Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/143

Rh

We must indulge her fancy, Julian. Repose beside me on this turf; my head Has sought its dearest pillow on thy breast; My Veronica feasts her gentle eyes Upon her fragile treasures: Come now, Love, Tax thy invention, or thy memory, With such a tale as suits this hour of bliss.

Shall it be framed of love, or war—the lay Of some soft Troubadour, or armed Knight? Or shall I steal from Tasso's flowing verse The story of the warrior maid, or sing Armida's Paradise less fair than this? The tower of Ugolino were a tale Too dark and horrible—— I know not why, but gloomy images Alone present themselves, unnatural And fierce revenge, and disappointed love— But true love, sweet, is seldom fortunate.