneath a bower — He made at thee a sabre stroke Which nearly grazed thy sable cloak — And, seizing him, the blade I broke." FLORENCE. 29 When thou return'st to Italy, Discourse to her in minstrelsy Of Leon's love and constancy." " Thy will, young lord, shall be obeyed," The ag6d harper calmly said ; And as the vessel cleaved her way, To Leon many a tender lay He sang, of every storied clime, And chivalry of olden time ; The beauty of fair Kosalie, And her estate beyond the sea. Arrived at last, the happy crew- Salute the land that glads their view : When safely anchored in the bay, With trembling footsteps from the shore, The hoary minstrel leads the way. Unto the lady's castle door ; There tunes his harp, and to its sound Comes Kosalie ;with blithesome bound. Hope smiling in her soft blue eye, Her mien all joy — all ecstasy ; By blushes deep her thoughts confest. While ushering in her bard and guest. 1 30 RECORDS OF THE HEART. XI. The bounties spread before them here, The flowing bowl, and welcome cheer, The banquets rich, and festivals That nightly filled the sumptuous halls. In honor of the noble guest. Who, like a monarch, is caressed : The minstrel's arts, and subtle wiles, The witchery of the lady's smiles, The magic of her matchless grace, Her fatal charms I need not trace : But aU the fickleness of Love, How very faithless he can prove To whom he makes his warmest vow, To what false shrines too oft we bow, And what the youthful lord befeU. For wedding the " Sicihan Belle," The sequel of this tale wiU teU. FLORENCE. 31 CANTO rv. THE BANK OF THE TIBEE. Ah, tu non eai, Qual guerra di pensieri Agita Talma mia. Metastasio. THE DISAPPOINTMENT — THE PAGE — THE CONFIRMATIOK. I. The waves are smooth, the wind is calm, Onward the golden stream' is gliding, Amid the myrtle and the palm' And ilices^ its margin hiding ; Now sweeps it o'er the jutting shoals In murmurs, Hke despairing souls ; Now deeply, softly flows along. Like ancient minstrel's warhling song ; Then slowly, darkly, thoughtfully. Loses itself in the mighty sea. The sky is clear, the stars are bright, The moon reposes on her light ; 32 RECORDS OF THE HEART. On many a budding, fairy blossom, Are glittering evening's dewy tears, Like sparkling gems on Beauty's bosom, When sbe in festal ball appears. The suminer flowers, in freshest bloom, Like modest virgins smiling there, Are breathing all around perfume Upon the mute enamored air ; The citron-trees along the strand, With golden fruitage brightly teem ; The hlies in the water stand, Watching their shadows in the stream. And ring the while their tiny bells, As round their feet the billow swells. II. And there, beneath a cypress tree. The beautiful young Florence stands. In silence watching wistfully The waves that wash the sparkling sands Her velvet robe, deep-wrought with gold^ Falling in many a graceful fold ; Her sable tresses flowing back Beneath a cap of velvet black ; A diamond on her high brow gleaming, A brilHant on her bosom beaming, FLORENCE. 33 Give lier so stately, rich a mien, That she might vie vsath Egypt's queen, When sailing on the Cydnus she Went forth to meet Mark Antony. III. The Moon is past her zenith now, The dew descends on bud and bough, And ill at ease the lady seems ; Oft up and down the lawn she paces, Then sudden starts as one that dreams Or some unwelcome thought retraces, And stills her heart, and leans her ear The long-expected oar to hear ; — But all is sUent as the grave, Nor boat, nor oar disturbs the wave, To intimate her lover near. Or soothe her agonizing fear. With both white hands she clasps her brow, As hope were quenched for ever now, And peace were lost beyond recall — " 'Tis so ! 'tis so !— I see it all !— Oh ! fatal ! Oh ! perfidious speU Of love that sent my soul to hell I Poor Leonardo ! rests he well ! 3 34 RECORDS OF THE HEART. For me's no clemency divine ! False Leon ! retribution's thine ! I had a dream — a troubled dream — In which I saw thy dark eyes beam Upon a fair Sicilian maid, In her white nuptial robes arrayed ; I saw her at the altar stand — I saw thee take her lily hand — And joyous hailed the morning light Which broke the vision of that night ! Yet oft to me it would return, And overwhelm my soul in woe ; But then the vision I would spurn, — For oh ! I could not deem it so ! But ere the dawning of the morrow 'Twill prove an omen of my sorrow. My faithful page, come hither, come ! This long delay may seal our doom ; Mount thee upon the fleetest steed. And with the wing6d lightning's speed, To Count GuDONi's castle go, And what betideth let me know," — • She said, and in her wildered state. Unnoticed passed the castle gate. And by the watchful mastiffs' lairs. Tripped lightly up the marble stairs, FLORENCE. 35 Flew througli the corridor's dim gloom, And safely reached her distant room. Upon the silken couch she fell, And strove her torturing doubts to quell ; But easier 'tis the waves to still That roU amid the stormy ocean, Than subjugate unto the will The troubled bosom's wild commotion ; — Now up she sprang, in frantic mood. Paced rapidly across the floor — Then stopped — ^before her mirror stood, And while she scanned her beauty o'er, By dress so richly now displayed, Eevenge and Pride called to her aid. With hasty step and firm intent, Unto a secret casket went, A little packet thence withdrew — Love's tokens dear while they were true — Unclasped with trembling hand the hd. Quickly the snowy scrolls undid ; Over each missive glanced her eye. Then for another dashed it by ; And when she reached the final hue That erst to her had seemed divine, — Pondered how little such are worth. She laid them all upon the hearth ; — 36 RECORDS OF THE HEART. Betrotlial ring — chains, diamonds, pearls — A locket with her Leon's curls, His miniature serenely put Upon the medley fated pyre ; Stamped it with her indignant foot And strength of slighted love's keen ire. Then to the pile the torch applied. And round them while the swift flames gHde, Like lightning ere the thunders roU, Effacing casket, gem, and scroll, Melting the chains to livid thread ; With low, unfaltering voice she said — " Leon ! I could see thy soul Writhe in thy frame, girt round by fire, Calmly as I behold each scroll, Beneath that fatal flame expire : " Then sank upon the ottoman, And watched the blaze as on it ran ; Love's gilded tokens aU consuming. But not his fiery pangs entombing. — No ! deep within her throbbing heart. There quivering hangs his poisoned dart, Too deeply lodged for surgeon's art. FLORENCE. 37 IV. " But list ! — my page ! — be still my heart ! — To feign is now thy only part. — What do I fear ? Why tremble so ? Whence this new ague-fit of woe ? He'll only tell what now I know — What dreams have taught me long ago, The songs the minstrel sang to me. Who late came o'er from Sicily. I knew not why, but as he sung, The bridal song of Kosalie Seemed in my ear the larum rung Of some approaching misery. Prophetic was its every tone, And mournful as the midnight moan Of tempest midst the forest lone : — But all too vain — such pondering ! I'll hear whate'er my page may bring — No fiercer pangs my heart can feel. Though death to-night my doom should seal ! " The page approached at her command, And kneeling kissed her snowy hand. An anxious glance upon her flung, And thus began with faltering tongue. 38 RECORDS OF THE HEART. VI. "In Count GuDONi's spacious hall Kise loud the sounds of festival, The golden lamps are burning bright — Lord Leon hath returned to-night, And hke a Peri by his side, I saw liis fair Sicilian bride — Her brow " " Enough, my page, 'tis well, What further passed thou needst not tell ; — Peace to Lord Leon and his bride," Firmly, yet softly, she replied ; " My secret, keep — for if one breath My sire should learn, 'twill cause my death ;- And that I am unfit to die. Is known to all the saints on high. Eefrain thy tears — nor weep nor sigh — Myself am calm : — now to thy bed. With Heaven's best blessing on thy head." VII. The faithful page dropped on his knee, And said, while tears suffused his eye, " My life is consecrate to thee, Whate'er thy future destiny. FLORENCE. 39 Long may thy cheek retain its bloom, Nor aught but joy thine eyes illume ; " — Eose, bowed, and vanished from the room. VIII. " Alone ! " she cried, but all was o'er, And cold and prostrate on the floor. Like one o'erthrown by instant death. She fell ; nor showed she pulse, or breath, Or sign of life, tiU morning bright Had filled her room with rosy light. Bewildered then and ashy pale — As some wan spirit of the vale, — As one who wakes from sleep elysian. When hideous images have crossed Abruptly o'er the mental vision. And all sweet thoughts in chaos tost ; — Or rocked upon the stormy streams That rush along the land of dreams ; Or, starting from protracted trance, Flings round a wild and hurried glance — She woke : blood on her Up, and hair, — Upon her paUid brow despair ; Up quickly from the carpet sprung. Backward her raven tresses flung, 40 RECORDS OF THE HEART. Erased each mark and every speck That could betray her heart's sad wreck, Or she her room that night had left, And of life's all had been bereft ; Doffed the rich garb that yesterday (With yesterday, oh ! had life flown !) Her charms so lovely did display ; Night's white apparel then put on, Ean mutely o'er her beads of gold, TiU one by one were strictly told ; A golden cross placed on her breast, Then laid her weary limbs to rest. But not her soul by woe oppressed. IX. At rising hour she turned her head And to her maidens gently said — " Hie ye away with footsteps light ; The hideous visions of the night Have from my eyeUds driven rest ; " — And then again her pillow pressed. X. The morn was past, day on the wane, When her attendants came again FLORENCE. 41 With invitation to attend That night in Count Gudoni's hall, Where Leon and his bride would lend The charm unto the festival. XI. " Could it be so ? " She gasped for breath. Had she received a best for death, An irresistible command To hasten to the exile's land. Where Hope and Mercy never smiled, Her heart could not have beat so wild. Pallid and lost to sense she lies. The hot tears streaming from her eyes, Swollen and throbbing with the pain Of the bewildered, fevered brain. xn. Many the high resolves she made. Many emotions dark allayed That rose to give her bosom aid : She would not shed another tear For him she once had held so dear ;- 42 RECORDS OF THE HEART. Henceforth her cheek should bloom as bright, Her step be in the dance as Kght As when one glance from Leon's eyes Turned earth into a paradise ; Her songs, her smiles shoidd be as gay ; No sigh her weakness should betray — Thus she had pondered as she lay. But ah ! we know not till they're stirred, What notes among the heart's strings slumber ; A reckless touch of one fine chord Wakes tones that life's brief years outnumber. Whose doleful jarring never ceases Till Death the troubled soul releases. XIII When sense and reason had returned. Passions again resumed their sway, And in her bosom feelings burned Which vengeance only can allay — Especially in lava hearts. When wrong unsheathes in them her darts. That night in Count Gudoni's hall She would attend the festival, Her beauty deck in richest style, And teach her lip its sweetest smile ; FLORENCE. 