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But, lo! the sun is setting; earth and sky One blaze of glory.- What we saw but now, As though it were not, though it had not been! He lingers yet; and, lessening to a point, Shines like the eye of Heaven - then withdraws; And from the zenith to the utmost skirts All is celestial red! The hour is come When they that sail along the distant seas Languish for home; and they that in the morn Said to sweet friends "farewell" melt as at parting; When, just gone forth, the pilgrim, if he hears, As now we hear it, wandering round the hill, The bell that seems to mourn the dying day, Slackens his pace and sighs, and those he loved Loves more than ever. But who feels it not? And well may we, for we are far away.

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The lark was up and at the gate of heaven,
Singing, as sure to enter when he came ;
The butterfly was basking in my path,
His radiant wings unfolded. From below
The bell of prayer rose slowly, plaintively;
And odors, such as welcome in the day,
Such as salute the early traveller,
And come and go, each sweeter than the last,
Were rising. Hill and valley breathed delight;
And not a living thing but blessed the hour!

In

every bush and brake there was a voice Responsive!

From the THRASYMENE, that now

Slept in the sun, a lake of molten gold,
And from the shore that once, when armies met,
Rocked to and fro unfelt, so terrible

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The rage, the slaughter, I had turned away;
The path, that led me, leading through a wood,
A fairy-wilderness of fruits and flowers,
And by a brook that, in the day of strife,207
Ran blood, but now runs amber when a glade,
Far, far within, sunned only at noon-day,
Suddenly opened. Many a bench was there,
Each round its ancient elm; and many a track,
Well known to them that from the highway loved
A while to deviate. In the midst a cross
Of mouldering stone as in a temple stood,
Solemn, severe; coëval with the trees
That round it in majestic order rose;
And on the lowest step a pilgrim knelt
In fervent prayer. He was the first I saw
(Save in the tumult of a midnight-masque,
A revel, where none cares to play his part,
And they, that speak, at once dissolve the charm) -
The first in sober truth, no counterfeit ;

And, when his orisons were duly paid,

He rose, and we exchanged, as all are wont,
A traveller's greeting.

Young, and of an age

When youth is most attractive, when a light

Plays round and round, reflected, while it lasts,
From some attendant spirit, that ere long

(His charge relinquished with a sigh, a tear) Wings his flight upward with a look he won My favor; and, the spell of silence broke,

I could not but continue." Whence," I asked, "Whence art thou?"-"From Mont' alto," he replied, "My native village in the Apennines."

"And whither journeying?"-"To the holy shrine Of Saint Antonio in the city of Padua.

Perhaps, if thou hast ever gone so far,

Thou wilt direct my course.'

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"Most willingly;

But thou hast much to do, much to endure,
Ere thou hast entered where the silver lamps

Burn ever.

Tell me . . . I would not transgress,

Yet ask I must . . . what could have brought thee forth, Nothing in act or thought to be atoned for?"

"It was a vow I made in my distress.

We were so blest, none were so blest as we,

Till sickness came. First, as death-struck, I fell;

Then my beloved sister; and ere long,

Worn with continual watchings, night and day,
Our saint-like mother. Worse and worse she grew;
And in my anguish, my despair, I vowed,
That if she lived, if Heaven restored her to us,
I would forthwith, and in a pilgrim's weeds,
Visit that holy shrine. My vow was heard;
And therefore am I come. "Blest be thy steps;
And may those weeds, so reverenced of old,
Guard thee in danger!"-"They are nothing worth.
But they are worn in humble confidence ;
Nor would I for the richest robe resign them,
Wrought, as they were, by those I love so well
Lauretta and my sister; theirs the task,

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But none to them, a pleasure, a delight,

To ply their utmost skill, and send me forth
As best became this service. Their last words,

'Fare thee well, Carlo. We shall count the hours!'
Will not go from me."-"Health and strength be thine
In thy long travel! May no sunbeam strike;
No vapor cling and wither! May'st thou be,
Sleeping or waking, sacred and secure ;
And when again thou com'st, thy labor done,
Joy be among ye! In that happy hour

All will pour forth to bid thee welcome, Carlo;
And there is one, or I am much deceived,

One thou hast named, who will not be the last."

"O, she is true as Truth itself can be!

But, ah! thou know'st her not. Would that thou couldst !
My steps I quicken when I think of her;

For, though they take me further from her door,
I shall return the sooner."

AN INTERVIEW.

PLEASURE that comes unlooked-for is thrice welcome;
And, if it stir the heart, if aught be there
That may hereafter in a thoughtful hour
Wake but a sigh, 't is treasured up among
The things most precious! and the day it came
Is noted as a white day in our lives.

The sun was wheeling westward, and the cliffs
And nodding woods, that everlastingly
(Such the dominion of thy mighty voice,208
Thy voice, VELINO, uttered in the mist)

Hear thee and answer thee, were left at length
For others still as noon; and on we strayed
From wild to wilder, nothing hospitable
Seen up or down, no bush or green or dry,"
That ancient symbol at the cottage-door,
Offering refreshment when LUIGI cried,

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"Well, of a thousand tracks we chose the best!"
And, turning round an oak, oracular once,
Now lightning-struck, a cave, a thoroughfare
For all that came, each entrance a broad arch,
Whence many a deer, rustling his velvet coat,
Had issued, many a gypsy and her brood
Peered forth, then housed again the floor yet gray
With ashes, and the sides, where roughest, hung
Loosely with locks of hair — I looked and saw
What, seen in such an hour by Sancho Panza,
Had given his honest countenance a breadth,
His cheeks a blush of pleasure and surprise,
Unknown before, had chained him to the spot,
And thou, Sir Knight, hadst traversed hill and dale,
Squire-less.
Below and winding far away,

A narrow glade unfolded, such as Spring
Broiders with flowers, and, when the moon is high,
The hare delights to race in, scattering round
The silvery dews.210 Cedar and cypress threw
Singly their depth of shadow, checkering
The greensward, and, what grew in frequent tufts,
An underwood of myrtle, that by fits

Sent up a gale of fragrance. Through the midst,
Reflecting, as it ran, purple and gold,

A rainbow's splendor (somewhere in the east
Rain-drops were falling fast), a rivulet

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