But we are pressed by heavy laws; We wear a face of joy, because If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own; It is the man of mirth. My days, my friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved." "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains. And, Matthew, for thy children dead At this he grasped my hand, and said, "Alas! that cannot be.” We rose up from the fountain-side; And down the smooth descent Of the green sheep-track did we glide, And through the wood we went; And, ere we came to Leonard's rock, AN ADVENTURE. THREE days they lay in ambush at my gate, That in a golden chain hung from his neck, He turned and bade them halt. 'Twas where the earth Heaves o'er the dead-where erst some Alaric Then all advanced, and ranging in a square, Covered us round; and in the midst I stood, Whose voice, whose look dispenses life and death, A light was kindled, and the Bandit spoke. To do it than to say it. Write, and thus." I wrote. 66 "'Tis well," he cried. "A peasant-boy, Trusty and swift of foot, shall bear it hence, Meanwhile lie down and rest. This cloak of mine Will serve thee; it has weathered many a storm." The watch was set; and twice it had been changed, When morning broke, and a wild bird, a hawk, Flew in a circle, screaming. I looked up, And all were gone, save him who now kept guard, And on his arms lay musing. Young he seemed, And sad, as though he could indulge at will Some secret sorrow. "Thou shrink'st back," he said. "Well may'st thou, lying, as thou dost, so near A ruffian-one for ever linked and bound That Nature has given birth to. Wouldst thou know more? My story is an old one. I loved, was scorned; I trusted, was betrayed; And in my anguish, my necessity, Met with the fiend, the tempter-in Rusconi. 'Why thus?' he cried. Thou wouldst be free and dar'st not. Come and assert thy birthright while thou canst. And death itself, what is it at the worst, What, but a harlequin's leap?' Him I had known, A song of love, by snatches; breaking off To pluck a grape in very wantonness. Went to my heart; and, starting up, I breathed, 'Fly-for your life!' Alas, she shrieked, she fell; And, as I caught her falling, all rushed forth. 'A Wood-nymph!' cried Rusconi. 'By the light, Lovely as Hebe! Lay her in the shade.' I heard him not. I stood as in a trance. 'What,' he exclaimed with a malicious smile, 'Wouldst thou rebel?' I did as he required. 'Now bear her hence to the well-head below; A few cold drops will animate this marble. Go! 'Tis an office all will envy thee; But thou hast earned it.' As I staggered down, Unwilling to surrender her sweet body; Her golden hair dishevelled on a neck Of snow, and her fair eyes closed as in sleep, Frantic with love, with hate, 'Great God!' I cried, (I had almost forgotten how to pray; But there are moments when the courage comes) 'Why may I not, while yet-while yet I can, |