Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/731

724 and unheeding, until at last she turned her white face languidly towards me and essayed to speak once or twice. Her face had in it the look of death, but my heart was callous. I saw one bright flash in her eyes, and then she fell forward and down on the floor lifeless at my side.

I was stunned and paralyzed, but was roused by the maddening sound of the Italian’s laugh. In an instant I sprung from the earth and seized him by the throat, but his hand was upon me like a vice. We struggled long and violently. Ah! how I longed to kill him; but his strength overcame me, and he dashed me with tremendous force to the ground.

Long afterwards I awoke, in the darkness, from a deep swoon—awoke to find myself alone among the ruins of my wild hopes and ambitious dreams; alone in my bitterness and despair; alone—and yet not alone, for stretching out my arms I felt the dead, cold hand of my young wife who lay by my side, a corpse, in the gloom and stillness of that awful night.

A. G. G.

fine old fragment, still used as a college chaunt, with the touching refrain of “Dulce, dulce, domum,” is attributed to a youth, who, on being separated from home, to which he was passionately attached, languished and died from the effects of the bereavement. The writer of the following lines has attempted a fuller interpretation of the spirit which pervades the old and almost forgotten lyric.

Ah! racked pine, on the granite steep, Shadowy from each blowing wind, And dashed with dusk from yonder cloud With fires of fading sunset lined, Within my brain your image lies, Transformed; and looms upon mine eyes A castle black against the skies. Dulce, dulce domum.

Up many a terrace, gleaming white, With fronts that glitter to the north; High over leagues of vexèd sea, And purple cliff and roaring forth, It sitteth, like a house of rest, One clot stain on the burning west; Sun, moon, and mist its changing guest. Dulce, dulce domum.

Within the circling garden walls, The cedars brood above the flowers; Across them shadows from the roofs Slide bluely in the lighted hours. I see my sister, cold and fair, Shake in the sun her flaxen hair: Would unto God that I were there. Dulce, dulce domum.

Night, east and west: I hear a step, Come, ghostlike, up the corridor; I see the slender taper stream, Between the chinks, across the floor. O, mother mine, why turn away? Fool to sit dreaming in the day. Great God, her hair was thin and gray! Dulce, dulce domum.

Where fliest thou, gaunt-plumed and swift, Strong eagle, skirring past the stars? Rush on and tell them that my heart Is worn from beating at its bars. Rush past o’er wastes of land and foam, Thy fierce eyes cleave the dayless gloom, Tell them I’m sick to death for home. Dulce, dulce domum.

Ah, woe is me! The thoughts that sit Beside me daily with the sun Take shape and hue, and crowd my brain, When wheels the bat in twilight dun. I climb the terrace, o’er me flows Their laughter, sucked through vine and rose; Sudden, the terrace upward grows. Dulce, dulce domum.

And, beaten down from steep to steep, I see the dizzy walls leap higher; The tender voices sink below The first breath of an Easter choir. Quick, startled by the night-guard’s tramp, Upwards I throw hands, clenched and damp: They strike the bracket of my lamp. Dulce, dulce domum.

Fetch me a leaf of asphodel, I long to feel it in my palm: And, dying, tearful, hear without The mournful Babylonian psalm. While Israel, by the willows’ drowse, Pined for her home, with ash-strewn brows, And I pine for my father’s house. Dulce, dulce domum.

END OF VOL. V.