Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/171

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Now speaks too deep a language! and of all Its dreamy and mysterious melodies, The breathing soul is sadness!—I have felt That summons through my spirit, after which The hues of earth are changed, and all her sounds Seem fraught with secret warnings.—There is cause That I should bend my footsteps to the scenes Where Death is busy, taming warrior-hearts, And pouring winter through the fiery blood, And fettering the strong arm!—For now no sigh In the dull air, nor floating cloud in heaven, No, not the lightest murmur of a leaf, But of his angel's silent coming bears Some token to my soul.—But nought of this Unto my mother!—These are awful hours! And on their heavy steps, afflictions crowd With such dark pressure, there is left no room For one grief more.

Sweet lady, talk not thus! Your eye this morn doth wear a calmer light, There 's more of life in its clear tremulous ray Than I have mark'd of late. Nay, go not yet; Rest by this fountain, where the laurels dip