BRIDAL BALLAD. 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, 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. VOL. II.-4. SCENES FROM "POLITIAN;" AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. I. 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! 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? (sighing.) 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 sorrow Wears it away like evil hours and wine. I will amend. Aless. Do it! I would have thee drop Cas. I will drop them. Aless. Thou wilt-thou must. Attend thou also more Upon appearances. Cas. I'll see to it. Aless. Then see to it !-pay more attention, sir, 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! I crave thy pardon-indeed I am not well-- This air is most oppressive !—Madam—the Duke! Enter Di Broglio. Di Broglio. My son, I've news for thee!-hey ?-what's the matter? (observing Alessandra.) I' the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione! kiss her, You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute! |