They should have lived together deep in woods, Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes Call'd social, haunts of Hate, and Vice, and Care: How lonely every freeborn creature broods! The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair; Now pillow'd cheek to cheek, in loving sleep, A gentle slumber, but it was not deep, For ever and anon a something shook Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind Walks over it, was she shaken by the dream, The mystical usurper of the mindO'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem Good to the soul which we no more can bind; She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore, Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were "Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to meet Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and grasped, And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd. The dream changed; in a cave she stood, its walls Of ages on its water-fretted halls, Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and lurk; Her hair was dripping, and the very balls Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and murk The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caught, Which froze to marble as it fell-she thought. And wet, and cold, and lifeless, at her feet, Of his quenched heart; and the sea dirges low And gazing on the dead, she thought his face Faded, or alter'd into something newLike to her father's features, till each trace More like and like to Lambro's aspect grewWith all his keen worn look and Grecian grace: And starting, she awoke, and what to view? Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there? 'Tis 'tis her father's fix'd upon the pair! Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell, I have seen such-but must not call to mind. Up Juan sprang to Haidee's bitter shriek, And caught her falling, and from off the wall Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak Vengeance on him who was the cause of all; Then Lambro, who till now forebore to speak, Smiled scornfully, and said, "Within my call A thousand scimitars await the word; Put up, young man, put up your silly sword." And Haidee clung around him; "Juan, 'tis- Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be That doubt shall mingle with my filial joy? Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy." High and inscrutable the old man stood, Calm in his voice, and calm within his eyeNot always signs with him of calmest mood: He look'd upon her, but gave no reply; Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood Oft came and went, as there resolved to die; In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring. "Young man, your sword;" so Lambro once more said: It has a strange quick jar upon the ear, A moment more will bring the sight to bear A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes; Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though chill- All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred The ruling passion, such as marble shows When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there, But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair; O'er the Laocoon's all-eternal throes, And ever-dying Gladiator's air, Their energy like life forms all their fame, Yet looks not life, for they are still the same. She woke at length-but not as sleepers wake- Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true, Brought back the sense of pain without the cause, For, for a while, the furies made a pause. She look'd on many a face with vacant eye, Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; However dear or cherish'd in their day; At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning And then a slave bethought her of a harp; At the first notes-irregular and sharp On him her flashing eyes a moment bent; Then to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart resent; And he began a long low island song. Of ancient days-ere tyranny grew strong. Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, Short solace!-vain relief!-thought came too quick, Although her paroxysm drew towards its close: Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense; Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Though on all other things with looks intense She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence Avail'd for either; neither change of place, Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last A parting pang, the spirit from her pass'd; Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, That isle is now all desolate and bare, Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away, None but her own and father's grave is there, And nothing outward tells of human clay; Ye could not know where lies a thing so fairNo stone is there to show-no tongue to say What was; no dirge, except the hollow seas, Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades. LORD BYRON. THE DEAN OF SANTIAGO. It was but a short hour before noon when the Dean of Santiago alighted from his mule at the door of Don Julian, the celebrated magician of Toledo. The house, according to old tradition, stood on the brink of the perpendicular rock which, now crowned with the Alcazar, rises to a fearful height over the Tagus. A maid of Moorish blood led the dean to a retired apartment, where Don Julian was reading. The natural politeness of a Castilian | had rather been improved than impaired by the studies of the Toledan sage, who exhibited nothing either in his dress or person that might induce a suspicion of his dealing with the mysterious powers of darkness. "I heartily greet your reverence," said Don Julian to the dean, "and feel highly honoured by this visit. Whatever be the object of it, let me beg you will defer stating it till I have made you quite at home in this house. I hear my housekeeper making ready the noonday meal. That maid, sir, will show you the room which has been prepared for you; and when you have brushed off the dust of the journey, you shall find a canonical capon steaming hot upon the board." The dinner, which soon followed, was just what a pampered Spanish canon would wish it abundant, nutritive, and delicate. "No, no," said Don Julian, when the soup and a bumper of Tinto had recruited the dean's spirits, and he saw him making an attempt to break the object of his visit, no business, please your reverence, while at dinner. Let us enjoy our meal at present; and when we have discussed the Olla, the capon, and a bottle of Yepes, it will be time enough to turn to the cares of life." The ecclesiastic's full face had never beamed with more glee at the collation on Christmas-eve, when, by the indulgence of the church, the fast is broken at sunset, instead of continuing through the night, than it did now under the influence of Don Julian's good humour and heart-cheering wine. Still it was evident that some vehement and ungovernable wish had taken possession of his mind, breaking out now and then in some hurried motion, some gulping up of a full glass of wine without stopping to relish the flavour, and fifty other symptoms of absence and impatience, which at such a distance from the cathedral could not be attributed to the afternoon bell. The time came at length of rising from table, and in spite of Don Julian's pressing request to have another bottle, the dean, with a certain 66 dignity of manner, led his good-natured host to the recess of an oriel window looking upon the river. "Allow me, dear Don Julian," he said, "to open my heart to you; for even your hospitality must fail to make me completely happy till I have obtained the boon which I came to ask. I know that no man ever possessed greater power than you over the invisible agents of the universe. I die to become an adept in that wonderful science, and if you will receive me for your pupil, there is nothing I should think of sufficient worth to repay your friendship." "Good sir," replied Don Julian, "I should be extremely loath to offend you; but permit me to say, that in spite of the knowledge of causes and effects which I have acquired, all that my experience teaches me of the heart of man is not only vague and indistinct, but for the most part unfavourable. I only guess, I cannot read their thoughts, nor pry into the recesses of their minds. As for yourself, I am sure you are a rising man and likely to obtain the first dignities of the church. But whether, when you find yourself in places of high honour and patronage, you will remember the humble personage of whom you now ask a hazardous and important service, it is impossible for me to ascertain." "Nay, nay," exclaimed the dean, "but I know myself, if you do not, Don Julian. Generosity and friendship (since you force me to speak in my own praise) have been the delight of my soul even from childhood. Doubt not, my dear friend (for by that name I wish you would allow me to call you), doubt not, from this moment, to command my services. Whatever interest I may possess, it will be my highest gratification to see it redound in favour of you and yours." My hearty thanks for all, worthy sir," said Don Julian. "But let us now pro Lights being called for, Don Julian led the way to the lower part of the house; and dismissing the Moorish maid near a small door, of which he held the key in his hand, desired her to get two partridges for supper, but not to dress them till he should order it: then unlocking the door, he began to descend by a winding staircase. The dean followed with a certain degree of trepidation, which the length of the stairs greatly tended to increase; for, to all appearance, they reached below the bed of the Tagus. At this depth a comfortable neat room was found, the walls completely covered with shelves, where Don Julian kept his works on magic; globes, planispheres, and strange drawings, occupied the top of the bookcases. |