THE CRAZED MAID OF VENICE.

Insania?

An me ludit amabilis

HORACE.

How oft the mid-day beam hath blazed
Against these straining weary eyes,
While through the narrow bars I've gazed,
Still with an unimprisoned hope

That seems, at times, of power to ope

The portals of this house of sighs;
Gazed, from the faintest dawn of light,
Along those waters,-till my sight

Has ached in dimness, and no tear
Would flow within this prison drear ;-
Gazed on, through all the live-long hours,
Till every star of heaven was seen,
Like noiseless drops of diamond-showers,
O'er all that waveless depth serene;

P

Till once again, the happy voices.

Of those whom Love had gathered there,

In fairy galleys, far and near,

Seemed well-nigh joyous to mine ear,

And each sweet song stole through my heart, As when I, too, had borne a part ;For many a youthful band rejoices, Along those shores, when eve is come; While I, from out my living tomb, Far worse than dead, can still behold The gentle reign of young delight, Remembering years of swifter flight. Long centuries, methinks, have rolled Between that time and this which sees

Me captive to all miseries.

"Tis strange-but I, too, once could glide

O'er that fresh wave, at even-tide,

With him ;-oh! had I then but died!

Oh! that I should remember bliss,

Through hours, and days, and years like this,

And know that once have beamed on me

Days such as never should have set,

But grown to an eternity,—

When feelings all immortal seemed,

And all our thoughts with sun-light teemed!

Yes! others may at length forget:
But those dead hopes all haunt me still,
Without the kindly power to kill;
Still their too-mortal prey am I
Without the power to die,—

A spectre doomed to clay and breath,
Forsaken both of life and death.

Thou hideous prison-roof, how long

Wilt thou shut out all heaven from me?

O parents! kindred! can it be

That ye betrayed me to this wrong?
I who was so caressed of all,

So loved, and loving; shall my call
Wake no reviving tenderness?

Even here I have not ceased to bless
Turn again,

Those who once blessed me.
Nor let my watching be in vain.
Have ye so felt the chill of time,
As now to deem pure love a crime?
Love, by whose hallowing influence,
We break and spurn the bonds of sense;

On whose white wings we soar above,

Like native dwellers of the skies;

Whose birth-place was in Paradise,

That had but utterable joys,

Before the birth of Love!

Deem not that I could e'er resign

This heavenly, hapless dream of mine:
For better is the despair of lovers

Than the best hopes the loveless cherish; And though each day, each hour, discovers How passion's truest zealots perish,

For ever baffled,—still be mine

The martyrdom-the pang divine!

And hast thou, too, forgotten me,

And all the ills I'm doomed to prove?

Hast thou, too, learned to mock at love,
Like the rank world?-It cannot be.
If now my cheeks have lost their glow,

It was for thee they withered thus;
"Twas in the hour which parted us

Those bitter tears began to flow

Which have bedimmed mine eyes; and now,

"Tis but for thee to bid them shine, Kindling their rays with looks of thine.

Mark ye the flashing oar afar,

Brighter than the brightest star

That guides the journeyers of the deep?

O welcome, long-expected friends! Haste, haste ye!-Soon once more I'll weep,

In the free air this glad hour ends

My most forlorn captivity,

And I shall be a sighless creature,

Most young and fair in soul and feature,

As whilom it was mine to be

A chantress on that joyous sea.

Yes, some kind spirit has come down,
And called the lingerers to my aid,

And grieved to see a wretched maid
With more than mortal grief o'erthrown.
Mark how they hither speed!-'tis he!
"Tis Leonardo's self I see;

Though distant yet, that form I know,
And do not err :— —it must be so ;
As heretofore, I feel the day
Brightening before his welcome way :
If he were dead, as once they said,
I could not thus be phantom-led,

For spirits shun the ray.

How could I deem thee false, dear youth,
Thou that wast ever true as truth?

How deem thy love was less than mine?
Ah, hadst thou, thus, been doomed to pine,