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And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light
That the lady walks in the shadow of night ;
And if she sits in Este's bower,
'Tis not for the sake of its full-blown flower-
She listens—but not for the nightingale-
Though her ear expects as soft a tale.
There glides a step through the foliage thick,
And her cheek grows pale—and her heart beats quick.
There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves,
And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves :
A moment more—and they shall meet-
'Tis past—her lover's at her feet.

THE LAST OF EZZELIN.

(LARA, Canto ii. Stanza 24.)

UPON that night (a peasant's is the tale)
A Serf that cross'd the intervening vale,
When Cynthia's light almost gave way to morn,
And nearly veil'd in mist her waning horn-
A Serf, that rose betimes to thread the wood,
And hew the bough that bought his children's food,
Pass'd by the river that divides the plain
Of Otho's lands and Lara's broad domain :
He heard a tramp—a horse and horseman broke
From out the wood—before him was a cloak
Wrapt round some burthen at his saddle-bow,
Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow.
Roused by the sudden sight at such a time,
And some foreboding that it might be crime,

Himself unheeded watch'd the stranger's course,
Who reach'd the river, bounded from his horse,
And lifting thence the burthen which he bore,
Heaved up the bank, and dash'd it from the shore,
Then paused, and look'd, and turn'd, and seem'd to watch,
And still another hurried glance would snatch,
And follow with his step the stream that flow'd,
As if even yet too much its surface show'd.
At once he started—stoop'd ; around him strown
The winter floods had scatter'd heaps of stone ;
Of these the heaviest thence he gather'd there,
And slung them with a more than common care.
Meantime the Serf had crept to where unseen
Himself might safely mark what this might mean ;
He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast,
And something glitter'd starlike on the vest ;
But ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk,
A massy fragment smote it, and it sunk :
It rose again, but indistinct to view,
And left the waters of a purple hue,
Then deeply disappear'd: the horseman gazed
Till ebb’d the latest eddy it had raised ;
Then turning, vaulted on his pawing steed,
And instant spurr'd him into panting speed.
His face was mask'd—the features of the dead,
If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread;
But if in sooth star its bosom bore,
Such is the badge that knighthood ever wore,
And such 'tis known Sir Ezzelin had worn
Upon the night that led to such a morn.

MAZEPPA'S RIDE

(MAZEPPA, Stanzas 9-17.)

“Bring forth the horse”!—the horse was brought ;

In truth he was a noble steed,

A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
Who look'd as though the speed of thought
Were in his limbs; but he was wild,

Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
With spur and bridle undefiled-

'Twas but a day he had been caught ;
And snorting, with erected mane,
And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
In the full foam of wrath and dread
To me the desert-born was led :
They bound me on, that menial throng,
Upon his back with many a thong ;
Then loosed him with a sudden lash-
Away !-away !and on we dash !-
Torrents less rapid and less rash.

Away !-away !-My breath was gone--
I saw not where he hurried on :
'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
And on he foam'd-away !-away!
The last of human sounds which rose,
As I was darted from my foes,
Was the wild shout of savage laughter,
Which on the wind came roaring after

A moment from that rabble rout :
With sudden wrath I wrench'd my head,

And snapp'd the cord, which to the mane

Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, And, writhing half my form about, Howl'd back my curse; but ’midst the tread, The thunder of my courser's speed, Perchance they did not hear nor heed : It vexes me—for I would fain Have paid their insult back again. I paid it well in after days : There is not of that castle gate, Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left; Nor of its fields a blade of grass,

Save what grows on a ridge of wall,

Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall ; And many a time ye there might pass, Nor dream that e'er that fortress was : I saw its turrets in a blaze, Their crackling battlements all cleft,

And the hot lead pour down like rain From off the scorch'd and blackening roof, Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.

They little thought that day of pain, When launch'd as on the lightning's flash, They bade me to destruction dash,

That one day I should come again, With twice five thousand horse, to thank

The Count for his uncourteous ride. They play'd me then a bitter prank,

When, with the wild horse for my guide, They bound me to his foaming flank : At length I play'd them one as frankFor time at last sets all things even

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And if we do but watch the hour,

There never yet was human power
Which could evade, if unforgiven,
The patient search and vigil long
Of him who treasures up a wrong.

year before

Away, away, my steed and I,

Upon the pinions of the wind,

All human dwellings left behind ; We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night Is chequer'd with the northern light: Town-village-none were on our track,

But a wild plain of far extent, And bounded by a forest black ;

And, save the scarce seen battlement On distant heights of some strong hold, Against the Tartars built of old, No trace of man. The A Turkish army had march'd o'er ; And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod, The verdure flies the bloody sod :The sky was dull, and dim, and gray,

And a low breeze crept moaning by

I could have answer'd with a sighBut fast we fled, away, awayAnd I could neither sigh nor pray ; And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Upon the courser's bristling mane ; But, snorting still with rage and fear, He flew upon his far career : At times I almost thought, indeed, He must have slacken'd in his speed ; But no

- my bound and slender frame Was nothing to his angry might,

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