"In this neglected mirror (the broad frame Of massy silver serves to testify

That

many a noble matron of the house Has sat before it) once, alas, was seen What led to many sorrows. From that time The bat came hither for a sleeping place;

And he, that cursed another in his heart,
Said, 'Be thy dwelling, thro' the day and night,
Shunned like COLL' ALTO.'"-"Twas in that old Pile,
Which flanks the cliff with its grey battlements
Flung here and there, and, like an eagle's nest,
Hangs in the TREVISAN, that thus the Steward,
Shaking his locks, the few that Time had left,
Addressed me, as we entered what was called
My Lady's Chamber.' On the walls, the chairs,
Much yet remained of the rich tapestry;

Much of the adventures of SIR LANCELOT
In the green glades of some enchanted wood.
The toilet-table was of silver wrought,

Florentine Art, when Florence was renowned;
A gay confusion of the elements,

Dolphins and boys, and shells and fruits and flowers:
And from the ceiling, in his gilded cage,

Hung a small bird of curious workmanship,
That, when his Mistress bade him, would unfold
(So says the babbling Dame, Tradition, there)
His emerald-wings, and sing and sing again

The song that pleased her. While I stood and looked,

A gleam of day yet lingering in the West,

The Steward went on. "She had ('tis now long since) A gentle serving-maid, the fair CRISTINE,

Fair as a lily, and as spotless too;

None so admired, beloved. They had grown up

As play-fellows; and some there were, that said, Some that knew much, discoursing of CRISTINE, 'She is not what she seems.' When unrequired, She would steal forth; her custom, her delight, To wander thro' and thro' an ancient grove Self-planted half-way down, losing herself Like one in love with sadness; and her veil And vesture white, seen ever in that place, Ever as surely as the hours came round, Among those reverend trees, gave her below The name of The White Lady. But the day Is gone, and I delay thee.

In that chair

The Countess, as it might be now, was sitting,
Her gentle serving-maid, the fair CRISTINE,
Combing her golden hair; and thro' this door
The Count, her lord, was hastening, called away
By letters of great urgency to VENICE;
When in the glass she saw, as she believed,
("Twas an illusion of the Evil One-

Some say he came and crossed it at the time)

A smile, a glance at parting, given and answered,
That turned her blood to gall. That very night
The deed was done. That night, ere yet the Moon
Was up on Monte Calvo, and the wolf

Baying as still he does, (oft is he heard,

An hour and more, by the old turret-clock,)

H

They led her forth, the unhappy lost CRISTINE,
Helping her down in her distress-to die.

"No blood was spilt; no instrument of death Lurked-or stood forth, declaring its bad purpose; Nor was a hair of her unblemished head

Hurt in that hour. Fresh as a flower just blown,
And warm with life, her youthful pulses playing,
She was walled up within the Castle-wall.
The wall itself was hollowed secretly;

Then closed again, and done to line and rule.
Would'st thou descend?'Tis in a darksome vault
Under the Chapel: and there nightly now,

As in the narrow niche, when smooth and fair,
And as if nothing had been done or thought,
The stone-work rose before her, till the light
Glimmered and went-there, nightly at that hour,
(Thou smil'st, and would it were an idle tale!)
In her white veil and vesture white she stands
Shuddering her eyes uplifted, and her hands
Joined as in prayer; then, like a Blessed Soul
Bursting the tomb, springs forward, and away
Flies o'er the woods and mountains. Issuing forth,
The hunter meets her in his hunting-track;
The shepherd on the heath, starting, exclaims
(For still she bears the name she bore of old)

THERE is a glorious City in the Sea.
The Sea is in the broad, the narrow streets,
Ebbing and flowing; and the salt sea-weed
Clings to the marble of her palaces.

No track of men, no footsteps to and fro,
Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the Sea,
Invisible; and from the land we went,

As to a floating City-steering in,
And gliding up her streets as in a dream,