43 To Leon make her cheek and eye The anguish of her heart belie. Now up with flashing eye she sprung, A snowy shawl around her flung, Summoned her page, and to him gave The orders which she wished to have Promptly and strictly aU obeyed. And then dismissed him for her maid ; The dress and jewels fixed upon. The arduous toilette they begun. XIV. Before her mirror mute she stands, Twirling the white note in her hands. Till every fiery word she mars — Her black eyes gleam hke two fixed stars, That through the tempest of the night Flash out with white, intenser light — And all her mien a heU bespeaks That vent in desperate action seeks. Slightly they tinge her paUid cheeks, Difliising over them a bloom, Kesembling first rose-buds of spring. Or such as fitful fevers bring Decaying beauty to illume ; 44 RECORDS OF THE HEART. Then robe her in a white brocade, That gems and costly ermine aid — Entwine her brow with snowy pearls From which depend her raven curls, And diamonds that a queen might grace Upon her beating bosom place. FLORENCE. 45 CANTO V. Mlserabile Visu. THE PAKTV — THE CALL THE POISON. I. Early in Count Gudoni's hall, She moved amid the festival, Outshining all the bright and bland — The loveliest of her lovely land. She' stands beside a marble post, Upon her breast her small hands crossed, Her gems and diamonds gleaming bright. Beneath the golden lamps' fuU light ; Around her throng th' enchanted crowd, The young, the fair, the brave, the proud, Hanging upon her words divine, That flow in mellow Florentine. II. " There comes Lord Leon with his Bride ! " Aloud a hundred voices cried ; 46 RECORDS OF THE HEART. " Behold how beautiful, how fair, She with the white wreath in her hair." While thither Florence turned her face With all a high Sultana's grace, Lord Leon brushed her robe aside. And from her burning glance of pride Turned his as instantly away. As from the sun's meridian ray ; But she, assuming mildest mien, Stepped forward with a smile serene, — A mask his subtlest powers defied, — Addressed him softly, gracefully. And prayed to know his lovely bride — " The beauteous Belle of Sicily." AU wonted salutations past, A gracious look upon them cast, With words and smUes that could but charm ; Linked in the Bride's her jewelled arm, Moved on amid the glittering throng. Where Beauty led the dance along ; Exerted all her arts to please, Till Leon felt himself at ease ; And ere the festival was ended. With them amidst the dance she blended ; Lastly with his joined her fair hand, Within the bounding Saraband ;' And while to minstrel's spriglitly tune They tripped along the gay saloon, With quivering lip, yet air most bland, A note unseen placed in his hand. III. The music's hushed, the dance is done, The revellers to their homes have gone ; And sleep enchains each weary limb, Save her whose eyes with tears are dim. Once more within her sumptuous room, Her spirit whelmed in darkest gloom ; Upon the couch in silence deep. With none her secret woe to weep, Or lend her kindly sympathy, — The sick heart's only remedy ; Sits that sad child of destiny, Her head reclining on her hand. Before her placed an ivory stand ; Two golden cups upon it, fiUed With wine in her own land distilled ; A vase of freshest, purest flowers, That day culled from Italian bowers, Is smiling brightly, sweetly there, In mockery of her deep despair. IV. A step is in the corridor, A hand rests on the yielding door, And to her mournful, gentle hest. Slowly within Lord Leon came ; The feelings he would have represt Like aspen shook his manly frame. " Be calm," the lady rising said, " There is no cause for agitation ; The note I gave thee only prayed A friendly reconciliation ; Such as our former intercourse Upon us both would seem to force. From childhood up we have heen friends. And late methought we might be more ; But lovers' bonds Fate often rends. And bids them hallowed dreams give o'er. The change thou suddenly hast made. The love I bore thee ill repaid ; But, in the presence of high Heaven, Leon, by me thou art forgiven. Upon the past let neither think ; — . To seal for aye our friendliness. Pray, let us now together drink The glass of sweet forgetfulness." FLORENCE. 49 And Leon, by her kindness warmed, And by her beauty doubly charmed. While keen remorse his bosom rack'd, And half regretting his rash act, A moment clasped her hand in his, Printed on it one fervent kiss, And o'er departed, hallowed years Both mingled silently their tears — Then raised their cups the wine to sip. And as the goblet pressed his lip. Breathless she gazed into his face. As there some secret thought to trace ; And when its contents he had q[ua£fed. Loudly and franticly she laughed. And reckless drained the fatal draught. And pale and corpse-like there they stood As held by some unhallowed spell, TUl to their hearts flowed back the blood, — Then shrieking on the floor they fell. A moment, cold as lifeless clay. In strong convulsions writhing lay, Their spirits groping their dark way, Unlit by reason's faintest ray ; 4 50 RECOEDS OF THE HEART. Then rose, and met their eyes of fire, With horrid scream, and visage dire, Like two fierce demons on their fiight That meet along the realms of night. With livid cheeks and lips all black. Each from the other then drew back ; Each bent on each a hideous gaze, TiU from their frozen, ghastly eyes. The parting soul withdrew its rays. To wing its flight to other skies. And there, when morning's limpid light Broke through the damask curtains bright, They sat all cold, and stark, and still, In every vein death's icy chill — The frightful wrecks of mutual iU. VI. Old Ugo to the spot was led By many a menial's piercing cry, And darted on the ghastly dead The gladiator from his eye. Th' appalling sight, nor pity, love, His iron soul had power to move ; Long dormant feelings now up start Like stinging serpents in his heart. FLORENCE. 51 Shooting cold tremors through each vein, And fiery venom to the brain. He drew his sword half from its sheath, As if to wreak his ire on death ; Then thrust it back, and with a sneer Bade vassals go prepare the bier. VII No weeds, no funeral pomp was there ; No tears, no kneU, no holy prayer. Nor benison besought from heaven ; But in the silent hour of even. By menial hands they were conveyed Slowly along the myrtle shade To an unconsecrated grave ; Their constant dirge the moaning wave. VIII. And there they lie ! how calm their sleep The kng unbroken dream of death ! Aloof the trembling woodnymphs keep — For ever nature holds her breath, Gliding on tiptoe by the spot, As timid maid by haunted grot. Lifeless the leaves around it lie — The flowers scarce open ere they die — 52 EECORDS OF THE HEART. One pale wliite rose, upon the tomb, Is all tliat struggles through the gloom. This all behold — the why none tell — They call it stiU— "TAe Spectre Dell," As by, with guarded tread, they go. " Within this sable vale of woe Two youthful forms, in snowy sheen. Arm linked in arm, are often seen, At noon of night, to glide the green ! " IX. There cross nor crypt doth mark the spot, Nor teU the lonely sleepers' lot ; The cypress in funereal gloom Folds its dark arms aboye the tomb. Since that sad eve, its sickly sod No human foot hath ever trod ; But when night draws her curtain there. Sits weeping by it mute Despair ; And Sorrow sends a mournful wail Along the silent, spectral vale. Never again that fair-haired bride Saw her young lord. What did betide Him on the night he left her side FLORENCE. 53 She never knew. — 'Twas mystery all. A few days in Gudoni's haR Slie lingered like the fairy rose O'er which the sudden simoon hlows — And then, in sable weeds arrayed, Across the ocean was conveyed To her own isle. But she was changed — And through the realms of madness ranged. There, where she once had reigned the queen Of Beauty, and in festive hall, Had moved, in maiden's brightest sheen. Beneath the rapturous gaze of all. She wanders with dishevelled hair, Clutching at phantoms of the air. Whom she believes her Leon come To bear her to his happy home ; And when the image she would clasp, Eludes her fascinated grasp. Falling upon the ground, she lies. Piercing the air with hideous cries ; And thus noon, night, she raved the same. Until the spirit dofFed the frame. To moulder in the maniac's grave Beside the clear Sicilian wave. 54 RECORDS OF THE HEART. XI. With lightning speed conjectures flew, From hut to castle, sea, bayou ; — Where had the Lady Floeence gone ?— Where Count Gudoni's only son ? Were questions oft repeated there. With tearful eyes and anxious care. XII. A thorough search for them was made, Afar o'er mountain, ocean, glade. By weeping friends, — the faithful crew; But none their sad tale fully knew. Save those who saw them on that mom To their unhallowed burial borne. Fate spread around their hapless tomb Her sable pall of deepest gloom FLOEENCE. 55 NOTES. CANTO L Note 1, p. 3. "A Tale of the Tiber." This poem is founded on an Italian tradition, related to me by a native of Florence. The time occupied is two months. The scene commences on the banks of the Tiber, near Rome — shifts thence to Sicily, and thence back to the Tiber. CANTO nr. Note 1, Sect. II., p. 23. "Across the brine where, wildly tost, On rocks .Eneas' fleet was lost." " Hseo ubi dicta, cavum canversi cnspide montem Impulit in latus ; Ac venti, velut agmine facto, Quik data porta, ruunt, et terras turbine perflant. Incubuere marl, totumque & sedibus imis Un^ Eurusque Notusque ruunt, creberque procellis Africus, et vastos volvunt ad litora fluctus. Insequitur clamorque virum, stridorqne rndentum. Eripiunt subit6 nubes coelumque, diemqne, Teucrorum ex oculis : ponto nox incubat atra. Intonuere poH, et orebris micat ignibns sether : Prassentemque viris intentant omnia mortem. Extemplo vEneas solvuntur frigore membra. Ingemit, et duplices tendens ad sidera palmas, Talia voce refert : terque quaterque beati, Quels ante ora patrum, Trojas sub moenibus altis, Contigit oppetere ! Dansiim fortissime gsntis Tydide, mene Iliacis ocoumbere campis Non potuisse ? tuaque animam banc eifundere dextra ? StevTis ubi Macidoi telo jacet Hector, ubi ingens Sarpedon ; ubi tot simols correpta sub undis Scuta virum, galeasque, et fortia corpora volvit. " Talia jactanti strideus Aquilone procella Velum adversa ferit, fluctusque ad sidera tollit. Frauguntur remi : turn prora avertit, et undis Dat latus : insequitur cumulo prjeruptus aquas mons. Hi summo in fluctu pendent : his unda dehiscens Terram inter fluctus aperit : furit Eestus arenis, Tres Notus abreptas in saxa latentia torquet : Saxa, vocant Itali, mediis quaj in fluctibus aras, Dorsum immane mari summo. Tres Eurus ab alto, In brevia et syrtes urget, miserabile visu ; Illiditque vadis, atque aggere cingit arenae. Unam, quffi Lycios fidumque vehebat Orontem, Ipsius ante oculos ingens k vertice pontus In puppim ferit : excutitur pronusque magister Volvitur in caput : ast illam ter fluctus ibidem Torquet agens circum, et rapidus vorat sequore vortex. Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto : Anna virum, tabulseque et Troia gaza per undas. Jam validam Ilionei navem, jam fortis Achatas, Et quJi vectus Abas, et qui grandaevus Alethes, Vioit hyems : laxis latetum compagibus omnes Accipiunt iuimicum imbrem, rimisque fatisount." yEneid, Lib. I., line 82. TRANSLATION. When this he said, against the hollow rock With his broad weapon furiously he struck — The Winds rush forth, as if for War's array, And in vast whirlwinds sweep the port and bay ; — Athwart the ocean from their deepest seat, The raging Eurus and the South Winds meet ; Swift from the West thick storms in fuiy pour And roll the mighty waves along the shore — Then far amid the heaven and yeasty main Resound the crash of masts and cries of men — Quickly the clouds snatch from the Trojan's eyes The blazing sun and all the glowing skies — Black Night in total darkness veils the sea — The thunders roar around them fearfully — Quick lightnings flash along the murky air. And Death and swift Destruction on them glare. The ships before the awful breakers reel. With sudden fear Eneas' limbs congeal — • Cold horror creeps along each curdling vein, He groans aloud with inward grief and pain. And supplicating rears his hands to heaven. And says — " bless'd I thrice bless'd ! to whom 'twas given In battle on their native shores to fall. Before their fathers, 'neath proud Ilium's wall : — Tydides ! bravest of the Grecian train ! Why could I not upon the Trojan plain This wretched life pour forth by thy right hand. And rest in death among the faithful band. Where valiant Hector — huge Sarpedon sleep, Beneath Achilles' sword's relentless sweep ; Where Simois rolls beneath its bloody wave So many shields, and helms, and slaughtered brave ! " 58 EECOEDS OF THE HEART. And now a blustering adverse storm descends Against the sails, the straining canvas rends — Breaks all their oars — bears far away the spars, And rolls the mountain billows to the stars — Averts the lofty prow, and with the tide The creaking vessel broaches on her side ; Around her now the raging breakers rise. And dash their liquid summits to the skies ; — Anon the waters yawn till sand appears. And rocks to fright the trembling mariners. Three vessels broken by the tempest's blast Upon the hidden rocks the South Winds cast, To whose huge backs uplifted from the wave The name of Altars the Italians gave, And three the East Winds from the billows urge Among the frightful shoals and foaming surge. And wedge them in an eddying bank of sand — A "wretched sight to the bewildered band ! That which the Lycians and Orontes bore Before -lEneas' eyes a wave swept o'er. And headlong from the poop the pilot hurled ; Three times around the laboring vessel whirled, Then suddenly with iierce voracious sweep, Submerged her far beneath the boiling deep. Her scattered crew now float upon the brine. With arms of men, and household gods divine. And Trojan wares, and goods, and treasured store. Which they had borne from ancient Ilium's shore ; O'er Ilioneus' ship the storm prevails. Next that in which the brave Achates sails, O'er Abas' then and old Alethes' rides, While through their gaping seams and opening sides With fearful speed the hostile water glides. FLORENCE. 59 CANTO rv. Note 1, Sect. I., p. 31. ** Onward the goldeu stream is gliding." " Tbe Tiber, stained to a deep yellow by the fertilizing soil which it has washed away from its banks, glitters like a belt of gold along the plain in the sunshine that irradiates with Italian clearness the sward, the scattered trees, and the shadowy hills. — Spalding's History of Italy and the Italian Islands, Vol. I., p. 204. Note 2, Sect. I., p. 31. " Amid the myrtle and the palm." The palm is not a native of Italy, but as I find that it was there cultivated, and still continues to ornament many of the groves and gardens at Rome I have taken the liberty to introduce it here. " We cross," says Spalding, " the mouth of a canal which discharges into the sea the united waters of Virgil's rivers Ufins and Amasenus. Remains of its harbor may be traced ; and considerable ruins, partly Pelasgic, partly Roman, and some belonging to the dark ages, surmount the noble rock which rises from the palm-trees of its hanging garden. Note 3, Sect. I., p. 31. "And ilices its margin hiding." The majesty of the Laurentine Forest is still represented by noble groves of the pine and the dark-leaved ilex, particularly about the mouth of the Tiber, sldrting the sea like a line of gigantic columns, while the laurel, the CO RECORDS OF THE HEART. myrtle, the arbutus, and wild olive form in many spots impervious thickets with ivy and heath." — Spalding^s History of Italy and the Italian Islands^ Vol. I. p. 241. CANTO V. Note 1, Sect. 11., p. 46. •' Saraband." A Spanish dance in use in Italy. Chappel. Pinxt I hill brown Sc ISABEJLILE Implore thee to return tiis ring To GsLmhs when I am no more Aiid. tell Idiv all litis sLiiifering That r.B^iIieJJe for GaTTibu bore, TstLbelle, page, 79. ISABELLE; OK, THE BROKEN HEART. " Ed 6ra U ci^lo alV armonia si' 'ntento, Che 11611 si ved^a in lamo m6ver foglia ; Tanta dolo6rra av6a pi6ii V Sere, 'e '1 vento." Fetbaboh. CANTO I. I. FtJLL many a tale of woe is thine, Fair Island of tlie Haytien Sea, Of vows that should have been divine, And Woman's speechless agony — The pangs of Sorrow's ruthless darts — The hecatombs of trusting Hearts ; Thou hast no mighty names in song — No famed Eecorders of thy wrong — 62 RECORDS OF THE HEART. No Tweed— no storied Helicon — Colossus — neither Moslem pile, Nor gilded Temple of the Sun, To consecrate thy name, bright Isle ! — Thou hast nor classic memories. Nor border songs of ladies fair, Nor spirit-stirring chivalries ; But thou hast records of despair, And tales of deep, enduring love, As ever minstrel's fancy wove. II. Oh ! what is there like that deep grief, That finds, nor seeks on earth relief I That stands from sympathy apart, Unto its own fond broodings wed, Feeding upon the writhing heart, As the Promethean Vulture fed ! 'Tis as the Aspic's poisonous stings — Piercing into the heart's fine strings — The loathsome death-worm o'er us creeping. Ere we within the tomb are sleeping. III. The zephyrs sleep in Nieva's vale — On wave and wold each rougher gale — ISABELLE. 63 While every ear along the grove Bends down to drink the notes of love, The weary warblings of despair, That on the balmy evening rise, Like diapasons of soft sighs. The minstrel is a maiden fair. With delicately moulded form, As ere was wrought by Grecian master — Dark eyes through which the Soul beams warm- A cheek of amber alabaster — A step, once in her native dells. Lithe, lighter than the young gazelle's — A smile with more than Hebe's spell — A voice soft as the Siren's shell, Or tones to Houri's harp-strings given. To welcome warriors brave to Heaven. She wears the wandering Gipsy's guise, She sweeps the wandering Gipsy's lute — But those who gaze on this disguise — Of grief so eloquently mute, Know they behold no Gipsy maid, In these habiliments arrayed. The tiny foot her garb exposes. And little slipper close encloses — Her fairy hand and taper fingers — Her brow, where pensive Beauty lingers — Her modest mien and movement free, Betray too well her high degree. IV. Beneath the solemn yew all day She pours some melancholy lay, Nor raises once her pensive eye To greet the lingerers passing by ; — Nor heeds the needful, glittering pelf, That at her fairy feet they throw, — Her thoughts seem never bent on self, • She only thinks and sings of woe — Of sighs, and tears, and slighted troth — Stern Fate's irrevocable darts. And woman's worth, and wrong, and wroth — Love's faithless vows and broken hearts — These best befit her mournful lute, That on all other themes is mute. Young dark-eyed maidens from the hill Come down and sit by moonlit riU ; Hidalgos, from rich domicU, Linger along the balmy lea. To list her love-lorn minstrelsy ; ISABELLE. 65 And wlien on violet bed reposing, Kind slumber her soft eyelids closing, They slowly, solemnly draw near, And pitying view the sleepless tear, That o'er her cheek unbidden flows From the perennial fount of woes. Kind-hearted damsels seek her there, And bid her to their cots repair — To flee the noontide's burning ray ; But with a sigh she turns away, Serenely weeping — singing — roams, Where never rude molester comes ; — 'Tis as some halo of blest Hght, Encircles her by day and night, Withia which evil dare not come, Nor aught save guardian Nymph and Gnome ; The tempest even shuns her form — God shields the hapless maid from harm ! VI. Three weary years have roUed away Since first they heard her pensive lay. Yet none know from what shore she came, Nor why, nor what may be her name — 5 66 RECORDS OF THE HEART. They only gather from her song, That she hath loved and suffered wrong. Some deem she came from Spanish lands, And others from Ausonian strands. Opine that she hath followed over The dangerous sea some faithless lover. Some ween Count Gamba, to whose gate At midnight she is seen to go, And weep, and murmur strains of woe, Hath some part in the maiden's fate ; And some frown on this foul suspicion, And prate about her low condition, As lofty souls could only be Found clad in garbs of high degree. — Some guess she is the spirit pale. Of maiden murdered in that vale. By a false lover long ago ; — They guess, and guess — yet nothing know. VII. When vesper bells are tolling loud. She seeks the temple with the crowd, And strives to chant the Holy Creed — To count aright each amber bead, But rightly never can succeed ; — ISABELLE. g7 Why wander thus her thoughts away, When to the Virgin she would pray ? Why steals her eye to Gamba's seat ? Why hangs it on his lady sweet F Why glistens through her lashes jet The crystal tear When he is near, Like dew-drops on the violet ? Then slides along the drooping lid, And steals adown her cheek unhid, As if it sought from the dark fount, Where it so long had been confined, Above the troubled brim to mount. Some chme of sunnier Kght to find ? She's ever at confessional. Yet lingers — falters in the hall, And turns away without confessing, As something on her soul were pressing. Which she would teU to priest nor Heaven, Though sure by both to be forgiven. 