English

ONE !

A sigh, as from a sleeping host, begins to stir the air;
A voice from an awakening band whose numbers none compare;
The earth is to its center stirred, and on their crumbling base,
Old monuments are toppling down, in ruin and disgrace.

Upon the lower sky a gleam is reddening up the East,
As if the sun, ere early morn; would to his journey haste;
Strange faces, wondrous sweet, like those for which our torn hearts yearn,
Peer out, benignantly, from clouds that in the radiance burn.

The Day has come:
Prophets and seers foretold it, — greatest day;
All secrets of this life to be exposed,
All prisoners and slaves to be released,
All darkness banished and all discord healed, —
Old time is ripe for this, and earth and Heaven
Wait with expectant ear and eye the call.

XLI.

" And yet a righteous deed is done,
And I shake off that weariest load;
The thought of vengeance due to one
Who taught me Hate's unblissful road.

XLII.

" Corroding grief and maddening Shame
Are still the fiends that urge my life;
But 'twill not blot Crescentius' fame,
If men record his hapless wife.

XLIII.

" Lie still, thou heap that wert a King,
And yield thy signet gem to me;
My fixed resolve, and Otho's ring,
Will soon have set the murderess free.

XXXVI.

" Why glar'st thou thus with horrid eyes?
Nay, woman, would'st thou strike a king?
I cannot speak — my shout but sighs —
Help — help — O! snakes my bosom wring. "

XXXVII.

" So, perish, tyrant! know that I
Am wife to him so basely slain;
To me 'twas only left to die —
To die a wretch, but not in vain.

XXXVIII.

" Thou canst not speak, but 'mid thy pang
I still can pierce thy freezing ear;
Though loud the Emperor's triumph rang,
My husband's ghost is monarch here.

XXXI.

" By Peter! truly thus they say;
The lithe Italian subtly thought
Our German wit could never play
With arms by Latin cunning wrought.

XXXII.

" Thou needs must praise the shrewd device
That wiled him down from Hadrian's Mole.
The Pope absolved me at the price
Of fifty masses for his soul.

XXXIII.

" Not soon shall Rome of freedom speak,
And scorn our distant German crown;
But tell me why I feel so weak,
Or why thy beauty wears a frown? "

XXXIV.

XXVI.

" And we will speak of simpler things
Than those deep moods that love inspires;
But say, if ease my medicine brings,
Or fills thy brain with restless fires? "

XXVII.

" O! all within is calm and bliss;
My pulses bound like stags at play.
Yet once I knew a joy like this,
When first Crescentius owned my sway.

XXVIII.

" I made him leave his guarded tower
By specious words of sage deceit;
Soon Rome was taught her emperor's power;
Soon lay his corpse before my feet. "

XXI.

" Ha! this in truth is royal wine!
Thy breath, methinks, is in the bowl.
What earthly clogs can now confine
The strength that fills my limbs, my soul?

XXII.

" I seem on wings aloft to rise,
And float o'er fading land and sea;
And yet I would not climb the skies
To rule the stars, if torn from thee.

XXIII.

" Thou turn'st away. At least a while
Come sit, enchantress, near my side,
'Tis much if but to see thee smile,
And here thy lips' low music glide.

XXIV.

XVI.

The rubies floating o'er her breast
Drew warmth and love from where they lay;
There vague delight was wooed to rest,
And felt it death from thence to stray.

XVII.

Up sprang the King, and wondering gazed;
He ne'er had looked on aught so bright;
His eyes, his lips with joy amazed,
Were drinking beauty's air and light.

XVIII.

" O! more than health and more than ease,
Thou giv'st me, lady, strength divine;
The draught thou bringest let me seize,

XI.

" Not thus a leech unknown we trust;
But I would fain behold thee more;
Thy speech assured in sound is just,
And I would read thy features o'er.

XII.

" In these the soul may oft be found;
Yet even now methinks thy voice
Delights me with a lovely sound,
And bids my flagging heart rejoice. "

XIII.

The King upon his elbow leant,
And opened fair his broad blue eyes;
Her eyes' deep glow on his she bent,
And cast away her dull disguise.

XIV.

VI.

Still here I lie. But never yet
A woman's art to soothe me came.
E'en now my pangs I half forget —
But say what aspect bears the dame? "

VII.

" My Liege! I wot her form is tall,
And dark and wide the cloak she wears;
Her speech with finely cadenced fall
A noble Roman's birth declares. "

VIII.

" Nay, let her in, and wait without;
To Rome's fierce men some hate I bore;
But even them 'twere dream to doubt,
Since now Crescentius lives no more. "

IX.