Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/172

Rh

Of our gay nobles have not left a gem Within their ancient coffers.

Yet methinks There is a shadow on this gaiety, Flung from departed years; yon empty helm, The last memorial of some mighty chief, Now even as the dust upon his plume; Those ghastly portraits bringing back the dead. I cannot bear to look upon a face Warm with the hues of life, from which long since All likeness to the human form has pass'd.

This is too fanciful:—come, join the dance.