68 RECORDS OF THE HEART. CANTO II. I. 'Tis eve — soft lies the Indian sky. Not as within this northern clime, E'en in its most congenial time Of summer melting melody, But with one golden gush of light, As Heaven had centred aU her smiles Within those soft aerial isles, To 'luminate the sultry night, When languid Beauty wanders forth To breathe the breezy, balmy air, — Arouse her ivory limbs from sloth, And decorate her raven hair With pearly flowers. From fairy bowers. Which ever bud and blossom there, And smile beneath seraphic care. Fond Echo sleeps on rock and hill. The nightingale's sweet voice is still Beside the silent, silver rill — No breath awakes the drowsy palm, And all, save sorrow's breast, is cahn ; Or the wild beating hearts of lovers, Who silently along the glades, Await, beneath the leafy covers, The footsteps of responding maids, To breathe to them a last farewell, Or plight the vows they'll treasure well. If there are moments in this life When guardian Angels hover near, Despite of envy, pain, fear, strife — And dash the cup of grief with cheer — When to the longing soul is given A foretaste of the bHss of Heaven, — It is when young hearts, pure and high, Meet under Heaven's approving eye. Afar in some sequestered grove, Or by some soothing waterfall, And blend thought, fancy, feeling — aU — In the omnipotence of love. II. And wan the mournful maiden now Across the balmy valley flies. The cold, damp dew upon her brow, The hot tears stealing from her eyes— The last that Fate can ever wring From her young bosom's troubled spring. Paling, beneath the myrtle, she Glides onward o'er the moonlit lea — By many a mausoleum speeds. And tomb, amidst the tuneful reeds. Yet falters not — she feels no dread When in the presence of the dead — Alas ! what awe have sepulchres For hearts that have been dead for years — Dead unto all external things — Dead unto Hope's sweet offerings, While with its lofty pinions furled. The spirit floats in neither world. She gains at length the holy fane, Where death and solemn silence reign — Hurries along the shadowy aisles, Up to the altar where blest tapers Burn dimly, and the Virgin smUes, Midst rising clouds of incense vapors — There kneels by the confession chair. Where waits the friar with fervent prayer, To soothe the children of despair. Her hands are clasped — her eyes upraised- Meek — beautiful — though coldly glazed, ISABELLE. 171 And her pale cheeks are paling faster ; From under her simple hat of straw, Over her neck her tresses flow, Like threads of jet o'er alabaster, — From which the envious dews of night Have stolen half their glossy Ught. III. " Father ! invoke of Heaven the aid And pardon for a dying maid — Peace for a soul that finds no rest, Nor craves it now hut with the hlest. The light is fading from mine eye, An icy chUl is at my heart, The time hath come for me to die — But ere my spirit hence shall fly, A tale of woe I would impart. Which I would have thee breathe to none, But Gamba's ear when I am gone. My home is o'er the deep blue sea. Where love and beauty are divine — Our being — ^breath— eternity, — I am a hapless Florentine, Of noble birth and title high— But mine was a false deity, 72 EECORDS OF THE HEART. Worshipped too early and too well — It fled, but left its fatal speU — Alas ! how fatal, these pale cheeks may teU ! " Mine is no tale of murder dire, Committed in revengeful ire, And woman's fit of frenzy brief. But one of deep, enduring grief, That fosters enmity for none — If so — dark deeds I might have done ; For I have watched, full many an hour, Gamba, reposing in his bower. And stood beside the couch of her. Who made this heart a sepulchre ; And might have shorn her thread of life — Perchance have been my GtAMBa's wife ! But, in my heart arose no strife — My sin hath been to love too well — To cherish hope I could not quell. " Words are too weak to teU to thee, Father ! my young heart's dream of bliss — It was a holy fantasy. Sent down from other worlds to this. To win my spirit from frail toys — Encircle it with heavenly joys — ISABELLE. 173 A lovely — blest — eternal ray, Extinguisliing each lesser light, As the effulgent god of day Eclipses all the stars of night. All treachery from my soul was hidden, And earth lay beautiful as Eden, That is, if I could ken beyond The realm of my own loving heart, Where GtAMBa's image, dear and fond, And bright, illumined every part. And drew my young enraptured thought From all it ever loved or sought. I took no pleasure in my lute — It hung, for aye, unstrung and mute, Save when it woke for Gamba's ear The themes that Love delights to hear : I gazed no more on the blue sky. Drinking ethereal minstrelsy, As was my wont in days gone by ; My Amaranths to ruin run — My pencil, that renown had won And high applause, now traced no line, But Gamba's face and form divine. I placed his picture on the wall. Where Eaphael's sainted Maey hung, 74 RECORDS OF THE HEART. And drank the praise, unknown to all, That through the storied gallery rung : I lined my walls with likenesses Of my adored from side to side — I traced his features on the trees Along the sunny Abno's tide — I peopled with them vale and grove — Them in my fine embroidery wove — I worshipped — drank — and fed — and lived on love. III. " Alas ! that vision passed away, Fleet as the Iris' melting ray. And left me desolate and lone — Lone as despair's departing moan ; Lone as the solitary flower That blooms and dies in desert bower ; — Lone as the dead within the tomb, Where never ray awakes their gloom. IV. " Kind father ! frown not on this tale Of woman's love and woman's woe, For love is woman's bane and bale, And woman's paradise below ; — ISABELLE. 75 Ay ! love is manna sent from Heaven To feed the weary, famished heart, That through the desert waste is driven Of this life's cold and selfish mart ; — It is the magnet of the mind, Where turns the compass of the soul. Which way soever hlows the wind. However high the billows roll — A bright ray of the Deity, That over sunless chaos burst, Lighting all space eternally, StiU blissful, bounteous as at first — The loadstar of both heaven and earth — Created ere creation's birth. " Allured by high ambition's wiles. Count Gamba sought these Indian Isles To win a sumptuous home for me — Some lovelier spot beyond the sea. Then hither was to hasten back, And bear me o'er the liquid track, A wedded bride Here to abide ; But he, on whom my heart relied, Crossed not again the treacherous tide. 76 RECORDS OF THK HEART. Th' appointed nuptial day went by, Yet Gamba's vessel drew not nigh, Neither came missive o'er the sea To mitigate my misery. — I cannot teU the pangs I felt — How oft before the cross I knelt — Life — flight — hope — faded from my sight. And my sick heart within me died. Upon that faithless — fatal night That should have made me Gtamba's bride. I gladly would have sought the sea, That severed far my love from me. And, from some high Leucadian steep. Have made a second Sapphic leap, And sought that rest the world denied. Beneath the deep oblivious tide. VI. " At last the tidings came that he Had wed a lovely Indian belle, Of fortune and of high degree. Forgetful of his Isabelle, "Who would have bartered Paradise For but one glance of his bright eyes — Ay, would have yielded life — Heaven — all, To be one hour his menial. ISABELLE. 77 Alas ! tliat woman e'er should give Her young heart wholly to another, Who may for her a few days live, Then love as fondly any other : While like the dove she mourns her fate, But never finds another mate. From dire misfortunes we may rise, And cleave again the upper skies — May fly the scenes of fear and dread — Forget to mourn the hallowed dead — With calm serenity may learn The cold world's heartless sneers to spurn ; But when Love's keen envenomed dart Enters into the tender heart — Hope — effort — sunny skies are vain — Its founts will never clear again ; 'Tis as an Incubus had laid Its paralyzing finger there — Suddenly every quick pulse stayed, And breathed on it the Dead Sea air. VII. " At first delirium seized my brain, A strange, wild sense of burning pain Shot through my heart and every vein- r' 78 RECORDS OF THE HEART. And in the mad-house I was cooped, Where, like a fettered bird, I drooped : Yet, 'twas some solace unto me, To sit and hear the maniac's cries. Which through my cell ran constantly. And wild as demon harmonies ; To list the prayer — the moan — the sigh- Of those who willed, but could not die :- It was some happiness to know I was not aU alone in woe. VIIl. " It passed — and I was free again. But not from grief's corroding pain ; I had full liberty to stray Along the Aeno s limpid way. And sit at leisure on its brim — They humored well my every whim. But deeper plans absorbed my mind, Than their philosophy divined ; I strayed, regardless of my fate. To EoncesvaUes' storied Strait, There plied the Gipsy's tuneful art, Then sought the idol of my heart Beneath this lovely Indian sky, That I might near him sing and sigh, ISABELLE. 79 Though poor, alone, And all unknown, Even to him for whom I die. IX. " Thou know'st it all — my tale is done — My feeble strength and breath are gone, And I can only offer thee Thanks for thy prayer and sympathy — Implore thee to return this ring To GrAMBA when I am no more. And teU him all this suffering That IsABELLE for G-AMBA bore — It is the pledge he gave to me To seal love's vows of constancy In our own lovely Italy — I pray, too, thou'lt restore to him This gold, which at my feet he threw. When lingering on Nieva's brim, To list the lute I swept for him, And me unrecognized to view. I have bedewed it with my tears. Till scarce the hue of gold it wears — I've worn it nearest to my heart, And now 'tis hard from it to part ; 80 RECORDS OF THE HEART. But I would have him see the token, And life-drops of the heart he's broken ! She said, and cold, and stark, and pale, Kose — vanished from the friar's sight, Along the aisle and through the vale. Like some ethereal form of light. And never more. Along that shore. Nor in that blooming Indian glade. Was seen the mournful Gripsy maid ! ISABELLE. 