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That there was something in her air,
AH incoherent as they were—
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,
THE DEATH OF HAIDEE.
The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
His blood was running on the very floor
Thus much she viewed an instant and no more—
On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held
Her writhing, fell she like a cedar felled.
VOL. II. s
A vein had burst—and her sweet lips' pure dyes
And her head drooped as when the lily lies
O'ercharged with rain; the summoned handmaids bore
Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes:
But she defied all means they could employ,
Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy!
Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though chill,
She had no pulse, but death seemed absent still;
Corruption came not, in each mind to kill
New thoughts of life, for it seemed full of soul,
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.
The ruling passion, such as marble shows
But fixed as marble's unchanged aspect throws
O'er the Laocoon's all-eternal throes,
Their energy like life forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.
She woke at length—but not as sleepers wake—
A strange sensation which she must partake
Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache
Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,
For, for awhile, the Furies made a pause.
She looked on many a face with vacant eye,
She saw them watch her, without asking why,
Not speechless, though she spoke not: a sigh
Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served—she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.
Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not;
Her father watched-—she turned her eyes away— She recognised no being, and no spot,
However dear or cherished in their day:
Gentle, but without memory, she lay;
At last a slave bethought her of a harp;
The harper came, and tuned bis instrument;
At first the notes—irregular and sharp—
Then to the wall she turned, as if to warp,
Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent.
And he begun a long low island song,
Of ancient days—ere tyranny grew strong.
Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall
And sung of love: the fierce name struck through all
Of what she was, and is, if ye could call
The tears rushed forth from her unclouded brain,
Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.
Short solace, vain relief!—thought came too quick,
As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,
Although her paroxysm drew towards its close:
Hers was a phrenzy which disdained to rave,
Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.
Yet she betrayed at times a gleam of sense;
Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Though on all other things with looks intense
She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence
Availed for either; neither change of place,
Twelve days and nights she withered thus: at last,
A parting pang, the spirit from her past;
And they who watched her nearest could not know
The very instant, till the change that cast
Glazed o'er her eyes—the beautiful, the black—
Oh I to possess such lustre—and then lack!
TO A TUFT OF EARLY VIOLETS.
Sweet flowers! that, from your humble beds
Thus prematurely dare to rise,
To cold Aquarius' watery skies;