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When he arose, his anxious eyes sought her every where; but in vain. Many of the young and the gay were abroad, and moving as usual in the light of the morning ; but, among them all, there was nothing like Her. Within or without, she was nowhere to be seen; and, at length, in his despair he resolved to address himself to his Hostess.

• Who were my nearest neighbours in that turret ?'

“The Marchioness de * * * * and her two daughters, the Ladies Clara and Violetta; the youngest beautiful as the day!' • And where are they now?' They are gone; but we cannot


whither. They set out soon after sun-rise.'

At a late hour they had left the pavilion, and had retired to their toilet-chamber, a chamber of oak richly carved, that had once been an oratory, and afterwards, what was no less essential to a house of that antiquity, place of resort for two or three ghosts of the family. But, having long lost its sanctity, it had now lost its terrors; and, gloomy as its aspect was, Violetta was soon sitting there alone. •Go,' said she to her sister, when her mother withdrew for the night, and her sister was preparing to

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follow, 'Go, Clara. I will not be long'—and down she sat to a chapter of the Promessi Sposi.*

But she might well forget her promise, forgetting where she was. She was now under the wand of an enchanter; and she read and read till the clock struck three and the taper flickered in the socket. She started up as from a trance; she threw off her wreath of roses; she gathered her tresses into a net; † and snatching a last look in the mirror, her eye-lids heavy with sleep, and the light glimmering and dying, she opened a wrong door, a door that had been left unlocked; and, stealing along on tip-toe, (how often may Innocence wear the semblance of Guilt!) she lay down as by her sleeping sister; and instantly, almost before the pillow on which she reclined her head had done sinking, her sleep was as the sleep of childhood.

When morning came, a murmur strange to her ear alarmed her.- What could it be?—Where was she? She looked not; she listened not; but like a fawn from the covert, up


sprung It was she then that he sought; it was she who, so

and was gone.

* A Milanese story of the xviith century, by Alessandro Manzoni.

+ See the Hecuba of Euripides, v. 911, &c.

unconsciously, had taught him to love; and, night and day, he pursued her, till in the Cathedral of Perugia he discovered her at a solemn service, as she knelt between her mother and her sister among the rich

and the poor.

From that hour did he endeavour to win her regard by every attention, every assiduity that Love could dictate; nor did he cease till he had won it and till she had consented to be his; but never did the secret escape from his lips ; nor was it till some years afterwards that he said to her, on an anniversary of their nuptials, ' Violetta, it was a joyful day to me, a day from which I date the happiness of my life; but, if marriages are written in heaven,' and, as he spoke, he restored to her arm the bracelet which he had treasured up so long, “how strange are the circumstances by which they are sometimes brought about ; for, if You had not lost yourself, Violetta, I might never have found you.'


I am in Rome! Oft as the morning-ray
Visits these eyes, waking at once I

Whence this excess of joy ? What has befallen me?
And from within a thrilling voice replies,
Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts
Rush on my mind, a thousand images ;
And I spring up as girt to run a race !

Thou art in Rome! the City that so long
Reigned absolute, the mistress of the world;
The mighty vision that the prophets saw,
And trembled ; that from nothing, from the least,
The lowliest village (What but here and there
A reed-roofed cabin by the river-side ?)
Grew into every thing; and, year by year,
Patiently, fearlessly, working her way
O'er brook and field, o'er continent and sea,
Not like the merchant with his merchandize,
Or traveller with staff and scrip exploring,

But ever hand to hand and foot to foot,
Through nations numberless in battle-array,
Each behind each, each, when the other fell,
Up and in arms, at length subdued them All.

Thou art in Rome! the City, where the Gauls,
Entering at sun-rise through her open gates,
And, through her streets silent and desolate,
Marching to slay, thought they saw Gods, not men;
The City, that, by temperance, fortitude,
And love of glory, towered above the clouds,
Then fell-but, falling, kept the highest seat,
And in her loneliness, her pomp


woe, Where now she dwells, withdrawn into the wild, Still o'er the mind maintains, from age to age, Her empire undiminished. There, as though Grandeur attracted Grandeur, are beheld All things that strike, ennoble—from the depths Of Egypt, from the classic fields of GREECE, Her groves, her temples—all things that inspire Wonder, delight! Who would not say the Forms Most perfect, most divine, had by consent Flocked thither to abide eternally, Within those silent chambers where they dwell, In happy intercourse ? -And I am there!

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