That he was wretched; but she saw not all.
He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp
He took her hand; a moment o'er his face
A tablet of unutterable thoughts

Was traced; and then it faded as it came.

He dropped the hand he held, and with slow steps
Retired; but not us bidding her adieu,

For they did part with mutual smiles. He passed
From out the massy gate of that old Hall;
And, mounting on his steed, he went his way;
And ne'er repassed that hoary thresh'old more.

A

VIII.

104. THE DREAM.

PART SECOND.

CHANGE came o'er the spirit of

my

dream:

The Boy was sprung to manhood. In the wilds

Of fiery climes he made himself a home,
And his soul drank their sunbeams; he was girt
With strange and dusky aspects; he was not
Himself like what he had been; on the sea
And on the shōre he was a wanderer;
There was a mass of many images
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was
A part of all; and in the last he lay,
Reposing from the noontide sultrinèss,
Couched among fallen columns, in the shade
Of ruined walls that had survived the names
Of those who reared them; by his sleeping side
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds
Were fastened near a fountain; and a man
Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while,
While many of his tribe slumbered around;
And they were canopied by the blue sky-
So cloudles, clear, and purely beautiful,
That God alone was to be seen in Heaven.-
2 A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :
The Lady of his love was wed with one
Who did not love her better. In her home,

A thousand leagues from his,-her native home-
She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy,
Daughters and sons of Beauty. But behold!
Upon her face there was the tint of grief,
The settled shadow of an inward strife,
And an unquiet drooping of the eye,

As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.
What could her grief be?-She had all she loved;
And he who had so loved her was not there

To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish,

Or ill-repressed affection, her pure thoughts.
What could her grief be?-she had loved him not,
Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved;
Nor could he be a part of that which preyed
Upon her mind-a spectre of the past.-

3. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :
The Wanderer was returned-I saw him stand
Before an altar, with a gentle bride;

Her face was fair; but was not that which made
The starlight of his Boyhood. As he stood,
Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came
The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock
That in the antique oratory shook

His bosom in its solitude; and then

As in that hour-a moment o'er his face The tablet of unutterable thoughts Was traced-and then it faded as it came And he stood calm and quiet; and ho spoko The fitting vows, but heard not his own words; And all things recled around him; he could seo Not that which was, nor that which should have beenBut the old mansion, and tho accustomed hall, And the remembered chambers, and the place, The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shadeAll things pertaining to that place and hour, And her who was his destiny-came back And thrust themselves between him and the light: What business had they there at such a time?— 4. A chango came 'er the spirit of my dream: The Lady of his love-Oh! she was changed,

As by the sickness of the soul; her mind
Had wandered from its dwelling; and her eyes,
They had not their own luster, but the look
Which is not of the earth; she was become
The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts
Were combinations of disjointed things;
And forms impalpable, and unperceived
Of others' sight, familiar were to hers.

And this the world calls frenzy ; but the wise
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift;

What is it but the telescope of truth?
Which strips the distance of its fantasies,
And brings life near in utter nakedness,
Making the cold reality too real!—

5. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream:
The Wanderer was alone, as heretofore;
The beings which surrounded him were gone,
Or were at war with him; he was a mark
For blight and desolation-compassed round
With Hatred and Contention; Pain was mixed
In all which was served up to him; until,
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,
He fed on poisons; and they had no power,
But were a kind of nutriment.

6.

He lived

Through that which had been death to many men ;

And made him friends of nountains. With the stars,

And the quick spirit of the Universe,

IIe held his dialogues! and they did teach

To him the magic of their mysteries;
To him the book of Night was opened wide,
And voices from the deep abyss revealed

A marvel and a secret-Be it so.

7. My dream was past: it had no further change.
It was of a strange order, that the doom

Of these two creatures should be thus traced out
Almost like a reality-the one

To end in madness-bōth in misery.

LORD BYRON.

IX.

105. SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS.1

MELNOTTE'S cottage-WIDOW bustling about. A table spread for supper.
IDOW. So-I think that looks very neat. He sent me

WIDOW
Wuline, so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he

a

would be here almost immediately. She must have loved him well indeed, to have forgotten his birth; for though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honorable not to have revealed to her the artifice which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as good. [Knock at the door.] Ah! here they are. [Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE.'] Widow. Oh, my boy-the pride of my heart!-welcome, welcome! I beg pardon, Ma'am, but I do love him so!

Pauline. Good woman, I really-Why, Prince, what is this? -does the old woman know you? Oh, I guess you have done her some service. Another proof of your kind heart, is it not? Melnotte. Of my kind heart, ay!

Pauline. So, you know the prince?

Widow. Know him, Madame?—Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not!

Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? I think there's something very wild about her.

Melnotte. Madame, I—No, I can not tell her! My knees knock together: what a coward is a man who has lost his honor! Speak to her-speak to her-[to his mother]-tell her that-O Heaven, that I were dead!

Pauline. How confused he looks!—this strange place-this woman -what can it mean? I half suspect-Who are you, Madame?—who are you? Can't you speak? are you struck dumb?

Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her?—Ah, shame upon

Claude Melnotte, who had received many indignities to his slighted love, from Pauline, married her under the false appearance of an Italian prince. He afterward repents his bitter revenge; makes

immediate amends; and, impelled by affection, virtue, and a laudable ambition, finally conquers a posi tion, and becomes, in fact, her husband.

'Pauline, (på lèn^).

you! I thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all?

Pauline. All! what? Ely blood freezes in my veins!

Widow. Poor lady!-dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes a sign of assent.] Know you not then, Madame, that this young man is of poor though honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte?

Pauline. Your son! hold! hold! do not speak to me-[approaches MELNOTTE and lays her hand on his arm.] Is this a jest? Is it? I know it is. only speak-one word-one look-one smile. I can not believe-I, who loved thee so-I can not believe that thou art such a-No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word.-Speak!

Melnotte. Leave us-have pity on her, on me : leave us. Widow. O Claude! that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee, of whom I was so proud! [Exit WIDOW.

Pauline. Her son! her son!

Melnotle.

Pauline.

Now, lady, hear me.

Hear thee

Ay, speak. Her son! have fiends a parent? Speak,
That thou mayst silence curses-Speak!

Melnotte.

No, curse me :

Thy curse would blast mo less than thy forgiveness.

Pauline. [laughing wüdly.] "This is thy palace, where the perfumed light

Steals through the mist of alabaster lămps,
And every air is heavy with the sighs

Of orange-groves, and music from the sweet lutes,
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush fōrth

I' the midst of roses! Dost thou like the picture?
THIS is my bridal home, and THOυ my bridegroom!
O fool!-O dupe!-O wretch!—I see it all-
The by-word and the jeer of every tongue
In Lyons! Hast thou in thy heart one touch
Of human kindness? If thou hast, why, kill me,
And save thy wife from madness. No, it can not,

It can not be! this is some horrid dream :

I shall wake soon. [Touching him.] Art flesh? art man? or but The shadows seen in sleep?-It is too reäl.

What have I done to thee-how sinned against thee,