Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears?— Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts

Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs?

Why were they proud? Because redlin'd accounts

Were richer than the songs of Grecian years?—

Why were they proud? again we ask aloud,

Why in the name of Glory were they proud?

Yet were these Florentines as self-retired

In hungry pride and gainful cowardice, As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,

Paled in and vineyarded from beggarspies;

The hawks of ship-mast forests-the untired

And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies

Quick cat's-paws on the generous stray

Fair Isabella in her downy nest? How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt's pest

Into their vision covetous and sly!

How could these money-bags see east and west?—

Yet so they did-and every dealer fair Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare.

O eloquent and famed Boccaccio!

Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon,

And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow, And of thy roses amorous of the moon, And of thy lilies, that do paler grow

Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune,

These brethren having found by many signs

What love Lorenzo for their sister had, And how she lov'd him too, each unconfines

His bitter thoughts to other, well-nigh mad

That he, the servant of their trade designs,

Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad

When 'twas their plan to coax her by degrees

To some high noble and his olive-trees.

And many a jealous conference had they,

And many times they bit their lips alone,

Before they fix'd upon a surest way

To make the youngster for his crime

atone;

And at the last, these men of cruel clay Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the

bone;

For they resolvéd in some forest dim To kill Lorenzo, and there bury him.

So on a pleasant morning, as he leant

Into the sun-rise, o'er the balustrade Of the garden-terrace, towards him they bent

Their footing through the dews; and to him said,

"You seem there in the quiet of content,

Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade

Calm speculation; but if you are wise, Bestride your steed while cold is in the

skies.

66

To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount

To spur three leagues towards the Apennine;

Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count

His dewy rosary on the eglantine." Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont,

Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine;

And went in haste, to get in readiness, With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress.

And as he to the court-yard pass'd along, Each third step did he pause, and

listen'd oft

If he could hear his lady's matin-song,

Or the light whisper of her footstep soft;

And as he thus over his passion hung, He heard a laugh full musical aloft ; When, looking up, he saw her features bright

Smile through an in-door lattice, all delight.

"Love, Isabel!" said he, "I was in pain Lest I should miss to bid thee a good

morrow:

Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain

I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow Of a poor three hours' absence? but we'll gain

Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow.

Good bye! I'll soon be back."-" Good bye!" said she :

And as he went she chanted merrily.

So the two brothers and their murder'd

man

Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream

Gurgles through straiten'd banks, and still doth fan

Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream

Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan

The brothers' faces in the ford did seem,

Lorenzo's flush with love.-They pass'd the water

Into a forest quiet for the slaughter.

There was Lorenzo slain and buried in, .There in that forest did his great love cease;

To see their sister in her snowy shroud.

And she had died in drowsy ignorance, But for a thing more deadly dark than all;

It came like a fierce potion, drunk by chance,

Which saves a sick man from the feather'd pall

For some few gasping moments; like a lance,

Waking an Indian from his cloudy hall

With cruel pierce, and bringing him again

Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain.

It was a vision.-In the drowsy gloom, The dull of midnight, at her couch's foot

Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb

Had marr'd his glossy hair which once

could shoot

With love, and kept all phantom fear

aloof

From the poor girl by magic of their light,

The while it did unthread the horrid

woof

Of the late darken'd time,—the murderous spite

Of pride and avarice, the dark pine

roof

In the forest,-and the sodden turfed dell,

Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.

Saying moreover, "Isabel, my sweet! Red whortle-berries droop above my

head,

And a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet:

Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed

Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheepfold bleat

Comes from beyond the river to my

bed:

Go, shed one tear upon my heatherbloom,

And it shall comfort me within the tomb.

"I am a shadow now, alas! alas!

Upon the skirts of human-nature dwelling

Alone I chant alone the holy mass, While little sounds of life are round

me knelling,

And glossy bees at noon do fieldward

"I know what was, I feel full well what is,

And I should rage, if spirits could go

mad;

Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss.

That paleness warms my grave, as though I had

A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss To be my spouse: thy paleness makes

me glad;

Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel A greater love through all my essence steal."

It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache,
And in the dawn she started up awake;

"Ha! ha!" said she, I knew not this hard life,

I thought the worst was simple misery;

I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife

Portion'd us-happy days, or else to die;

But there is crime-a brother's bloody knife!

Sweet Spirit, thou hast school'd my infancy:

I'll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes,

And greet thee morn and even in the skies."

When the full morning came, she had devised

How she might secret to the forest hie; How she might find the clay, so dearly prized,

And sing to it one latest lullaby; How her short absence might be unsurmised,

While she the inmost of the dream

would try.

Resolv'd, she took with her an aged nurse, And went into that dismal forest-hearse.

See, as they creep along the river side, How she doth whisper to that aged Dame,

And, after looking round the champaign wide,

Shows her a knife.-"What feverous hectic flame

Burns in thee, child ?-What good can thee betide,

That thou should'st smile again?"— The evening came,

And they had found Lorenzo's earthy bed; The flint was there, the berries at his head.

Who hath not loiter'd in a green churchyard,

And let his spirit, like a demon-mole, Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard,

To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole ;

Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd,

And filling it once more with human

soul?

Ah! this is holiday to what was felt
When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt.

She gaz'd into the fresh-thrown mould, as though

One glance did fully all its secrets tell: Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well; Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow,

Like to a native lily of the dell : Then with her knife, all sudden, she began To dig more fervently than misers can. Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon

Hersilk had play'd in purple phantasies, She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone,

And put it in her bosom, where it dries And freezes utterly unto the bone

Those dainties made to still an infant's

Nurture besides, and life, from human fears,

From the fast mouldering head there shut from view:

So that the jewel, safely casketed, Came forth, and in perfuméd leafits spread.

O Melancholy, linger here awhile!

O Music, Music, breathe despondingly! O Echo, Echo, from some sombre isle, Unknown, Lethean, sigh to us-O sigh! Spirits in grief, lift up your heads, and smile;

Lift up your heads, sweet Spirits, heavily,

And make a pale light in your cypress glooms, [tombs. Tinting with silver wan your marble

Moan hither, all ye syllables of woe,

From the deep throat of sad Mel