And thus the words were spoken,
And this the plighted vow,

And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my heart be broken,
Behold the golden token

That proves me happy now!

Would to God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not kow;
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,-
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.

ΤΟ

I heed not that my earthly lot
Hath-little of Earth in it,-
That years of love have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute:
I mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I;
But that you sorrow for my fate
Who am but a passer-by.

SCENES FROM "POLITIAN."

AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA.

I.

ROME. A Hall in a Palace. Alessandra and Castiglione. Alessandra. Thou art sad, Castiglione.

Castiglione. Sad!-not I.

Oh, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome!
A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra,
Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy! [ing
Aless. Methinks thou hast a singular way of show-
Thy happiness! What ails thee, cousin of mine?
Why didst thou sigh so deeply?

Cas. Did I sigh?

I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion,

A silly—a most silly fashion I have

When I am very happy. Did I sigh?

(Sighing.)

Aless. Thou didst. Thou art not well. Thou

hast indulged

Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it.

Late hours and wine, Castiglione,— these
Will ruin thee! Thou art already altered,-
Thy looks are haggard: nothing so wears away
The constitution as late hours and wine.

Cas. (musing). Nothing, fair cousin, nothing,

even deep sorrow,—

Wears it away like evil hours and wine.

I will amend.

Aless. Do it! I would have thee drop

Thy riotous company, too.

Fellows low born

Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio's heir

And Alessandra's husband.

Cas. I will drop them.

Aless. Thou wilt,- thou must. Attend thou also more

To thy dress and equipage. They are over plain For thy lofty rank and fashion: much depends Upon appearances.

Cas. I'll see to it.

Aless. Then see to it! Pay more attention, sir, To a becoming carriage. Much thou wantest In dignity.

Cas. Much, much: oh, much I want
In proper dignity.

Aless. (haughtily). Thou mockest me, sir!
Cas. (abstractedly). Sweet, gentle Lalage!
Aless. Heard I aright?

I speak to him,―he speaks of Lalage!

Sir Count! (places her hand on his shoulder) what art thou dreaming?

He's not well! What ails thee, sir?

Cousin! fair cousin!-madam!

Cas. (starting).

I crave thy pardon.

Indeed, I am not well!

Your hand from off my shoulder, if you please. This air is most oppressive! Madam, the Duke! (Enter Di Broglio.)

Di Broglio. My son, I've news for thee! Hey! what's the matter? (observing Alessandra.) I' the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione! Kiss her, You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute! I've news for you both. Politian is expected Hourly in Rome,-Politian, Earl of Leicester! We'll have him at the wedding. 'Tis his first vsit To the imperial city.

Aless.

What! Politian

Of Britain, Earl of Leicester?

Di Brog. The same, my love.

We'll have him at the wedding. A man quite young
In years, but gray in fame. I have not seen him,
But Rumor speaks of him as of a prodigy,—
Pre-eminent in arts and arms, and wealth,
And high descent. We'll have him at the wedding.
Aless. I have heard much of this Politian.
Gay, volatile, and giddy,—is he not?

And little given to thinking.

Di Brog. Far from it, love.

No branch, they say, of all philosophy

So deep-abstruse-he has not mastered it.
Learned as few are learned.

Aless. 'Tis very strange!

I have known men who have seen Politian,
And sought his company. They speak of him
As of one who entered madly into life,
Drinking the cup of pleasure to the dregs.

Cas. Ridiculous! Now I have seen Politian,

And know him well. Nor learned nor mirthful he:

He is a dreamer, and a man shut out

From common passions.

Di Brog. Children, we disagree.

Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air

Of the garden. Did I dream or did I hear
Politian was a melancholy man?

II.

ROME. A Lady's apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden. Lalage, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and a hand mirror. In the background Jacinta (a servant-maid) leans carelessly upon a chair. Lalage. Jacinta! is it thou?

Jacinta (pertly). Yes, ma'am; I'm here.

Lal. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting Sit down,-let not my presence trouble you:

Sit down, for I am humble, most humble.

Jac. (aside). 'Tis time.

(Jacinta seats herself in a sidelong manner upon the chair,

resting her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look. Lalage continues to read.)

Lal. "It in another climate, so he said,

Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil!”
(Pauses,— turns over some leaves, and resumes.)
"No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower;
But Ocean, ever to refresh mankind,

Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind."
Oh, beautiful!-most beautiful!-how like

To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven!