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XXXIV.

I look'd on Leonor, and if there seem'd

A cloud of more than pensiveness to rise,
In the faint smiles that o'er her features gleam'd,
And the soft darkness of her serious eyes,
Misty with tender gloom; I call'd it nought

But the fond exile's pang, a lingering thought

Of her own vale, with all its melodies

And living light of streams. Her soul would rest

Beneath your shades, I said, bowers of the gorgeous west!

XXXV.

Oh! could we live in visions! could we hold
Delusion faster, longer, to our breast,

When it shuts from us, with its mantle's fold,
That which we see not, and are therefore blest!
But they, our lov'd and loving, they to whom
We have spread out our souls in joy and gloom,
Their looks and accents, unto ours address'd,

Have been a language of familiar tone

Too long to breathe, at last, dark sayings and unknown.

XXXVI.

I told my heart 'twas but the exile's woe
Which press'd on that sweet bosom ;-I deceiv'd
My heart but half:-a whisper faint and low,
Haunting it ever, and at times believ'd,

Spoke of some deeper cause. How oft we seem

Like those that dream, and know the while they dream, Midst the soft falls of airy voices griev'd,

And troubled, while bright phantoms round them play,

By a dim sense that all will float and fade away!

XXXVII.

Yet, as if chasing joy, I woo'd the breeze,

To speed me onward with the wings of morn.

-Oh! far amidst the solitary seas,

Which were not made for man, what man hath borne,
Answering their moan with his !-what thou didst bear,

My lost and loveliest! while that secret care
Grew terror, and thy gentle spirit, worn
By it's dull brooding weight, gave way at last,
Beholding me as one from hope for ever cast!

XXXVIII.

For unto thee, as thro' all change, reveal'd
Mine inward being lay. In other eyes
I had to bow me yet, and make a shield,
To fence my burning bosom, of disguise;
By the still hope sustain'd, ere long to win
Some sanctuary, whose green retreats within,
My thoughts unfetter'd to their source might rise,
Like songs and scents of morn.-But thou didst look
Thro' all my soul, and thine even unto fainting shook.

XXXIX.

Fall'n, fall'n, I seem'd-yet, oh! not less belov'd,

Tho' from thy love was pluck'd the early pride,

And harshly, by a gloomy faith reproved,

And sear'd with shame!—tho' each young flower had died,

There was the root,-strong, living, not the léss

That all it yielded now was bitterness;

Yet still such love as quits not misery's side,
Nor drops from guilt its ivy-like embrace,

Nor turns away from death's its pale heroic face.

XL.

Yes! thou hadst follow'd me thro' fear and flight;
Thou wouldst have follow'd had my pathway led
Even to the scaffold; had the flashing light

Of the rais'd axe made strong men shrink with dread,
Thou, midst the hush of thousands, wouldst have been
With thy clasp'd hands beside me kneeling seen,

And meekly bowing to the shame thy head—
-The shame!-oh! making beautiful to view

The might of human love-fair thing! so bravely true!

XLI.

There was thine agony-to love so well

Where fear made love life's chastener.-Heretofore

Whate'er of earth's disquiet round thee fell,

Thy soul, o'erpassing its dim bounds, could soar

Away to sunshine, and thy clear eye speak

Most of the skies when grief most touch'd thy cheek.

Now, that far brightness faded! never more

Couldst thou lift heavenwards for its hope thy heart,

Since at Heaven's gate it seem'd that thou and I must part.

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XLII.

Alas! and life hath moments when a glance
(If thought to sudden watchfulness be stirr'd,)
A flush-a fading of the cheek perchance,

A word-less, less-the cadence of a word,
Lets in our gaze the mind's dim veil beneath,
Thence to bring haply knowledge fraught with death!
-Even thus, what never from thy lip was heard

Broke on my soul.-I knew that in thy sight

I stood-howe'er belov❜d—a recreant from the light!

XLIII.

Thy sad sweet hymn, at eve, the seas along,—
-Oh! the deep soul it breath'd!—the love, the woe,
The fervor, pour'd in that full gush of song,

As it went floating through the fiery glow

Of the rich sunset !-bringing thoughts of Spain,

With all her vesper-voices, o'er the main,
Which seem'd responsive in its murmuring flow.

"Ave sanctissima!"-how oft that lay

Hath melted from my heart the martyr-strength away!

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