81 CANTO m. I. Atjeoea's smile awoke the world, Backward night's circling vapors curled. Into the raptured ear of day The lark poured his melodious lay — And slowly Gamba strode the dell, Unmindful of young Isabelle. He thought not of his broken troth. He thought not of that maiden's wroth, Of all the pangs that she must feel, Of all the heart cannot reveal, When left o'er buried hopes to brood, And sigh itself away in solitude. He thought not of those burning tears — The lonely hours that must be hers Through long and slowly rolling years, — Oh, God ! what torture's in those hours, Whose wings hang drooping o'er the soul. Like dead saUs when aerial powers Kefuse the stagnant waves to roll ! 6 82 RECORDS OF THE HEART. 'Tis as amid dim nothingness Eternity did on us press — Life's sluggish currents all stood still, And Death had clasped us in his chiU ! II. At last, beneath a myrtle bower, He paused, the slanting beams to shun. And bending low to pluck a flower Just opening to the morning sun, All lowly laid — in death arrayed, He there beheld the Gipsy maid — Her eyelids calmly — meekly closed. Her limbs becomingly composed As those who lie in sumptuous hall. Or temple draped in gorgeous pall. Transfixed he gazed a moment mute — Now on her brow — now on her lute, That mid the violets sighing lay Deeply and true. As if it knew Its master hand had turned to clay. Then from'his bosom burst a sigh — Tears filled his eye — he knew not why. And torn by many a painful thought Of this poor Gipsy maiden's strife, ISABELLE. 83 His lioine witli solemn step lie sought, And sate him down beside his wife, And told her all that he had seen Of death upon the dewy green ; Then sought his solitary room, In past and present strove to find The cause of this depressing gloom, And melancholy of the mind — Why from the first her lute-tones fell On his rapt ear like funeral knell. III. Young Leila's cheek turned ashy white, And rising up she called for aid, And like a sainted form of Hght With solemn mien she sought the maid- Laved her pale hrow from silver cup, And looped her sable tresses up — Her form in snowy vesture dressed. Folded her hands upon her breast In meekest, and serenest rest — The rosary said. And bright tears shed, As underneath the sod and deep, They laid her down in her dreamless sleep. 84 EECOKDS OF THE HEART. •IV. Meantime, with many a pious thought, The holy friar Gamba sought — Before him placed the garnered gold — The ring that all his errand told — To him the maiden's sorrows broke. And much of faithless lovers spoke. Then coldly frowning, turned and left The paling Count, of reason half bereft. He raised the ring — he scanned it well. And read upon it " Isabelle " — Then from his trembling hand it fell — And peace his bosom bade farewell — Hope never oped her eyes agaiij — Joy — consolation came in vain. VI. There valiant Knight and Beauty throng- Gay is the dance — and gay the song. That flows those sumptuous halls along ; Wine sparkles in the golden bowl — Joy — mirth from every portal roll — ISABELLE. 85 Each tries the most the fete to grace — Who most can Gamba's grief efface, That still defies love's subtlest plea, And every sound of revelry. VII. Few are the words that GtAMba speaks, Few are the pleasures that he seeks, Fewer the moments that he lends To beauty and attendant friends ; No longer with convivial lord, He revels o'er the midnight board, — No longer courts the festive hall, — But mutely — coldly shrinks from all ; In darkest night he strides the dell. Where sleeps the dust of Isabelle — Paces around and round her tomb — Strews it with flowers of freshest bloom — While every pulse rebounds with pain. And madness fires soul, heart, and brain. 'Twas sad to see the blush of youth Give place to hues of sallow ruth ; 'Twas sad to see his sunken eye — 'Twas sad to hear the hollow sigh Escaping from his heart perforce — • But such is ever thy sure work, Kemorse ! 86 RECORDS OF THE HEART. And oil ! 'twas sadder still to view Young Leila's cheek assume the hue Of flowers beneath the autumn dew ! VIII. It is the mellow twilight hour — And GrAMBA sits in his cool bower, His pale cheek resting on his hand — His thoughts afar in spirit-land, Lingering in eternal spell Around the soul of Isabelle ; Nor heeds the gentle step of her Who comes his lonely breast to cheer, The limpid drops shat trickle down Her olive cheek and snowy gown, THl smiling through those sainted tears. She, kneeling at his feet, appears. IX. If ever Angels from their spheres On mortals gaze with pitying tears, They now look down and weep to see This thwarted love and misery ; Loud waft accordant prayers through Heaven, That peace may to each breast be given. ISABELLE. 87 " Oh, G-AMBA ! why this inward strife ? " Weeping, she said, " my light, my life ! Why sternly — coldly shrink from me, As from a hatefiil enemy ? What have I done to grieve thy heart ? To cause thy thoughts from me to rove ? Can I no more inspire thy love ? Flown from me all is beauty's art ? Am I less gentle — loving now, Than when Heaven sealed our nuptial vow ? Less truthful — trustful unto thee ? Less happy in thy company ? I've followed thee along the glade. Where sleeps the Gripsy minstrel maid — Have watched thee by the brink and stream, And heard thee murmur in thy dream ' ISABELLE ! ISABELLE ! ' And down before the Virgin fell — And prayed for power my fears to quell I Oh ! dost thou still refuse to wake The inward woes thy mien declares ? Wilt thou leave this fond heart to break Beneath this weight of wasting cares ? 88 RECORDS OF THE HEART. I could bear wrong — disgrace and pain — Life's direst racks of heart and brain — All other desperate freaks of Fate — But never, Gamba, brook thy hate ! I've knelt at the confession chair, Nor solace gained from priest nor prayer — Here kneeling crave to know thy grief — Oh, break, or give this heart relief ! If this is frenzy — be it so, — I cannot conquer all this woe — This holy love, that from the first Burned with a never-quenching thirst ! Nor wUl I murmur at my fate — I may, perchance, deserve thy hate ; Tes ! if 'tis guilt to win the heart Of one so dear, by any art — And stiU to love, so pure and well — Then guUt is mine more black than hell, And this is but just punishment By righteous Heaven upon me sent ! " XI. " Leila, my dear — devoted friend, Being in whom all virtues blend, Pardon the pangs thy breast I've given — For me. Oh ! waft thy prayers to Heaven 1 ISABELLE. 89 I need them much — the peace — the rest That never more may seek this breast — This gnawing grief — this deep distress — Is not from any act of thine — Neither because I prize thee less Than when Heaven linked thy fate to mine- But Oh ! forgive the guilt I'd smother — This heart was plighted to another ! For whom I deemed affection flown, Before I made thee all mine own — But I have learned by suff'ering long, And anguish all for words too strong, And my sad spirit's ceaseless moan, That we can love but once — and one — All other is reflected light — Such as illumes the queen of night. The minstrel maid whose melody Three weary years, entranced this deU, Was my affianced Isabelle — A daughter of the Tuscan sky — The fairest maid beneath the sun. Whose hand I early sought and won — Upon it placed this glittering token Of vows that I have basely broken ; — She hither came, poor girl, to sigh Her heart away — near me to die. 90 RECORDS OF THE HEART. Unknown to all save the old friar, Who bore this ring to me by her desire — Tidings that brain — ^heart — soul did fire ! " She might have been to kings allied — But this forbore to be my bride — She might have been beloved and cherished- But for my sake, she pined and perished — A minstrel poor — on India's shore Singing for bread from door to door. " Whilom along the Aeno's side, We wandered oft at eventide, She gazing on the glowing skies. And I into her laughing eyes ; And there, when Angels watched above, I told to her my burning love. I have no power — no words to tell How much I loved young Isabelle. She was the Angel of my youth — The paragon of love and truth — The child of art and minstrelsy — All light — -all loveliness to me, And Oh ! that she should dare the surf — Eepose upon the chilling turf^ — ISABELLE. gi Three weary years In pain and tears For me, who could betray her trast — God ! God ! thy wrath is just ! " I know not why Tears filled mine eye, Whene'er for me she woke her lyre — Its every tone was fraught with fire. That made life's sluggish current start. And boil along my every vein, Up to the caverns of the brain. Then left it freezing round my heart. Ever upon its mournful swell Came thoughts to me of Isabelle — Beauty — and Love — and Italy — And of my hideous perfidy. Mine eyes have hung upon her form. As held by some unearthly charm ; I've stood beneath the burning sky, And drank her matchless minstrelsy — Have lain at noon of night and wept, While through my lattice lone it swept- Lone as some fallen spirit's chime — Sad as the funeral dirge of Time. 92 RECORDS OF THE HEART. Five summers since I sought this land Despite my Isabelle's command — Here yielded to thy wealth and beauty My plighted heart and sacred duty — And well hath Heaven avenged my sin ; My babes like autumn flowers have faded And passed from earth — my heart hath been By hell's consuming fires invaded — Peace — pleasure driven from my breast — And, from my haunted pillow, rest. The flowers she loved and tended much, Shrink coldly shivering from my touch ; The stars look down upbraidingly ; Even reptiles curse my perfidy — And all that now, dear Leila, I can crave Of thee, is prayer, and pardon, and a grave — Let no one write my history — Indite no epitaph for me — My country, name, or woe to tell — I only crave to rest by Isabelle." XII. Pale as a marble statue there, Still Leila knelt with vacant stare ; 'Twas as some unexpected dart Had instantly transfixed her heart — ISABELLE. 93 The grave had opened at her feet — From its cold clasp left no retreat. She passed her hand before her eyes, Her soul's emotions to disguise, And to conceal the tears that slid In silence from each burning lid — Then faiatly said — " In thy despair Thou hast my pardon— and my prayer ; Arouse thee from this lethargy — What is the world — life — light to me — Youth, beauty, wealth — unshared by thee ! I had a dream in my sweet youth Of nuptial bliss untouched by ruth. Such as our own seemed — ^but 'tis past — It was too pure — too heavenly bright to last ! ' XIII. Little can prayer avail on high. For those who wiU and crave to die. StiU day and night he strode the dale — Still day and night became more pale- More solemn in his mien and mood — More wed to grief and solitude ; And ere the leaves of autumn fell. They laid him down by Isabelle. 