Giants and genii claimed each wondering ear;
And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear.
Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood,
Or view'd the forest-feats of Robin Hood;
Oft, fancy led, at midnight's fearful hour
With startling step we scal'd the lonely tower;
O'er infant innocence to hang and weep,
Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep.
As o'er the dusky furniture I bend,
Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend,
The storied arras, source of fond delight,
With old achievements charms the wilder'd sight;
And still, with heraldry's rich hues imprest,
On the dim window glows the pictur'd crest.
The screen unfolds its many-colour'd chart,
The clock still points its moral to the heart,
That faithful monitor 'twas heaven to hear,
When soft it spoke a promis'd pleasure near,
And has its sober hand, its simple chime,
Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of Time?
The massive beam, with curious carving wrought,
Whence the caged linnet sooth'd my pensive thought;
Those muskets, cased with venerable rust;
Those once-lov'd forms, still breathing thro' their dust;
Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast,
Starting to life-all whisper of the Past!
THE day arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd:
The child is born, by many a pang endear'd:
And now, the Mother's ear has caught his cry!
Oh! grant the cherub to her asking eye.
He comes she clasps him! To her bosom presí,
He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.
Her by her smile how soon the Stranger knows;
How soon by his the glad discovery shows!
As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,
What answering looks of sympathy and joy!
He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word
His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard ;
And ever, ever to her lap he flies
When rosy Sleep comes on with sweet surprise.
Lock'd in her arms, his arms across her flung,
(That name most dear for ever on his tongue,)
As with soft accents round her neck he clings,
And, cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings,
How blest to feel the beatings of his heart,
Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart ;
Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove,
And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love!
But soon a nobler task demands her care:
Apart she joins his little hands in prayer,
Telling of Him who sees in secret there:
And now the volume on her knee has caught
His wandering eye-now many a written thought
Never to die, with many a lisping sweet,
His moving, murmuring lips endeavour to repeat.
Released, he chases the bright butterfly;
Oh, he would follow-follow through the sky!
Climbs the gaunt mastiff slumbering in his chain,
And chides and buffets, clinging by the mane;
Then runs, and kneeling by the fountain-side,
Sends his brave ship in triumph down the tide,
A dangerous voyage; or, if now he can,
If now he wears the habit of a man,
Flings off the coat so much his pride and pleasure, And, like a miser digging for his treasure,
His tiny spade in his own garden plies,
And in green letters sees his name arise!
Where'er he goes, for ever in her sight,
She looks, and looks, and still with new delight.
If thou shouldst ever come to Modena,
Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate
Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini.
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And numerous fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain thee; but, before thou go,
Enter the house-prithee, forget it not-
And look awhile upon a picture there.
'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth!She sits inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half-open, and her finger up,
As though she said "Beware!"-her vest of gold
Broider'd with flowers, and clasp'd from head to foot-
An emerald stone in every golden clasp;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart-
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!-Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm.
She was an only child; from infancy
The joy, the pride, of an indulgent sire.
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,
That precious gift, what else remain'd to him?
Ginevra was his all in life,
Still as she grew, for ever in his sight.
She was all gentleness, all gaiety,
Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
And in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
Great was the joy; but at the bridal feast,
When all sat down, the bride was wanting there-
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
"Tis but to make a trial of our love!"--
And fill'd his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco
Laughing and looking back, and flying still
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guess'd,
But that she was not! Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
Orsini lived! and long might'st thou have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find-he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remain'd awhile
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,
When on an idle day, a day of search
Mid the old lumber in the gallery,
That mouldering chest was noticed; and 't was said. By one as young, as thoughtless, as Ginevra,
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