At length there came the loveliest of them all, Her little brother dancing down before her; And ever as he spoke, which he did ever, Turning and looking up in warmth of heart And brotherly affection. Stopping there, She joined her rosy hands, and, filling them With the pure element, gave him to drink; And, while he quenched his thirst, standing on tip-toe, Looked down upon him with a sister's smile,
Nor stirred till he had done, fixed as a statue.
Then hadst thou seen them as they stood, CANOVA, Thou hadst endowed them with immortal youth; And they had ever more lived undivided, Winning all hearts-of all thy works the fairest.
'TIS a wild life, fearful and full of change, The mountain-robber's. On the watch he lies, Levelling his carbine at the passenger;
And, when his work is done, he dares not sleep. Time was, the trade was nobler, if not honest; When they that robbed, were men of better faith Than kings or pontiffs; when, such reverence The Poet drew among the woods and wilds, A voice was heard, that never bade to spare, Crying aloud, 'Hence to the distant hills! TASSO approaches, he, whose song beguiles The day of half its hours; whose sorcery Dazzles the sense, turning our forest-glades. To lists that blaze with gorgeous armoury,
Our mountain-caves to regal palaces.
Hence, nor descend till he and his are gone.
When along the shore, And by that path that, wandering on its way, Leads through the fatal grove where TULLY fell, (Grey and o'ergrown, an ancient tomb is there) He came and they withdrew, they were a race Careless of life in others and themselves, For they had learnt their lesson in a camp: But not ungenerous. 'Tis no longer so. Now crafty, cruel, torturing ere they slay The unhappy captive, and with bitter jests. Mocking Misfortune; vain, fantastical,
Wearing whatever glitters in the spoil;
And most devout, though, when they kneel and pray, With every bead they could recount a murder- As by a spell they start up in array,
As by a spell they vanish-theirs a band, Not as elsewhere of outlaws, but of such As sow and reap, and at the cottage-door Sit to receive, return the traveller's greeting; Now in the garb of peace, now silently Arming and issuing forth, led on by men, Whose names on innocent lips are words of fear, Whose lives have long been forfeit.-Some there are That, ere they rise to this bad eminence,
Lurk, night and day, the plague-spot visible, The guilt that says, Beware; and mark we now Him, where he lies, who couches for his prey At the bridge-foot in some dark cavity Scooped by the waters, or some gaping tomb,
Nameless and tenantless, whence the red fox Slunk as he entered. There he broods, in spleen Gnawing his beard; his rough and sinewy frame O'erwritten with the story of his life;
On his wan cheek a sabre-cut, well earned In foreign warfare; on his breast the brand Indelible, burnt in when to the port
He clanked his chain, among a hundred more Dragged ignominiously; on every limb Memorials of his glory and his shame, Stripes of the lash and honourable scars, And channels here and there worn to the bone By galling fetters. He comes slowly forth, Unkennelling, and up that savage dell Anxiously looks; his cruse, an ample gourd, (Duly replenished from the vintner's cask) Slung from his shoulder; in his breadth of belt Two pistols and a dagger yet uncleansed,
A parchment scrawled with uncouth characters, And a small vial, his last remedy,
His cure, when all things fail. No noise is heard, Save when the rugged bear and the gaunt wolf Howl in the upper region, or a fish
Leaps in the gulf beneath. And now he kneels ; And (like a scout, when listening to the tramp Of horse or foot) lays his experienced ear Close to the ground, then rises and explores, Then kneels again, and, his short rifle-gun Against his cheek, waits patiently.Two Monks, Portly, grey-headed, on their gallant steeds, Descend where yet a mouldering cross o'erhangs The grave of one that from the precipice
Fell in evil hour. Their bridle-bells
Ring merrily; and many a loud, long laugh Re-echoes; but at once the sounds are lost. Unconscious of the good in store below,
The holy fathers have turned off, and now
Cross the brown heath, ere long to wag their beards Before my lady-abbess, and discuss
Things only known to the devout and pure
O'er her spiced bowl-then shrive the sister-hood Sitting by turns with an inclining ear
In the confessional. He moves his lips As with a curse-then paces up and down, Now fast, now slow, brooding and muttering on; Gloomy alike to him Future and Past.
But hark, the nimble tread of numerous feet! 'Tis but a dappled herd, come down to slake Their thirst in the cool wave. He turns and aims Then checks himself, unwilling to disturb
The sleeping echoes. Once again he earths; Slipping away to house with them beneath, His old companions in that hiding-place,
The bat, the toad, the blind-worm, and the newt; And hark, a footstep, firm and confident, As of a man in haste. Nearer it draws; And now is at the entrance of the den. Ha! 'tis a comrade, sent to gather in
The band for some great enterprise.-Who wants A sequel may read on. The unvarnished tale, That follows, will supply the place of one. 'Twas told me by the Count St. Angelo, When in a blustering night he sheltered me In that brave castle of his ancestors
O'er GARIGLIANO, and in such indeed.
As every day brings with it-in a land
Where laws are trampled on, and lawless men Walk in the sun; but it should not be lost, For it may serve to bind us to our Country.
THREE days they lay in ambush at my gate, Then sprung and led me captive. Many a wild We traversed; but RUSCONI, 'twas no less, Marched by my side, and, when I thirsted, climbed The cliffs for water; though whene'er he spoke, 'Twas briefly, sullenly; and on he led, Distinguished only by an amulet,
That in a golden chain hung from his neck, A crystal of rare virtue. Night fell fast, When on a heath, black and immeasurable, He turned and bade them halt. Heaves o'er the dead-where erst some ALARIC Fought his last fight, and every warrior threw A stone to tell for ages where he lay.
Then all advanced, and, ranging in a square, Stretched forth their arms as on the holy cross, From each to each their sable cloaks extending, That, like the solemn hangings of a tent, Covered us round; and in the midst I stood, Weary and faint, and face to face with one, Whose voice, whose look dispenses life and death, Whose heart knows no relentings. Instantly
A light was kindled, and the Bandit spoke.
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