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since since I fell into hell," she said in a low, hoarse tone, and printing a passionate kiss on Annie's hand, she blew out her light, and vanished in the darkness.

It seemed to swallow her up and become a type of the mystery and fate that enshrouded the forlorn creature. Beyond the bare fact that she took the train the following morning with the man she called "Vight," Annie never heard of her again. Still there was hope for the wretched wanderer. However dark and hidden her paths, the eyes of a merciful God ever followed her, and to that God Annie prayed often in her behalf.

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THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

MD, LENAY AND

N FOUNDATIONS

SAMUEL ROGERS.

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ROGERS, SAMUEL, an English poet, born at Stoke Newington, July 30, 1763; died at London, December 18, 1855. His father was an eminent banker, who, dying in 1793, left an ample fortune to his son. Ten years afterward Rogers established his residence in London, and his "breakfasts were for half a century frequented by all men noted in literature and art who could obtain an invitation to them. Rogers commenced writing in the "Gentleman's Magazine" at the age of eighteen. His principal poems are "The Pleasures of Memory" (1792); "Jacqueline," published in the same volume with Byron's "Lara" (1814); “ Human Life" (1819); "Italy" (Part I., 1821; Part II., 1834). His last, longest, and most interesting work is "Italy." He also, from time to time, put forth small volumes of Poems.

66

GINEVRA.

(From "Italy.")

Ir thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance

To Modena, where still religiously

Among her ancient trophies is preserved

Bologna's bucket (in its chain it hangs

Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandine),
Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate,
Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini.

Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,

Will long detain thee; through their arched walks,
Dim at noonday, discovering many a glimpse
Of knights and dames such as in old romance,
And lovers such as in heroic song,-

Perhaps the two, for groves were their delight
That in the springtime, as alone they sate,
Venturing together on a tale of love,

Read only part that day. A summer sun
Sets ere one-half is seen; but ere thou go,

Enter the house-prithee, forget it not-
And look a while upon a picture there.

"Tis of a lady in her earliest youth, The very last of an illustrious race,

Done by Zampieri — but by whom I care not.
He who observes it, ere he passes on,
Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again,
That he may call it up when far away.

She sits, inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half-open, and her finger up,

As though she said "Beware!" her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart, -
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!

Alone it hangs

Over a mouldering heirloom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent

With Scripture stories from the life of Christ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestor.

That by the way,

it may be true or false, –
But don't forget the picture; and thou wilt not,
When thou hast heard the tale they told me there.
She was an only child; from infancy
The joy, the pride, of an indulgent sire.
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,

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That precious gift, what else remained to him?
The young Ginevra was his all in life;

Still as she grew, forever in his sight:
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, -
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
She was all gentleness, all gayety,

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Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum;
And in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.

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