The Death-Wake | Page 5

of
amethyst.
And who was he? A monk. And those who knew
Yclept
him Julio; but they were few:
And others named him as a nameless
one,--
A dark, sad-hearted being, who had none
But bitter feelings,
and a cast of sadness,
That fed the wildest of all curses--madness!
But he was, what none knew, of lordly line,
That fought in the far
land of Palestine,
Where, under banners of the cross, they fell,

Smote by the armies of the infidel.
And Julio was the last; alone,
alone!
A sad, unfriended orphan, that had gone

Into the world, to
murmur and to die,
Like the cold breezes that are passing by!
And few they were that bade him to their board;
His fortunes now
were over, and the sword
Of his proud ancestry dishonour'd--left
To

moulder in its sheath--a hated gift!
Ay! it was so; and Julio had fain
Have been a warrior; but his very
brain
Grew fever'd at the sickly thought of death,
And to be stricken
with a want of breath!--
To be the food of worms--inanimate,
And
cold as winter,--and as desolate!
And then to waste away, and be no
more
Than the dark dust!--The thought was like a sore
That
gather'd in his heart; and he would say,--
"A curse be on their
laurels!" and decay
Came over them; the deeds that they had done

Had fallen with their fortunes; and anon
Was Julio forgotten, and his
line--
No wonder for this frenzied tale of mine!
Oh! he was wearied of this passing scene!
But loved not death: his
purpose was between
Life and the grave; and it would vibrate there,

Like a wild bird that floated far and fair
Betwixt the sun and sea!
He went, and came,
And thought, and slept, and still awoke the
same,--
A strange, strange youth; and he would look all night
Upon
the moon and stars, and count the flight
Of the sea waves, and let the
evening wind
Play with his raven tresses, or would bind
Grottoes of
birch, wherein to sit and sing:
And peasant girls would find him
sauntering,
To gaze upon their features, as they met,
In laughter,
under some green arboret.
At last, he became monk, and, on his knees,
Said holy prayers, and
with wild penances
Made sad atonement; and the solemn whim,

That, like a shadow, loiter'd over him,
Wore off, even like a shadow.
He was cursed
With none of the mad thoughts that were at first
The
poison of his quiet; but he grew
To love the world and its wild
laughter too,
As he had known before; and wish'd again
To join the
very mirth he hated then!
He durst not break the vow--he durst not be
The one he would--and
his heart's harmony
Became a tide of sorrow. Even so,

He felt hope

die,--in madness and in woe!
But there came one--and a most lovely
one
As ever to the warm light of the sun
Threw back her tresses,--a
fair sister girl,
With a brow changing between snow and pearl,
And
the blue eyes of sadness, fill'd with dew
Of tears,--like Heaven's own
melancholy blue,--
So beautiful, so tender; and her form
Was
graceful as a rainbow in a storm,
Scattering gladness on the face of
sorrow--
Oh! I had fancied of the hues that borrow
Their brightness
from the sun; but she was bright
In her own self,--a mystery of light!

With feelings tender as a star's own hue,
Pure as the morning star!
as true, as true;
For it will glitter in each early sky,
And her first
love be love that lasteth aye!
And this was Agathè, young Agathè,
A motherless, fair girl: and
many a day
She wept for her lost parent. It was sad
To see her
infant sorrow; how she bade
The flow of her wild spirits fall away

To grief, like bright clouds in a summer day
Melting into a shower:
and it was sad
Almost to think she might again be glad,
Her beauty
was so chaste, amid the fall
Of her bright tears. Yet, in her father's
hall,
She had lived almost sorrowless her days:
But he felt no
affection for the gaze
Of his fair girl; and when she fondly smiled,

He bade no father's welcome to the child,
But even told his wish, and
will'd it done,
For her to be sad-hearted--and a nun!
And so it was. She took the dreary veil,
A hopeless girl! and the
bright flush grew pale
Upon her cheek: she felt, as summer feels

The winds of autumn and the winter chills,
That darken his fair
suns.--It was away,
Feeding on dreams, the heart of Agathè!
The vesper prayers were said, and the last hymn
Sung to the Holy
Virgin. In the dim,
Gray aisle was heard a solitary tread,
As of one
musing sadly on the dead--
'Twas Julio; it was his wont to be
Often
alone within the sanctuary;
But now, not so--another: it was she!

Kneeling in all her beauty, like a saint
Before a crucifix; but sad and
faint
The tone of her devotion, as the trill
Of a moss-burden'd,

melancholy rill.
And Julio stood before her;--'twas as yet
The hour of the pale
twilight--and they met
Each other's gaze, till either seem'd the hue

Of deepest crimson; but the ladye threw
Her veil above her features,
and stole by
Like a bright cloud,