Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 018.djvu/450

444 :Rob.Am I a heathen in thy sight— A faithless one?.....
 * Giu.Perhaps.
 * Rob.An unbeliever?......
 * Giu. That—I am possibly,
 * Rob.An excommunicate,—

That thou'lt not call me by a Christian name?— Giuliana, will not Robert please thine ear, Nor honest Rob?
 * Giu.Pardon me, that I robb'd you

Of such a soft monosyllabic name. Robin, or Rob, if I may be so saucy, Farewell till eventide.
 * Rob.Which thou wilt make

A noon of with thy lightsome presence, sweet.
 * Giu. Nay, keep me not. Here comes Sir Reginald:

Excuse to him my haste.
 * Rob.Farewell—farewell!

Soft thy siesta sink on those sweet lids, And send thee dreams of pleasure.

Bless her, Heaven! Summer-like breath on her, aromatic airs, And let her slumber lightly mid heaven's music And Eden's odours.

Well how slept ye, brother? And why dost look so sad?—
 * Reg.Sad do I look?

Alas! why should I? Thou without doubt thinkest I slept not.
 * Rob.Didst thou?
 * Reg.Yes, and soundly too.
 * Rob. Slept and saw naught? well, therefore 'tis thou'rt sad.

Reg. I knew not that I look'd so. Rob.Oh, thou dost,— And art.—Pale art thou, o'erwatch'd, and weary. Hath aught Appear'd unto thee, Reginald?
 * Reg.Oh, yes!

Nay, speak not of it;—as I dare not think,— And yet must think it o'er each day, each hour— Each night before I sleep, and, when I sleep, Dream—dream of it till lingering morning dawns. Robert, thy brother is mark'd out by fate For wretchedness,—for hopeless wretchedness,— Wretchedness of the heart and of the brain, Which will outlive the body, and coeval Be with the unwithering spirit. Nay, nay, nay— Fool that I am, thus to forswear myself, Who vow'd so lately thou should'st never guess What must thy well of bliss defile with woe.
 * Rob. With counsels medicinal to us both,

Perhaps, that fountain may be mix'd, if through Thy griefs thou give it channel. Come, unveil thee! What was't so frightful thou can'st not forget? What is't so fearful thou can'st shrink from meeting?
 * Reg. Frightful!—ah, no—save to lone Adam seem'd

Eden s last best form frightful. Yet, 'tis fearful— My fate—my fate, which I even dread to dare, Yet cannot—scarce would—'scape from.