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THE ring is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow; Satins and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
And I am happy now.
And my lord he loves me well;
But, when first he breathed his vow,
I felt my bosom swell—
For the words rang as a knell,
And the voice seemed his who fell
In the battle down the dell,
But he spoke to re-assure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
And thus the words were spoken,
And, though my heart be broken,
Behold the golden token
Would God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not how, And my soul is sorely shaken Lest an evil step be taken,— Lest the dead who is forsaken May not be happy now.
BELOVED! amid the earnest woes
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea
Some ocean throbbing far and free
With storms-but where meanwhile Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.
SCENES FROM "POLITIAN;"
AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA.
ROME. A Hall in a Palace. Alessandra and Castiglione
Alessandra. Thou art sad, Castiglione.
Castiglione. Sad!-not I.
Oh, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome!
A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra,
Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy!
Aless. Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing Thy happiness!-what ails thee, cousin of mine?
Why didst thou sigh so deeply?
Cas. Did I sigh?
I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion,
A silly-a most silly fashion I have
When I am very happy. Did I sigh?
Aless. Thou didst. Thou art not well. Thou hast indulged Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it.
Late hours and wine, Castiglione,-these
Thy looks are haggard-nothing so wears away
Cas. (musing.) Nothing, fair cousin, nothing-not even deep
Wears it away like evil hours and wine.
Aless. Do it! I would have thee drop
Thy riotous company, too-fellows low born-
Cas. I will drop them.
Aless. Thou wilt-thou must. Attend thou also more
Cas. I'll see to it.
Aless. Then see to it !-pay more attention, sir, To a becoming carriage-much thou wantest
Cas. Much, much, oh much I want
In proper dignity.
Aless. (haughtily.) Thou mockest me, sir!
Cas. (abstractedly.) Sweet, gentle Lalage!
I speak to him—he speaks of Lalage!
Sir Count! (places her hand on his shoulder) what art thou dreaming? he's not well!
What ails thee, sir?
Cas. (starting.) Cousin! fair cousin!—madam !
Di Broglio. My son, I've news for thee!—hey ?—what's the matter? (observing Alessandra.)
I' the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione ! kiss her,