And borne thine image with me o'er the sea, Thy soft voice in my soul-speak!-Oh! yet live for me!"

LXI.

She look'd up wildly; there were anxious eyes
Waiting that look-sad eyes of troubled thought,
Alvar's-Theresa's!-Did her childhood rise,
With all its pure and home-affections fraught,
In the brief glance?-She clasp'd her hands-
the strife

Of love, faith, fear, and that vain dream of life,
Within her woman's breast so deeply wrought,
It seem'd as if a reed so slight and weak

Must, in the rending storm, not quiver only-break!

As the swift blood in currents came and went, And hues of death the marble brow o'ershaded, And the sunk eye a wat'ry lustre sent

Through its white fluttering lids. Then tremblings pass'd

O'er the frail form that shook it, as the blast Shakes the sere leaf, until the spirit rent Its way to peace-the fearful way unknownPale in love's arms she lay--she !—what had loved was gone!

LXIII.

Joy for thee, trembler!—thou redeem'd one, joy! Young dove set free!-earth, ashes, soulless clay,

Remain'd for baffled vengeance to destroy;

-Thy chain was riven!—nor hadst thou cast away Thy hope in thy last hour!-though love was there Striving to wring thy troubled soul from prayer, And life seem'd robed in beautiful array,

Too fair to leave!-but this might be forgiven, Thou wert so richly crown'd with precious gifts of Heaven!

LXIV.

But woe for him who felt the heart grow still,
Which, with its weight of agony, had lain
Breaking on his!-Scarce could the mortal chill
Of the hush'd bosom, ne'er to heave again,
And all the silence curdling round the eye,
Bring home the stern belief that she could die—
That she indeed could die!-for wild and vain
As hope might be-his soul had hoped-'t was
o'er-

Slowly his failing arms dropp'd from the form they
bore.

LXV.

They forced him from that spot. It might be well,
That the fierce, reckless words by anguish wrung
From his torn breast, all aimless as they fell,
Like spray-drops from the strife of torrents flung,
Were mark'd as guilt.-There are, who note
these things

Against the smitten heart; its breaking strings
-On whose low thrills once gentle music hung-

With a rude hand of touch unholy trying,

And numbering then as crimes, the deep, strange tones replying.

LXVI.

But ye in solemn joy, O faithful pair!
Stood gazing on your parted sister's dust;
I saw your features by the torch's glare,
And they were brightening with a heavenward

trust!

I saw the doubt, the anguish, the dismay, Melt from my Alvar's glorious mien away; And peace was there-the calmness of the just! And, bending down the slumb'rer's brow to kiss, "Thy rest is won," he said; "sweet sister! praise for this!"

LXVII.

I started as from sleep;-yes! he had spokenA breeze had troubled memory's hidden source ! At once the torpor of my soul was broken Thought, feeling, passion, woke in tenfold force. -There are soft breathings in the southern wind, That so your ice-chains, O ye streams! unbind, And free the foaming swiftness of your course!

I burst from those that held me back, and fell Even on his neck, and cried-"Friend! brother! fare thee well!"

LXVIII.

Did he not say,

"Farewell?"-Alas! no breath Came to mine ear. Hoarse murmurs from the

throng

Told that the mysteries in the face of death Had from their eager sight been veil'd too long. And we were parted as the surge might part Those that would die together, true of heart.— His hour was come -but in mine anguish strong, Like a fierce swimmer through the midnight sea, Blindly I rush'd away from that which was to be.

LXIX.

Away-away I rush'd-but swift and high The arrowy pillars of the firelight grew, Till the transparent darkness of the sky Flush'd to a blood-red mantle in their hue; And, phantom-like, the kindling city seem'd To spread, float, wave, as on the wind they stream'd, With their wild splendour chasing me!-I knew The death-work was begun-I veil'd mine eyes, Yet stopp'd in spell-bound fear to catch the victims'

cries.

LXX.

What heard I then?-a ringing shriek of pain, Such as for ever haunts the tortured ear?I heard a sweet and solemn-breathing strain Piercing the flames, untremulous and clear!The rich, triumphal tones!-I knew them well, As they came floating with a breezy swell! Man's voice was there-a clarion voice to cheer In the mid-battle-ay, to turn the flyingWoman's-that might have sung of heaven beside the dying!

LXXI.

It was a fearful, yet a glorious thing,
To hear that hymn of martyrdom, and know
That its glad stream of melody could spring
Up from the unsounded gulfs of human woe!
Alvar! Theresa!-what is deep? what strong?
-God's breath within the soul!-It fill'd that song
From your victorious voices!—but the glow
On the hot air and lurid skies increased

- thou and I

And thou indeed had'st perish'd, my soul's friend! I might form other ties-but thou alone. Could'st with a glance the veil of dimness rend, By other years o'er boyhood's memory thrown! Others might aid me onward: Had mingled the fresh thoughts that early die, Once flowering-never more! And thou wert gone! Who could give back my youth, my spirit free, Or be in aught again what thou hadst been to me?

LXXIII.

And yet I wept thee not, thou true and brave! I could not weep!-there gather'd round thy name Too deep a passion!-thou denied a grave!

Thou, with the blight flung on thy soldier's fame! Had I not known thy heart from childhood's time? Thy heart of hearts?—and could'st thou die for crime?