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And then, a draught of nature's wine,

A meal of summer's daintiest fruit; To take the air with forms divine;

Clouds, silvery, cool, and mute; Descending, if the night be fine,

In a star-parachute.


Give me to live with love alone,

And let the world go dine and dress ; For love hath lowly haunts — a stone

Holds something meant to bless. If life's a flower, I choose my own

'Tis “ Love in Idleness !”


Lamberto had not been long in possession of the kingdom of Lombardy, when he was murdered in the forest of Marengo, by a young nobleman, whom he had loaded with honours, in the vain hope of inducing him to forgive the cruel execution of his father (Count Manfred), whom Lamberto had ungenerously put to death, in revenge for his gallant defence of Milan, in the service of Arnolf.

Rivoluzioni d'Italia da Carlo Denina.


Deep in a forest's solitude,

A wounded Monarch bled;
And close beside, a courtier stood

With his heel upon his head :
Full fiercely did the Murderer vaunt

O'er his expiring prey ;
And thus, with scoff and bitter taunt,

He sped his soul away:


“ Nay! do not clothe that royal brow

With such a withering frown,-
I do not fear thy glances now;

Tyrant and traitor! down!

Talk not of pardon,- penitence,

I mock the empty sound;
Manfred my father, calls thee hence;

Thy voice in his is drowned !


“ Go! cruel, coward spirit, go!

Yet ere thou dost depart, That I have wreaked a vengeance, know,

Long cherished in my heart ! Confiding fool! and didst thou dream.

That injuries like mine Might be dissolved into a dream

By favour such as thine ?

iv. “ That thou in safety might'st exult

O’er thy foul work of shame; And with thy loathed gifts insult

The heir to Manfred's fame? Know, that the bounty, whose base weight

Was meant to force my faith, Served but to keep awake my hate,

To hunt thee to the death !

“I've hated thee ʼmid many wiles,

Through days that seemed like years ;-
I've hated thee ʼmid outward smiles,

And secret, scalding tears :
And if, beyond the grave we meet

In punishment and pain,
Detested king! it will be sweet

To hate thee there again!


“ But go! and when thou shalt appear

In the high Court of Heaven,
Tell how thy crimes and perjuries here

Were cancelled and forgiven :
Count o'er thy deeds of treachery done ;

And in thy hour of need,
Say 't was a murdered father's Son
Who sent thee there to plead!”


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The Abbess of Royal-Lieu fell a victim to the revolutionary madness. She and her numerous sisterhood were led to the scaffold on the same day. On their way from the prison to the guillotine, they all chanted the Veni Creator. Their arrival at the place of execution, did not interrupt their strains; one head fell, and ceased to join its voice with the celestial chorus--but the song continued. The Abbess suffered last; and her single voice still raised the devout versicle. It ceased at once--and the silence of death ensued.

Madame Campan's Memoirs.

Dark clouds are hurrying through the sky,

'Tis autumn's fitful eve;
And the dying breeze is murmuring by,

With a sound that makes one grieve;
A stifing heat is in the air ;
Like the sultry breath of a lion's lair ;

And unseen fingers weave
A giant shade of shadows dun,
Around the broad red sinking.sun!

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