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It was an eve of autumn's holiest mood; The corn fields, bathed in Cynthia's silver light, Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand, And all the winds slept soundly. Nature seem'd, In silent contemplation, to adore Its Maker. Now and then, the aged leaf Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground; And, as it fell, bade man think on his end. On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high, With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly Thought, Conversing with itself. Vesper look'd forth, From out her western hermitage, and smiled; And up the east, unclouded, rode the moon With all her stars, gazing on earth intense, As if she saw some wonder walking there.
Such was the night, so lovely, still, serene,
prayer nightly offer'd, nightly heard.
AMONG the talented females who have distinguished themselves in the poetical world during the present day, Miss Mitford has justly obtained a conspicuous name. She is a daughter of Dr. Mitford, of Bertram House, near Reading. She was educated at Miss Rowdon's establishment, Brompton, and gave proofs of her poetical talent at a very early age. Her first work which she gave to the public, was a volume of Poems published in 1910. The popularity she acquired by attempt encouraged her to persevere, and ber next work, Christina, the Maid of the South Seas, a tale founded on the discovery of Pitcairn's Island, was published in the following year. This was succeeded by Watlington Hill, a descriptive poem, which appeared in 1012; and Narrative Poems on the Female Character in the various Reln. tions of Life, which was published the same year. A considerable perind then elapsed, during which she seemed to have retired from the literary world; but it was that she might appear with greater lustre in the character of a dra. matic writer, and her tragedies of Julian, Foscari, Rienzi, and Charles I., between 1823 and 1834, obtained for her a continually increasing reputation. They abound in tenderness of feeling and rich poetical description, so that they will always continue to obtain a distinguished rank as dramatic poems, however they may cease to captivate in representation.
Enter MELFI. D'Alba (Aside). He's pale, he hath been hurt.
(Aloud) My liege, Your vassals bid you welcome. Melfi.
Valore. Sire, we know
Of our Sicilian realm, are here to pledge
Calvi. Ha! Perchance he lives!
And the assassin ?
He! Why, my liege,
Melfi. What mean ye, Sirs ? Stand off. D'Alba. Cannot your Highness guess the murderer ? Melfi. Stand from about me, Lords! Dare ye to
front A King? What, do ye doubt me; you, or you ? Dare ye to doubt me? Dare
look a question
And he knows mine. Well! Well ! Be all these heats forgotten.
Annabel, look forth
Why dost thou gaze
Jul. The bright stars, how oft They fall, or seem to fall! The sun-look! look! He sinks, he sets in glory. Blessed orb, Like thee-like thee-Dost thou remember once We sat by the sea shore when all the heaven , And all the ocean seem’d one glow of fire, Red, purple, saffron, melted into one Intense and ardent flame, the doubtful line Where sea and sky should meet was lost in that Continuous brightness; there we sate and talk'd Of the mysterious union that bless’d orb Wrought between earth and heaven, of life and deathHigh mysteries !--and thou didst wish thyself A spirit sailing in that flood of light Straight to the Eternal Gates, didst pray to pass Away in such a glory. Annabel ! Look out upon the burning sky, the sea One lucid ruby — 't is the very
hour! Thou 'lt be a seraph at the Fount of Light Before
Ann. What, must I die? And wilt thou kill me?
To save thy honour !
Oh no! no! live! live!
Jul. Would'st live for D'Alba ?
I had forgot. I'll die. Quick! Quick !
My sword! – I cannot draw it.
Ann. Now! I'm ready.
Claudia, Oh! mine old home!
Cla. Mine own dear home!
Cla. Oh! mine own dear home!
Rie. Wilt have a list to choose from? Listen, sweet! If the tall cedar, and the branchy myrtle, And the white doves, were tell-tales, I would ask them, Whose was the shadow on the sunny wall ? And if, at eventide they heard not oft