1 94 RECORDS OF THE HEART. XIV. Leila had youth and beauty left, But sudden grief her heart had cleft ; Forth from that melancholy hour, She G-AMBA sought in twilight bower. And heard his trembling lips recite The tale that turned her heart to night ; She never woke to him her pain, Or craved to know his grief again : She never told to friend nor foe Whence came, nor how, this wasting woe— None knew the death-chill at her heart. Save he who planted there the dart — They only heard her constant sighs, And missed the lustre from her eyes, And saw her cheek fade, hue by hue. As flowers beneath the autumn dew ; Her words to Q-amba still were kind, And soothing to his ruined mind — Even in his latest, dying hour. They held o'er him a magic power. But from that mournful eve they laid Him down beside the Gipsy maid, They never saw young Leila more ; — ISABELLE. 95 She could not brook their holy rest While secret sorrow rent her breast — She could not brook the cold world's sneer- Pride's heartless taunt — and envy's jeer. Time — tide, no tidings of her bore, Though her they sought afar and near, O'er sea, and land, and mountain drear. But all who passed those graves at night Saw, by the pale stars' glimmering light, A Lady with long raven hair. And sea-drenched garments, weeding there. XV. There mouldering still their Castle stands, - Like some proud wreck of feudal lands. To greet the eye of all who stray Along the Nieva's blooming way, Where every vassal in the vale Can tell its melancholy tale. The winds are sighing through the halls. The lizard glistens on the walls — From roof and rafter spiders dangle. And weave their webs in every angle — The ivy through the lattice creeps, The owl from porch to gallery sweeps — gg KKCOKDS OF THE HEART. And in the towers for centuries Goblins have held their revelries. Who strove to tarry there the night. Fled ere the morning with affright ; Soon as the tapers they withdrew, The holts and bars asunder flew, And pallid spectres glided in. Their nightly revellings to begin. The mournful Gipsy maiden's song Beneath the casement flowed along. The solemn warblings of her lute, While all to catch its notes were mute. Then rose upon the trembling air The broken-hearted Leila's prayer — The sounds of Gamba's feet as he Paced to and fro the gallery — And still 'tis shunned by lord and vassal- And called by aU the Haunted Castle. y' P.aalpm S E W E 0= ■i.ii!'.;-! lite tiip "''("P'-Bn's ^AiiKi, il^:LilaTiy,njvl ?)'e, ZENEL.* A TALE OF GRANADA, CANTO I. I. She was a peasant's daughter blithe and fair, With cheeks fresh as the rose of Paradise, Locks like the raven's wing, dark languid eyes. And young and beautiful beyond compare ; — An airy flitting bird, aye soft and meek, Modest and gentle as the timid fawn. When first it ventures forth upon the lawn — Sought and beloved was young Zenel : but like The radiant sunbeam prisoned in a cloud Ere it has traversed all its missioned way From the metropolis of Hght and day — A meteor seen, then lost in night's dim shroud — * Pronoimced Thanail. 98 RECORDS OF THE HEART. The rainbow's bright but evanescent glow Was the pure maiden's brief career below. 11. The summer moon is shining bright Far o'er the dark Sierra's height/ And crag, and peak, and snowy crest, Where the wild eagle builds her nest ; The mjTtle groves, and palms,' and flowers, Are smiling through their leafy bowers, And sloping hills and green-wood aisles Are gleaming in her quivering smiles ; Above the azure canopy Spreads its celestial drapery, Bespangled with ten thousand stars, While by their sheen Afar are seen Angels careering in their cars, Making the weary spirit long To doff its frail mortality. And join the bright seraphic throng That sweeps along the starry sky , The dew begems the verdant trees, The air with balmy odor breathes ; Along the spicy-scented vale Sings low and sweet the nightingale,' ZENEL. 99 Where lovers stroll beside the streams, Lost in their first Elysian dreams, Or there have stolen an hour to rove And plight anew the vows of love, And secretly lament the woe That bids them happiness forego ; To tread earth's chequered paths apart. Weary, and lone, and sick at heart. Along Alhambra's dreary halls Full many a hollow footstep falls Of victim closely prisoned there To pine out life in lone despair ; While sounds of wild festivity, And royal mirth, and music's swell Descend into his dismal cell In mockery of his misery ; And on the Vega's ' moonlit green, While lingers yet the evening star Amidst the balmy air serene. Trip small feet to the light guitar = And the low tinkling castanet, Which ever glad the Spanish fete ; And musically wends the rill Along the olive-shaded hill To mingle with the bright Xenil,' 100 RECORDS OF THE HEART. And golden Darro's' gentle tide, That onward pensively doth glide — A scene so bright — divinely fair, That one might deem crime lurked not there, Nor battle ever shook that plain. Nor blood from noble Zegri's ^ vein Sprinkled the sod like heavy rain, Nor helm nor shield had strown it o'er, And many a brave and ghastly Moor. But by yon dark and pine-clad hill Hark ! to the pirate's whistle shriU— See ! by that rock-embattled shore, His gliding skiff and mufiied oar ! ni. Alas ! there is no land on earth Whore sin and crime have not had birth, A people who no sorrow know, A spot which hath no tale of woe : The bard, from wrecks of empires flown, The records of the mighty gone, Weaves his immortal wreath of woes, And gives to death a calm repose ; The mermaid chants her song Of those who far beneath the waves Are sleeping in her watery caves, Her coral groves among ; The corsair prowls along the shore Where Grreece lived once — but lives no more, Save some sad pile to tell us where Earth's mightiest, bravest spirits were ; But slavery binds her ser^nle chain Where freedom held triumphant reign, TrampHng the ashes of the brave. Proud Kome is now one general grave : Decay o'er Egypt spreads her paU — There death and crime hold festival ; Her splendors lie in mournful gloom. And reptiles couch on glory's tomb. And like those fallen lands afar, Thine, Spain ! hath been an evil star : Long war, and blood, and rapine fierce. Have o'er thee flung their withering curse- Consumed, alas ! thy vital breath, And o'er thee spread the paU of death ; Made thee the puny despot's throne, The pirate's spoil^ the brigand's home. IV. Where frowning rocks repel the sea On old Granada's shore, 102 RECORDS OF THE HEART. And waves are dashing heavily Against their bases hoar, Safely concealed from hostile eyea, The pirate's sable vessel lies. A Greek from Zante's sea-girt shore — Their leader first the rock cUmbed o'er, And stretched his eyes along the lea To scan if there were enemy. Or aught that they would fear to meet, Or might discover their retreat ; Then on his whistle softly blew To bid ascend his ready crew. His jaundiced eyes were flashing brightly, And time had plowed his cheek but slightly ; Still there were marks of inward care And grief, full many a character ; A melancholy of the eye And mien, when there was no one nigh, That told some treasured, hidden woe Was gnawing at the heart below. That vanished as a step drew near. And gave its place to reckless cheer. His form was cast in stately mould. And high his brow, and full, and bold ; ZENEL. X03 His long locks curly, glistening, And sable as tlie raven's wing, Were flowing from the ebon hood That decks the Greek of noble blood. A cloak was o'er his shoulders flung, And by his side a sabre hung ; And round his well compacted waist. Pistols beneath his belt were braced ; And but that he was deeply tanned. Some lineaments were on his cheek That might the darkened soul bespeak, And from his eye gleamed fierce command. One well might deem he had been made For else than ocean's renegade. The blackest fiend that ever soared The watery waste, or stained a sword. YI. His motley crew around him stand, Prompt to obey his least command ; Some he enjoined to fit the sliip To make another speedy trip ; Fresh water from the mountain spring — Fruits, bread, whate'er they needed bring ; And some, the sturdy and the brave, He bid hie to the secret cave, 104 KECOEDS OF THE HEART. To bring on board their hidden goods ; Then through the dark umbrageous woods, Along a narrow, winding road. In thoughtful mood he slowly strode ; Nor heeded he the tangled way, That under linden branches lay. Until he reached a wizard's cell. That stood within a rocky dell. O'er which the myrtle branches made A pendant roof, and verdant shade. VII. The old monk sat clad in his hood, And garments torn, and soiled, and rude. His hoary beard and matted hair Strown o'er a visage worn with care, And brow by want and woe o'ercast. And deeply tanned by mountain blast. For many a year his home had been Within that cell and narrow glen ; His drink the water of the rill That laughed along the craggy lull ; His bed the simple moss, or ground. His food the fruit that grew around, ZENEL. 105 Or such as love-lorn maidens brought, Who from his counsels wisdom sought, Of magic spells on lovers wrought. None knew his lineage nor his land, Nor when he first came to their strand ; Nor crime nor woe that drove him from His country, kindred, native home. — Tale of himself he never told, Nor aught to mortal would unfold Of his mysterious, lonely fate, Nor why he lived so desolate ; But always friendly, courteous seemed To those who him magician deemed, And trusted fully in his art To heal the weary, sickened heart. There was no malady, but he Could find for it a remedy ;— The crazed could to their sense restore, The blind could heal, the maimed could cure, The lover win back to his maid, — AU plots of crime or virtue aid, — Tell what had been— what was to be — Unthread the webs of mystery. 106 RECORDS OF THE HEART. VIII. WitWn the cell dark Aizen went, Knelt down beside the wizard's knee, And gazed up in his face intent. While inward grief his bosom rent. " Father, thou knowest my misery," He said, " the wrong, the cruel strife That drove me to this desperate life ; Upon revenge I then resolved. Nor years consumed in woe and crime My plans of vengeance have dissolved, Nor can the ceaseless lapse of time. Often before I have been here Since first to love I bade farewell, And entered on my dark career ; But found thee not within thy cell, Nor caught a glimpse of the false fair, Nor sire who drove me to despair ; And now we meet — say, in this vale Lives Selen and his fair Zenel ? " " Yes, yes, brave Greek, yet here they live, I saw the lady yester eve ; She hastened here with tearful eye, To learn her lover's destiny. ZENEL. 