Behold the golden token

That proves me happy now!

Would God I could awaken!

For I dream I know not how, And my soul is sorely shaken Lest an evil step be taken,Lest the dead who is forsaken May not be happy now.

TO F.

BELOVED! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path-
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)-

My soul at least a solace hath

In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me

Like some enchanted far-off sle

In some tumultuous sea

Some ocean throbbing far and free

With storms-but where meanwhile Serenest skies continually

Just o'er that one bright sland smile.

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AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA.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.

On, 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!

Aless. Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing 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-not 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?

Cas. (starting.) Cousin! fair cousin!-madam!

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!