Did he not say

LXVIII.

"Farewell?"-Alas! no breath

Came to mine ear. Hoarse murmurs from the throng

Told that the mysteries in the face of death.

Had from their eager sight been veil'd too long.
And we were parted as the surge might part

Those that would die together, true of heart.
-His hour was come-but in mine anguish strong,
Like a fierce swimmer through the midnight sea,
Blindly I rush'd away from that which was to be.

LXIX.

Away-away I rush'd ;-but swift and high
The arrowy pillars of the firelight grew,
Till the transparent darkness of the sky
Flush'd to a blood-red mantle in their hue;
And, phantom-like, the kindling city seem'd
To spread, float, wave, as on the wind they stream'd,
With their wild splendour chasing me!-I knew
The death-work was begun-I veil'd mine eyes,

Yet stopp'd in spell-bound fear to catch the victims' cries.

LXX.

What heard I then ?-a ringing shriek of pain,
Such as forever haunts the tortured ear?
-I heard a sweet and solemn-breathing strain
Piercing the flames, untremulous and clear!
-The rich, triumphal tones!-I knew them well,
As they came floating with a breezy swell!

Man's voice was there-a clarion voice to cheer
In the mid-battle-ay, to turn the flying-
Woman's-that might have sung of Heaven beside the
dying!

LXXI.

It was a fearful, yet a glorious thing,

To hear that hymn of martyrdom, and know
That its glad stream of melody could spring

Up from th' unsounded gulfs of human woe!
Alvar! Theresa!-what is deep? what strong?
-God's breath within the soul !-It fill'd that song
From your victorious voices !-but the glow

On the hot air and lurid skies increased

Faint grew the sounds-more faint-I listen'd-they

had ceased!

LXXII.

And thou indeed hadst perish'd, my soul's friend! I might form other ties-but thou alone Couldst with a glance the veil of dimness rend, By other years o'er boyhood's memory thrown! Others might aid me onward :-Thou and I Had mingled the fresh thoughts that early die, Once flowering-never more!-And thou wert gone! Who could give back my youth, my spirit free, Or be in aught again what thou hadst been to me?

LXXIII.

And yet I wept thee not, thou true and brave!
I could not weep!-there gather'd round thy name
Too deep a passion!-thou denied a grave!
Thou, with the blight flung on thy soldier's fame!
Had I not known thy heart from childhood's time ?
Thy heart of hearts?—and couldst thou die for crime?
-No! had all earth decreed that death of shame,

I would have set, against all earth's decree,
Th' inalienable trust of my firm soul in thee!

LXXIV.

There are swift hours in life-strong, rushing hours,
That do the work of tempests in their might!

They shake down things that stood as rocks and towers
Unto th' undoubting mind;-they pour in light
Where it but startles like a burst of day

For which th' uprooting of an oak makes way ;— They sweep the colouring mists from off our sight, They touch with fire thought's graven page, the roll Stamp'd with past years-and lo! it shrivels as a scroll!

LXXV.

And this was of such hours!-the sudden flow

Of my soul's tide seem'd whelming me; the glare
Of the red flames, yet rocking to and fro,
Scorch'd up my heart with breathless thirst for air,
And solitude, and freedom. It had been

Well with me then, in some vast desert scene,
Το

pour my voice out, for the winds to bear On with them, wildly questioning the sky,

Fiercely th' untroubled stars, of man's dim destiny.

LXXVI.

I would have call'd, adjuring the dark cloud;

To the most ancient heavens I would have said

66

Speak to me! show me truth!"—through night aloud

I would have cried to him, the newly dead,

"Come back! and show me truth!"-My spirit seem'd Gasping for some free burst, its darkness teem'd

With such pent storms of thought!—again I fled—
I fled, a refuge from man's face to gain,

Scarce conscious when I paused, entering a lonely fane.

LXXVII.

A mighty minster, dim, and proud, and vast!
Silence was round the sleepers, whom its floor
Shut in the grave; a shadow of the past,
A memory of the sainted steps that wore
Erewhile its gorgeous pavement, seem'd to brood
Like mist upon the stately solitude,

A halo of sad fame to mantle o'er

Its white sepulchral forms of mail-clad men,

And all was hush'd as night in some deep Alpine glen.