The various grapes, some like the stone
On which an Indian sky has shone,
And others like the amber streak

Pale on the fading twilight's cheek ;
And others glistening and green,

As yet by summer suns unseen.

And where the soft grass spreads, just meet
For the light tread of maiden's feet,

And where the chesnut's trunk seems made
For the musician's seat and shade,-
Are peasants dancing: one alone
Has stolen from the group, unknown,
To watch the hunter prince pass by :
Alas! love's fond idolatry!

She sat down by the cypress tree,
And well it might her shadow be,
With its dark leaves, and lonely weeping,
As if some lovelorn secret keeping.
Just there the thicker boughs gave way,

And dale, wood, heath, before her lay;

It came at last, the gallant train,

And hound, hawk, horseman, swept the plain.

There rode the leader of the band,

His hooded falcon on his hand;

Which held the broidered rein beside,

Curbing his foam-white courser's pride;

And carelessly on one side flung

The drooping heron feathers hung

Of the light cap, while the soft air
Ruffled the curls of raven hair,

And parted them enough to show

The forehead's height of mountain snow.
But he has left his train behind,-

A lover's step is on the wind;-
And he is by the maiden's side,
Whose eye is drooped, as if to hide
How joy has lighted it; she lent
Like one of those sweet visions sent

To the young bard, when tones that weep
From leaf to flower have lulled his sleep.
In that Italian gallery, where

The painter and the sculptor share
Their gift of beauty, stands a form
Just like hers, only not so warm
With blushes, but the same soft eye
Seeking the ground;-just such a sigh
Upon the parted lips ;-so prest

The small hands on the throbbing breast.
The same bowed attitude, so meek!
Oh, misery, that love should seek

A temple made so pure, so fair,

To leave his wreck and ruin there!

"CHRISTINE, my own CHRISTINE;"—she felt

The words upon her flushed cheek melt:
She met his radiant eyes-to-night

Surely some cloud is on their light ;—

And then she heard of his recall

From green woods to his father's hall.
But, not while yet still heart to heart,
Know we what pain it is to part!
Not while we list, the voice so dear,
Although it be Farewell we hear.
Not while on one fond breast reclining,-
Not while dear eyes are on us shining,-
Although we deem that hour must be
The depth of Fate's worst misery,-
Know we how much the heart can bear
Of lonely and of long despair.
And strove the royal youth to cheer
The sorrowing of his maiden's fear,
With all those gentle vows that prove
At least the eloquence of love.
But still she wept: Oh! not for me
To wish or hope fidelity!

Tell me not RAYMOND will recall
His peasant love in lighted hall:
When the rich Eastern gems look dim
By the bright eyes that smile for him.
Go share, as man will ever share,
In love's delight, but not love's care;
And leave me to my woman's part-
A rifled and a broken heart.

He took a gold chain from his neck,-
Such chains the fair Venetians deck,-

And threw it round her-" See how slight
The fragile links that here unite.

Yet try, CHRISTINE, and all in vain,—
You cannot break the slender chain;
This be our emblem, sweet, farewell!
He kissed the teardrops as they fell.
They parted-he for festival
And beauty's lighted coronal,
And all the meteor spells that try
The strength of absent constancy;

And even as all changed around,

The change in his own heart was found;
The dance's gayest cavalier,

Who soonest won a lady's ear

With soft words, wandering amid many,
And true to none, yet vowed to any.

"Tis ever thus ;-alas! there clings

The curse of change to earthly things ;-
The flower fades, the green leaf dies,

A cloud steals over April skies,—

Tides turn their course, stars fall, winds range,
But more than all these, love will change.
Not so CHRISTINE,-day after day,
She watched and wept o'er hope's decay:
At last hope died, she felt it vain
To hope or dream of hope again.
It was one noon she chanced to look
On the clear mirror of the brook,

Which ran beside the cypress tree,

Where their glad meetings wont to be.
She marked her eye's dim darkened blue,
The cheek which had forgot its hue
Of summer rose-the faded brow!
"Alas! he would not love me now!"
And hope departed from that hour-
But not with hope declined love's power;
It was changed to a mournful feeling,
The deeper from its deep concealing

Fond thoughts, and gentle prayers that strove
To make a piety of love.

And then there came a wish to die
Unknown, but still beneath his eye ;-
At first 'twas but a fear, a thought-
A dream of thousand fancies wrought;
It haunted still-at last she gave
Her tresses to the wind and wave:
Then as a page she sought his train,
And looked on RAYMOND'S face again.
There was a revel held that night
In honour of the lady bright,

Who was next day, by RAYMOND's side,
To wear the white veil of a bride;
And from the gallery, CHRISTINE

Gazed with the crowd on that gay scene.
There were high dames, with raven curls
Falling from the snow wreath of pearls;