107 Who long had been upon the sea, Or underneath the waves may he." 'Tis well ! no more I need unfold — Thou knowest it all — here, take this gold ;- Let not thine art nor power thee fail To win to me the young Zenel ; It is for this I sought your shore — It must be done, ere one day more Into eternity has sped," In sullen mood stern Aizen said. IX. The wizard flung aside his hood — A. moment sat in thoughtful mood ; And having then the plan espied. In hollow tones he thus replied : — " It shall be done ; to-morrow eve, Soon as the sun shall take his leave, The harvest moon resume her reign, And softly light the hill and plain ; With two or three of thy brave men Hie thee along this gloomy glen ; And I anon will lead thee where The lady nightly kneels in prayer." " Thank thee, old man ; be true to me, And boundless gold thy meed shall be ; To-morrow eve I wiU be here With men whose courage knows no fear," He said, — rose — bowed, and journeyed back. O'er winding vale and moimtain track, And rocky pass, and moor, and lea. Until he reached again the sea, — And there he stood beside the ocean. Meet emblem of his breast's commotion ; Gazing upon the bUlows blue Until his garments dripped with dew ; Then glided up and down the strand With clouded brow and clenched hand, — And more than once he dashed his hood Upon the ground in sullen mood. Ere down the rocky steep's descent He slowly to his hammock went. To list the billows' booming chime Around his couch — and dream of crime. ZENEL. 109 CANTO II. THE CAPTURE. I. It is the mellow, melting hour, When lovers meet to breathe their vows, Soft Philomela cheers the tower, And hghtly dews he-gem the houghs, When Melancholy bends her head, And Mirth goes reeling to her bed, The music of the dawning spheres Entrances misanthropic ears — Night with her diadem of stars Ascends the throne of day on golden bars. n. And AizEN hastes along the glen Close followed by three sturdy men. The wizard, who oft whispered low The safest path that they might go. At length they reach a Httle lawn, Where panting lies the speckled fawn. 110 RECORDS OF THE HEART. And just beyond a cot is seen Behind the tangled myrtle's screen, — Why stops he here ? what hath he spied In such a spot at eventide, To fix his eye, and kindle now A smile upon his iron brow ? — A youthful maid beneath a tree, In prayer upon her bended knee. Her brow, entwined in myrtle bands, Is hid within her tiny hands ; The white mantilla o'er her head In neat simplicity is spread. Her sable tresses pending low Beneath it veil a robe of snow. Guarding in ample folds and meet Her faultless form and fairy feet. Like frighted fawn she raised her head, As she had heard a hasty tread, And gazed around her breathlessly, In search of friend or enemy ; But when she saw nor fawn nor form Of man along the lawn nor plain. Nor aught a gentle maid would harm, She bent her o'er her beads again. Never did artist's pencil trace A fairer or a lovelier face ; Never hath Moslem's fancy seen, While with misguided piety He dies amid the battle keen, A form of such divinity : — The full high brow — the large dark eye, And lashes drooping languidly, Like violet leaves o'er' drops of dew. Veiling the light that sparkles through ;- The swan-like neck — the taper waist. In snow-white bodice neatly laced — The ivory arm, the lofty mien. Surpassing haughtiest eastern queen. Never a sweeter voice had rung Along that spicy breathing vale — Never a lighter foot had sprung Over its buds and blossoms pale, Nor smaller hand touched the guitar ; She was a brother's guiding star — A mother's hope — a father's pride — Young Carlos' fair affianced bride. III. There Aizen like a statue stood, In the dark shadow of the wood. 112 RECORDS OF THE HEART. Gazing upon that lovely form, Whose beauty held for him no charm. How should he speak, and how draw near, And not awake the maiden's fear ? Nor by her shriek bring from the cot Some bold defender to the spot ? With troubled throws he clasped his brow — Bent lower down beneath the bough — StiU farther from the shadows passed — Sly glances towards the cottage cast ; — Then to his men the signal made. Who promptly issued from the shade — With stealthy step, and lifted blade, Crept to the bower with noiseless tread. Snatched rudely back her beauteous head, Across her lips a bandage bound ; But as they raised her from the ground, One stifled shriek broke on the ears Of the unwary cottagers. IV. And forth they leap — the father — son — Friends — vassals, along the valley run. They seek the bower where nightly she Was wont in prayer to bend the knee — ZENEL. J13 They find her not — oh ! feR despair ! What fiend — ^what villain hath been there ? They hear a shriek adown the vale — Fleet footsteps borne back on the gale — Then, as the raving tiger leaps, The panther o'er the mountain sweeps, The hound pursues the buffalo. The cottagers fierce chase the foe. The pirates with the maiden reach Their comrades waiting on the beach — The enemy close on their heels, With hearts of fire and ready steels — The motley crew — the skiff is there. And in it they have placed the fair — The sturdy rowers seize the oar To guide it quickly from the shore. Yet ere they go a moment wait Their chief, who comes at rapid gait ; But just as AizBN gains the water. Places one foot within the boat. Old Selbn cries, " My child ! my daughter," Seizes him firmly by the throat, Detains him with one sinewy hand, And with the other grasps the sMff, 114 EECOEDS OF THE HEART. Whicli breaks Ms clasp and from the land Like lightning darts around the cliff ; And to the ship that lies in wait To take on board its wretched freight. And now the contests fierce begin — Now rings the shore with furious din — Some headlong in the ocean leap, And with the boat strive pace to keep — Exhausted sink beneath the deep — Some fall amid the crimson slaughter — AiZEN and Selen hand to hand Struggle upon the bloody sand — Now on the shore — now in the water — Old Selen lifting high his blade — A thrust full at the pirate made ; But AizEN parried off the blow, And nearly dispossessed his foe ; Eose firmly with' him from the sand, Shook from his throat his iron hand. And on him like a tiger sprung. His weapon from him quickly wrung ; Throttled and held him at arm's length, Swung high his blade with giant strength- Then, like a snake that lifts its head From out its coil, low hissing, said — ZENEL 115 " Dog — coward — demon — ^look on me ! Thy murderer — daughter's lover — see ! Whom from thy door thou once didst scourge, And unto crime and ruin urge ! Behold yon ship ! Thy daughter fair, To be what thou wouldst spurn, is there — Look ! 'tis thy last — thy doom I seal ! Die ! die ! " and to the hilt his steel Plunged in the hoary Selen's heart, — The clustering foemen dashed apart, — Flung his broad Kmbs upon the wave, — Bade follow him his sailors brave, — Who instantly their grasps untwine. And to the vessel stem the brine. V. And now the Pirate spreads her sail. And swiftly scuds before the gale. Bound onward for the Grecian isle, AH cheer and glee on board the while. Save her whom lust and malice hold. And whose dark fate these lines unfold. VI. Senseless upon a couch she lies, Within that vessel's gorgeous room. Around her falling draperies, The rich brocades of India's loom ; Pearls, gems, from many a foreign land. And treasures brought from Persia's strand ; Jewels, that queens perchance had graced, In wild profusion round her placed. Wines, cordials quickly now are brought, And every remedy is sought That can bewildered minds restore ; Fresh fruits a crouching menial bore. And spread before the maiden there ; Bathed her pale brow, and smoothed her hair- Lingering did oft the task renew, But at the pirate's frown withdrew. VII. Sense has returned — she opes her eyes Upon the orient draperies. Up from the cushions quickly springs. Flings round a wild, bewildered glance, Like one awaking from a trance ; Her hands in frantic frenzy wrings — " Ave Maria ! where am I ? " She shrieks in tones of agony ; — " AiZEN ! oh Heaven ! where can I be ? — What ! do I dream ? — a phantom see ? — ZENEL. IIY 'Tis thou !— tlie Greek ! Oh Mary ! dear ! Is this the sea — are these the waves I hear ? My father's heart will hreak with grief — Ave Maria ! bring relief ! AiZEN ! wilt brand thy sotd a thief ? Let — let thy ship retrace its track, And to Granada bear me back ! " " Ha ! bear thee back ! false, haughty fair ! The author of my long despair — My crime — my woe — my ruin ! — Never ! Thou'rt mine, and mine shalt be for ever. I sought thy hand, and would have given My all below — my hope of heaven For thee, a loved, an honored bride ; But thou didst spurn me from thy side — Thy cruel father from his door ; And vengeance 'gainst you both I swore. And since that time I've had but one sole aim — One thought — one wish — one all-absorbing flame- To punish him, and link thy life to shame." " AiZEN, spare a fate so dread ! In mercy spare ! and thee I'll wed," Clasping his knees she sobbing said ; llg RECORDS OF THE HEART. My home — my heart — my life shall be Devoted, consecrate to thee. My father's gold-^his lands are thine ; All, all to thee he shall resign ! " '•' Wed me, Zenel ! 'tis all too late ! My ardent love is turned to hate, Nor long forbearance need'st expect From him thy cruel scorn hath wrecked." " Fear'st not — my father and my brother ? " — " Poor, helpless dove ! thy threats restrain ; They will not strive with me again. Nor draw their blades against another ; — Thy brother sleeps beneath the wave ; Old Selen found a bloody grave ; This sabre pierced to-night his breast, And sent him to his long and dreamless rest." Now, as the lightning from the cloud Dispels the mists that earth enshroud, Truth flashed across her mental eye. And showed a fiend of deepest dye. " Ave Maria ! avert my doom ! " She cried, and breathless, shuddering. ZENEL. 