Page:The Maremma.pdf/7



Yet may a lightning glance at times be seen, Of fiery passions, darting o'er his face, And fierce the spirit kindling in his eye,— But e'en while yet we gaze, its quick, wild flashes die.

And calmly can Pietra smile, concealing As if forgotten, vengeance, hate, remorse; And veil the workings of each darker feeling, Deep in his soul concentrating its force: But yet, he loves—Oh! who hath loved, nor known Affection's power exalt the bosom all its own?

The days roll on—and still Bianca's lot Seems as a path of Eden—Thou mightst deem That grief, the mighty chastener, had forgot To wake her soul from life's enchanted dream; And, if her brow a moment's sadness wear, It sheds but grace more intellectual there.

A few short years, and all is changed—her fate Seems with some deep mysterious cloud o'ercast. —Have jealous doubts transformed to wrath and hate, The love whose glow Expression's power surpassed? Lo! on Pietra's brow a sullen gloom Is gathering day by day, prophetic of her doom.

Oh! can he meet that eye, of light serene, Whence the pure spirit looks in radiance forth, And view that bright intelligence of mien, Formed to express but thoughts of loftiest worth, Yet deem that vice within that heart can reign? —How shall' he e'er confide in aught on earth again?

In silence oft, with strange, vindictive gaze, Transient, yet filled with meaning stern and wild Her features, calm in beauty, he surveys, Then turns away, and fixes on her child So dark a glance, as thrills a mother's mind With some vague fear, scarce owned, and undefined.

There stands a lonely dwelling, by the wave Of the blue deep which bathes Italia's shore, Far from all sounds, but rippling seas, that lave Grey rocks, with foliage richly shadowed o’er;