Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 14 1825.pdf/9

 On the scarr'd forehead?—No! his spirit broke From its deep trance ere long, yet but awoke To wander in wild dreams; and there he lay, By the fierce fever as a green reed shaken, The haughty chief of thousands—the forsaken Of all save one!—She fled not. Day by day, —Such hours are woman's birthright—she, unknown, Kept watch beside him, fearless and alone; Binding his wounds, and oft in silence laving His brow with tears that mourn'd the strong man's raving. He felt them not, nor mark'd the light veil'd form Still hovering nigh; yet sometimes, when that storm Of frenzy sank, her voice, in tones as low As a young mother's by the cradle singing, Would sooth him with sweet aves, gently bringing Moments of slumber, when the fiery glow Ebb'd from his hollow cheek.

At last faint gleams Of memory dawn'd upon the cloud of dreams, And feebly lifting, as a child, his head, And gazing round him from his leafy bed, He murmur'd forth—"Where am I?—What soft strain Pass'd, like a breeze, across my burning brain? Back from my youth it floated with a tone Of life's first music, and a thought of one. Where is she now?—And where the gauds of pride, Whose hollow splendour lured me from her side? All lost!—and this is death'—I cannot die Without forgiveness from that mournful eye! —Away! the earth hath lost her! Was she born To brook abandonment, to strive with scorn? My first, my holiest love!—her broken heart Lies low—and I—unpardon'd I depart!"

—But then Costanza raised the shadowing veil From her dark locks and features brightly pale, And stood before him with a smile—oh! ne'er Did aught that smiled so much of sadness wear.— And said "Cesario! look on me! I live To say my heart hath bled, and can forgive! I loved thee with such worship, such deep trust, As should be Heaven's alone—and Heaven is just! I bless thee—be at peace!"

But o'er his frame Too fast the strong tide rush'd—the sudden shame, The joy, the amaze!—he bow'd his head—it fell On the wrong'd bosom which had loved so well, And love, still perfect, gave him refuge there— His last faint breath just waved her floating hair. F. H.