119 Her senses faint and wandering, Pale as the drapery of the tomb, Cold as a naarble pillar, sate Beneath his lowering frown of hate ; Her lips compressed, and smaU hand raised, With vacant stare fuU on him gazed. Till through his arteries shot an icy chill. And his crime-calloused heart with awe grew stiU. " 'Tis most ungenerous — most unkind, Yet to thy will I am resigned ; But first, one hour to me allow. That for the dead my tears may 'flow ; Then thy dark mandate I abide ; " — Subduedly at last she sighed. "'Tis well for thee thus to submit— One single hour I thee permit," He said ; then, darkly frowning, warned Her of her fate, and from her turned And sought the deck, to breathe the air, And give all needful orders there. VIII. Down by the silken couch she knelt, In its soft cushions laid her brow ; 120 RECORDS OF THE HEART. If ever human being felt The pangs of hell, she felt them now. Before her rose her childhood's home, Its innocence, its birds, its bloom ; The friends that there were left behind To mourn her whom they ne'er woidd find ; Her father bleeding on the lea, Her brother buried in the sea, And him whom most on earth she loved — Oh ! then her heart's deep fountains moved. And from her brow she tore the bands. And sobbed aloud and wrung her hands ; Kaised her full streaming eyes to heaven, Implored that power might thence be given To aid her in her agony ; Kose, glanced around her hastDy, Snatched up the light — passed o'er the floor. Where drapery concealed a door Whose light bolt yielded easily. One moment only tarried she, And then with step resolved and free, Back to the couch returned to wait Calmly whate'er might be her fate. ZENEL. 121 IX. What means tliat bustle on the deck ? Those hurrying footsteps to and fro ? — A storm that threatens sudden wreck ? A rock, that gores the ship below ? Some deadly foe approaching nigh ? — Hark ! Hst ! that wUd and maddening cry ! Again ! again ! 'tis louder — nigher ! " Stop ! ho ! fire ! fire ! the ship's on fire ! Bring water ! ho ! bring water quick ! Clew up the sails ! "—rings long the deck. The minute guns boom o'er the wave ; ]sf one — none in mercy come to save ; But, as we in the forest see The red blaze shooting up the tree — From limb to limb it leaping goes, Until one livid sheet it glows ; — The flames are coiling up the mast. And raging in the strengthening blast. Now shrill and loud arise on high The strong man's shriek of agony ; Some reckless by the hatches go, And some as weak as children grow. And feel how just th' avenging rod, Then bend the knee and call on God ; 122 EECORDS OF THE HEART. Some headlong plunging in the sea, Anticipate their destiny ; Or, yet to shun a watery grave, Wrestle with death upon the wave. In fearful grasp and agony. Some cling to slender planks and hrands, TiU death unclasps their crisping hands — Some in their deep despair are raving, Stern Aizen still his pangs is braving, When through the flaring smoke and flame, With frantic bound a light form came, With livid cheek and ghastly eye. And brow elate, and hands on high. Shrieking — " 'Twas I — dark Aizen — I That fired thy ship — 'twas I — 'twas I ! These flames are battling well for me — Thy deed is black — thy guerdon sure ! And death is mine — but I am pure ! " Then, laughing, leaped into the sea, Leaving not one to tell the tale Of those who went that night to sleep Beneath the unrelenting deep. The victims of the fair Zenel. ZENEL. J23 NOTES. CANTO I. Note 1, Sect. II. p. 98. " The snminer moon is shining bright Far o'er the darlc Sierra's height." " ^"ho can do justice to a moonlight night in such a climate, and in such a place ! The temperature of an Andalusian midnight in summer is perfectly ethereal. * « * " At such a time I have ascended to the little pavilion called the Queen's Toilette, to enjoy its varied and extensive prospect. To the right, the snowy summits of the Sierra Nevada would gleam like silver clouds against the darker firmament, and all the outlines of the mountain would be softened, yet delicately defined. My delight, however, would be to lean over the parapet of the tocador, and gaze down upon Granada, spread out like a map below me ; all buried in deep repose, and its white palaces and convents sleeping, as it were, in the moonshine." — Washington Jrving's Alhambra. Note 2, Sect. II. p. 98. " The myrtle groves, and palms, and flowers." " The most singular feature in the gardens of Cordova is the lofty palm, which is seen towering far above trees, walls, and house-tops. 124 RECORDS OF THE HEART. " The palm is, indeed, among the first objects -which the traveller dis- covers as he approaches Cordova, and for a moment he fancies that he is abont to enter some African or Asiatic city. It is said that all the palm-trees in Spain — and they are very numerous in Andalusia, Murcia, and Valencia — proceeded from the one planted by the first Abderahman in his favorite garden upon the banks of the Guadalquivir." — A Tear in Spain, hy a Young American, Vol. III. p. 26. Note 3, Sect. H. p. 98. " Along the spicy-scented valo Sings low and sweet the nightingale." " The foliage of the trees was still tender and transparent ; the pomegran- ate had not yet shed its brilliant crimson blossoms ; the orchards of the Xenil and the Darro were in full bloom ; the rocks were hung with wild flowers, and Granada seemed completely surrounded by a wilderness of roses, among which innumerable nightingales sang, not merely in the night, but all day long." — Washington Irvinifs Alhamhra. " About a mile from the sea, we came to a small river, skirted by silver poplars. These were merry with the music of the nightingale. This bird is always found in Andalusia upon the tops of mountains, and along the banks of rivers. " — A Year in Spain, hy a Young American, Vol. III. p. 26. Note 4, Sect. II., p. 99. " And on the Vega's moonlit green." The Vega, the plain surrounding Granada, the scene of many actions be- tween the Moors and Christians. Note 5, Sect, n., p. 99. " Trip small feet to the light guitar And the low tinlding Castanet." " Sometimes I would hear the faint sounds of castanets from some party ZKNEL. 125 of dancers lingering in the Alameda ; * at other times I have heard the dubi- ous tones of a guitar and the notes of a single voice rising from some solitary street, and pictured to myself some youthful cavalier serenading his lady'b window. * * « " As the sun declines, hegins the hustle of enjoyment, when the citizens pour forth to hreathe the evening air, and revel away the brief twilight in the walks and gardens of the Darro and the Xenil. " Now break forth, from court and garden, and street and lane, the tink- ling of innumerable guitars, and the clinking of castanets ; blending, at this lofty height, in a faint but general concert." — Washington Irving's Alhamhra. Note 6, Sect n., p. 99. "The bright Xenil." The Xenil, the principal stream that waters the Vega. Note 7, Sect. II., p. 100. " And golden Darro's gentle tide." " The Darro is a small stream running through Granada, and is the De Auro or Darra of the Eomans, who procured gold from it by washing its sands. Particles cf gold are still found in it ; and when Philip the Second came to Granada, the city presented him with a crown made from the gold of the Darro." — Bourgoanne's Travels in Spain. Note 8, Sect. II., p. 100. " Nor blood from noble Zegri's vein." The Zegris, one of the tribes of the Moors of Granada. * A public walk on the Tega. THE LAST HOUR OE SAPPHO. THE PROMONTORY OF LEUCADIA. " This is tlie spot ; — 'tis here, tradition says, Tiiat liopeless iovo from this high towering rock Leaped headlong to oblivion, or to death. Oh, 'tis a giddy height ! my dizzy head Swims at the precipice ! — 'tis death to fall." The sun was sinking from soft Hellas' shore, Yet lingering still, as if he loved to pour His beams o'er towers and temples then sublime, But mouldering now beneath the tooth of Time ; To kiss the sloping hiUs, and myrtle boughs, And flowers, and streams, and Lesbian maidens' brows, As they were warbling 'long the sultry vale Like blithesome birds, or lisping some love tale : Slowly he sank, while far the deep waves rolled Beneath his fiery track like molten gold ; ly f Httlpm from DrawiTi^, V TJ- HuTitm^tcr SAIPPI £ m SAPPHO. 127 The spire, and minaret from tlie distant dome, And castle hoar, and fane, and royal home ; The olive grove, the dark majestic palm. The cypress saddening in the pensive calm, And in the liquid distance many an isle Gleamed in his yeUow beams and parting smUe ; And there the lowing herds adown the hiU Meander to their homes by glade and rUl ; The weary peasants by the cabin door, To Pandean pipes their simple idyls pour ; Maidens rechning under myrtle trees, Bathe their dark brows in the melliferous breeze,' Send their wUd mirth along the vales afar. And greet with glowing eyes the evening star — Oh ! who would deem at such soft twilight time Sorrow could rear her throne, in that dehghtful cUme. II. High on Leucadia's famed and jutting rock, Whose rugged base returned with scorn the shock Of ocean, softly veiled in evening shade. Leant Lesbian Sappho all in white arrayed : Back from her brow her sable tresses flung. In melancholy showers around her hung, Down to the rock, and there besprent with dew. Lay throbbing in the briny breeze that blew n 128 RECORDS OF THE HEART. Up from tlie sea. One small hand held her lute, The other rested on its strings all mute As they had never breathed eternal songs Of fervent Love — and Love's immortal wrongs : — Her darkly curtained eyes had not yet wept, Though all her life in one black tissue swept Before her now — " I would sing one song more — One wild undying strain ere life be o'er ; I'd breathe my soul away in song sublime. And leave my tears upon the sands of time : I'd stir the fountains in the breasts of sages, And ring my sorrows in the ears of ages — I'd give a tongue to future centuries. To talk of Sappho's love lorn melodies ; How through the Lesbian Vales whilom she sung, And on the smQes of faithless Phaon hung ; How she, forsaken, sought Leucadia's steep. And from it made the immortal Sapphic leap : Ay ! I would gather in this latest theme, Of my lone lute, my heart's benighted dream — These fierce consuming fires that girt my soul, So that when Phaon glances o'er the scroll I leave, my fate may flash upon his heart Swift as from clouds the long pent lightnings dart SAPPHO. 129 Awake, my spirit ! nor within me die 1 Srike on the key-note of thine agony ; Eing out one anthem more ! — one sad farewell ! To love and life ! Oh ! breathe in it thy knell ! Thy requiem ! — a dagger make each tone, To pierce false Phaon's heart when I am gone ! " She said ; then swept its straining cords — but fleet As struck, her lute fell shattered at her feet. She gazed upon it as it quivering lay. And said — " Thus have life, hope, love passed away." III. Upon that melting scene, those glowing skies, She cast around her sad and swimming eyes, And to them breathed a sUent, long farewell ; For in her earlier years they held a spell Upon her lute, and she had of them sung Ere wrong, with ruthless hand her heart had wrung. Then turning, gazed afar across the sea, To where young Phaon dwelt, — bright Sicily ; Then her heart swelled— to every woe awake, And beat the narrow cage it could not break —