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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;
With his heel upon his head :
O'er his expiring prey ;
He sped his soul away:
“ Nay! do not clothe that royal brow
With such a withering frown,-
Tyrant and traitor! down!
Talk not of pardon,- penitence,
I mock the empty sound;
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 ;-
And secret, scalding tears :
In punishment and pain,
To hate thee there again!
“ But go! and when thou shalt appear
In the high Court of Heaven,
Were cancelled and forgiven :
And in thy hour of need,
THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU.
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;
With a sound that makes one grieve;
And unseen fingers weave