Page:The Vespers of Palermo.pdf/56



Look from thy brow once more!—But how is this? Thine eye reflects not the glad soul of mine; And in thy look is that which ill befits A tale of joy.

A dream is on my soul. I see a slumberer, crown'd with flowers, and smiling As in delighted visions, on the brink Of a dread chasm; and this strange phantasy Hath cast so deep a shadow o'er my thoughts, I cannot but be sad.

Why, let me sing One of the sweet wild strains you love so well, And this will banish it.

It may not be. Oh! gentle Constance, go not forth to-day: Such dreams are ominous.

Have you then forgot My brother's nuptial feast?—I must be one Of the gay train attending to the shrine His stately bride. In sooth, my step of joy Will print earth lightly now —What fear'st thou, love? Look all around! these blue transparent skies, And sun-beams pouring a more buoyant life Thro' each glad thrilling vein, will brightly chase All thought of evil.—Why, the very air Breathes of delight!—Thro' all its glowing realms Doth music blend with fragancefragrance [sic], and e'en here The city's voice of jubilee is heard Till each light leaf seems trembling unto sounds Of human joy!