Between mine eyes and truth. I gazed, I saw Dimly, as through a glass. In silent awe

I watch'd the fearful rites; and if there sprung One rebel feeling from its deep founts up, Shuddering, I flung it back, as guilt's own poison-cup.

XXI.

But I was waken'd as the dreamers waken Whom the shrill trumpet and the shriek of dread Rose up at midnight, when their walls are taken, And they must battle till their blood is shed On their own threshold-floor. A path for light Through my torn breast was shatter'd by the might Of the swift thunder-stroke—and freedom's tread Came in through ruins, late, yet not in vain, Making the blighted place all green with life again. XXII.

Still darkly, slowly, as a sullen mass

Of cloud, o'ersweeping, without wind, the sky,
Dream-like I saw the sad procession pass,
And mark'd its victims with a tearless eye.
They moved before me but as pictures, wrought
Each to reveal some secret of man's thought,
On the sharp edge of sad mortality,

e-oh! could it be?

Till in his place came oneMy friend, my heart's first friend!—and did I gaze

on thee?

XXIII.

On thee! with whom in boyhood I had play'd, At the grape-gatherings, by my native streams;

And to whose eye my youthful soul had laid Bare, as to Heaven's, its glowing world of dreams; And by whose side 'midst warriors I had stood, And in whose helm was brought-oh! earn'd with blood!

The fresh wave to my lips, when tropic beams Smote on my fever'd brow!-Ay, years had pass'd, Severing our paths, brave friend!—and thus we meet at last!

XXIV.

I see it still-the lofty mien thou borest-
On thy pale forehead sat a sense of power!
The very look that once thou brightly worest,
Cheering me onward through a fearful hour,
When we were girt by Indian bow and spear
'Midst the white Andes-even as mountain deer,
Hemm'd in our camp-but through the javelin

shower

We rent our way, a tempest of despair!

And thou hadst thou but died with thy true brethren there!

XXV.

I call the fond wish back-for thou hast perish'd
More nobly far, my Alvar!-making known
The might of truth; (4) and be thy memory cherish'd
With theirs, the thousands that around her throne
Have pour'd their lives out smiling, in that doom
Finding a triumph, if denied a tomb!-

Ay, with their ashes hath the wind been sown, And with the wind their spirit shall be spread, Filling man's heart and home with records of the dead.

XXVI.

Thou Searcher of the soul! in whose dread sight Not the bold guilt alone that mocks the skies, But the scarce-own'd, unwhisper'd thought of night, As a thing written with the sunbeam lies;

Thou know'st-whose eye through shade and depth

can see,

That this man's crime was but to worship thee, Like those that made their hearts thy sacrifice, The call'd of yore-wont by the Saviour's side, On the dim Olive-Mount, to pray at eventide.

XXVII.

For the strong spirit will at times awake, Piercing the mists that wrap her clay abode; And, born of thee, she may not always take Earth's accents for the oracles of God; And even for this-O dust, whose mask is power! Reed, that would'st be a scourge thy little hour! Spark, whereon yet the mighty hath not trod, And therefore thou destroyest!—where were flown Our hopes, if man were left to man's decree alone?

XXVIII.

But this I felt not yet. I could but gaze
On him, my friend; while that swift moment threw
A sudden freshness back on vanish'd days,
Like water-drops on some dim picture's hue;
Calling the proud time up, when first I stood
Where banners floated, and my heart's quick blood

Sprang to a torrent as the clarion blew,

And he-his sword was like a brother's worn, That watches through the field his mother's young

est born.

XXIX.

But a lance met me in that day's career, Senseless I lay amidst th' o'ersweeping fight, Wak'ning at last-how full, how strangely clear, That scene on memory flash'd!-the shivery light, Moonlight, on broken shields-the plain of slaughter, The fountain-side—the low sweet sound of water— And Alvar bending o'er me-from the night Covering me with his mantle!-all the past Flow'd back - my soul's far chords all answer'd to the blast.

XXX.

Till, in that rush of visions, I became As one that, by the bands of slumber wound, Lies with a powerless but all-thrilling frame, Intense in consciousness of sight and sound, Yet buried in a wildering dream which brings Loved faces round him, girt with fearful things! Troubled even thus I stood, but chain'd and bound On that familiar form mine eye to keep:Alas! I might not fall upon his neck and weep!

XXXI.

He pass'd me—and what next?—I look'd on two, Following his footsteps to the same dread place, For the same guilt-his sisters! (5)- Well I knew The beauty on those brows, though each young face

Was changed so deeply changed !—a dungeon's air
Is hard for loved and lovely things to bear;
And ye, O daughters of a lofty race,

Queen-like Theresa! radiant Inez!-flowers

So cherish'd! were ye then but rear'd for those dark hours?

XXXII.

A mournful home, young sisters! had ye left,
With your lutes hanging hush'd upon the wall,
And silence round the aged man, bereft
Of each glad voice, once answering to his call.
Alas, that lonely father! doom'd to pine
For sounds departed in his life's decline,

And, 'midst the shadowing banners of his hall, With his white hair to sit, and deem the name A hundred chiefs had borne, cast down by you to shame! (6)

XXXIII.

And woe for you, 'midst looks and words of love, And gentle hearts and faces, nursed so long! How had I seen you in your beauty move, Wearing the wreath, and listening to the song! -Yet sat, even then, what seem'd the crowd to shun,

Half-veil'd upon the clear pale brow of one, And deeper thoughts than oft to youth belong, Thoughts, such as wake to evening's whispery sway, Within the drooping shade of her sweet eyelids lay.