"The listless working of decay, "That weighed them downward evermore,— "Until revenge seemed scarcely sweet "To me: and but that it is meet "That right should hold a changeless course, "Even I, perchance, had known remorse. "But theirs hath been a rightful doom, "To lose their youth in bonds and gloom; "And now their locks are turned to gray; "At times they feebly groan and pray,— "With a dim sense of darkling dread, "As theirs who in mid-cavern tread "When every guiding light is fled." He ceased, and there was silence deep. As if he read with speechless awe, Traced on the ground, some damning word; But then his fixed eyes nothing saw,— He only heard. His lips were mute as death; no sigh Bespoke the hid convulsion; grief Witheld from him a groan's relief: Nay, even the nearest gazer's eye Could scarce discern, with steadfast look, Sighs, groans, or tears, methinks were weak Of that which wrought within to speak, What hears he now? A smothered wail Of mingling voices. He looks up; Whose souls seem feeble as their clay. "Ye hosts of Heaven, whom do I see! "Yon grisly shadows-can it be "That those were two proud sons of mine? "Ha! did the sunlight ever shine "Where ye were given the curse of birth, "Speak, withered ones, oh speak to me!" He strove to rise; it could not be ; Strong anguish held him down. His quivering hands he wildly stretches, That could not heed. With dazzled frown, They stood amid the crowd alone, And had forgot that voice's tone. Of those who sate around that hall, In chill amaze, there was another Who felt the keenest grief of all : He was Alviano's son,-the brother Of yonder weak and long-lost creatures. He wears the very form and features,The high and daring mien he wears Which in the dawn of youth was theirs. His eyes stare wild and steadfastly Upon the yellow bloodless faces, In whose shrunk lineaments he traces All but his living brothers nigh. Living! their days are all gone by, And the loathsome cloud of sunless day By those who led them from their den ; And they had pined, of all forlorn, F Till memory was a sickly blot, And they became they knew not what. It seemed to scorch their shrinking sight. To shun the glare of festal sheen. Unwittingly they stood; Nay, scantly did they know each other, Swept from a clime of joyance bright, Thus fate had dealt with them: but who And many there, with ruthful gaze, Looked on them, and on those who stood So changed-with such long durance bowed, Aliens from life's most living days. And oh! how ghost-like seemed to all The portraitures upon that wall, How fearful in their beauty then! "Ye haughty lords, ye knights renowned, "Know ye these creatures? They have been "Of manlier port and lordlier mien "Than any whom I now behold: "These in the brunt of strife I've seen "Beat down the firiest of the bold; 66 They were your fellows, too, of old, "Your joy-mates in this mansion here : "But look upon them now, and fear. "This was Ferrante; it was he "Who tore that loveliest one from me : "Yes, 'twas that sinewless arm ye see "That felled me, when I madly strove "To save my wondrous wealth of love. "Yon Ulderico, too, was one "Who aided in that blacker deed "Than ever was by murderer done; 66 "And never henceforth shall he lead Despair into the haunts of Love, |