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114 THE CITY OF THE PESTILENCE. That fans the timid aspen's quiv'ring leaf, Or ripples o'er with each fantastic form The glassy bosom of the gliding stream. The air was heavy with its odorous load, The rich and precious tribute of each flow'r, And of each loftler tree whose blossoms hung Clust'ring and drooping with their sweet perfume, Or scatt'ring garlands on the dewy eward. From founts of marble of Italia's clime The crystal waters gushed in many a streant, Gurgling, and flashing o'er the rocky way, Which Art, ambitions of her rival's skill, Iad sought to imitate from Nature's hand, Here had the fairy foot in blithesome mood, Tripped in the mazy dance, to music's strain; Here had loud laughter, bursting from the heart, Echoed from lip to lip-and flashed again In ev'ry eye-and glowed in ev'ry cheek. The old aroused their waning soula to see How full were all of gay, luxurious life- How each heart bounded, and with transport thrilled, Where yet untainted dwelt sweet Innocence, And blest content. The hours passed on, and of the flight of time Warned the gay revellers by midnight chime. The labyrinth was still--the fountains poured Their grateful coolness on the air in vain, And onward as it flew, the zephyr sighed O'er the untenanted--deserted bow'rs, But far beyond, amid the cypress shades, A form advances and still nearer comes. But no--not one alone, two figures move In step harmonious through the moonlit scene; Their arms close intertwined-and each one's eye Reading the language of love'a eloquence In those bright speaking mirrors, where the form Of each distinctly pictured from the heart, A falthful copy of the image there. They whispered-but the fountain's falling spray Mingled its murmurs-and the words escaped. The moon's pale crescent shed a holy light On the pure passion of the happy pair, Who pledged before that chaste and sacred fire Their mutual loves-their fortunes-and their all- Defied e'en death to break the solid chain That linked in union strong their constant, hearts; Pledged, and devoted each unbroken love, In health, in sickness, happiness, or woe, No chance should part--no evil disunite, But live together-undivided die. Words, deep and earnest, were the sacred bond; The witnesses-the sov'reign power of heav'n; The seal that ratified-the first long kiss Stamped warm and glowing on those virgin lips. Man's dignity of form, and gen'rous soal- The grace of woman-blended with a high A noble spirit, and an ardent love- All gave assurance of enduring faith. For soul in soul so intimately join'd, To separate appeared past mortal pow'r. As when two dew drops on some fragrant flow'r Their radiant beauties to each other send, A breath-a movement-with attractive pow'r May melt and mould them to a brighter gem. The troth was plighted, and the blissful goal Was full in view-a week, a few short hours Would into full fruition change their hope. They gazed around upon the silence deep, Where no sound fell, no music but their own, The words of love, Waked the lone echoes of th' enchanted scene. The parting steps rose fainter on the ear, And the dim passage shrouded them from sight. From a deep-shaded nook stole forth a man, Ilta step was noiseless-sneering was his smille, Pale was his flp-his cheek cadaverous, And the deep hollow of his restless eye Gleamed with the lustre of his fiendish stare. He viewed the lovers till beyond his ken, And then he laughed-not loud, or joyously, But a hoarse murmur from his inmost breast, Did harshly grate along the arid path That bore it to the air-as if from hell Some damned spirit issued forth to light, To blast all living with its hideous roar. Uprose that horrid laugh. through clenched teeth That grinned and gnashed-and grated o'er and o'er, While the fierce gesture, and contracted brow, The heaving chest, and ev'ry muscle set- Were indices of bitter-envious hate. The haunts of man had beld him and his heart, Once sympathetic, had rebounded high To joy or sorrow-wealth and friends had he. But his star, once so bright, faded and fell:- In evil hour, upon a brother's love In full confiding tenderness, he set Ilis fortune and his fame--and all were lost, Wrecked at the moment of his highest hopes- Buried forever-sunk beneath the waves That roll above adversity's abyss. Then friends more distant grew--and servants bold- Unheard of debts encumbered hlm-respect Became familiar-some dared pity him. Madness was in his brain-his senses reeled- To heav'n he swore in words of import dire, Never to pity or to succour man, But blast his happiness-and o'er his woe Mock, taunt, and drive to uttermost despair- To fill the cup of pleasure high with pain- And gall infuse, where honey should have flowed. He looked upon the fire of youthful love, And longed to quench it--thirsted to revenge His seared and palsied feelings upon those Who ne'er had injured him. Ghastly he smiled, And lifting up in air his withered hands, On heav'n he called to blast all joy In ev'ry heart-all confidence-all love. He sought his lonely pallet-not to sleep- Ilis soul was wakeful, and an undefined Yet pleasing vision floated o'er his sight. He dashed the mem'ry of his waking dream With furious oath far from him-for some fiend Muttered in whispered tones-" Thou hast thy wish!" Belief he could not yield-to think that he- The poor-despised-abhorred-the pitied wretch, That he should dream of hope, or wish fulfilled. But still he fondly hung upon that word- As children on a father's promised boon- Till morn had risen, and his frame oppressed Had sunk unconscious into slumber's arms. Thrice had Diana's silver car careered Over the arch of buoyant clouds that spans Th' immensity of air-thrice had the sun Rushed flaming from the orient, to the wave Of western waters-thrice had man arisen Toiled, and slept; and now, 'twas ev'n again; Again the air was odorous-the stream Still purled and dashed along its pebbly bed. But whence this silence sad-these desert bow'rs? Has pleasure ceased, and has th' exulting voice Forgot its strains hilarious? Has some wand More potent than the Magi's fabled staff, Waved o'er the city, and to stone transformed The living-breathing-joyous multitude? The air is murky, and the sable clouds Filt on the pinions of the stormy wind; The moon's cold eye looks with a fitful glare, And ever and anon, the starving dogs Howl in discordance, and with madness tear Their fellows limb from limb: man heeds not them. The casement closed, the portal closely barred, No welcome to the wand'ring stranger give. Yet one is there: as if on wings he flies, His arms extended-tossing wild his hair From the was, haggard temples on the storm.