grieved for your loss, we have wept over your reputed dishonour. And tell me, Florestan, I conjure you, tell me what this dear kind maiden, in the confusion of her joy, has forgotten to ask-tell me, can you now clear your fame?" Amidea looked up breathless, while Florestan answered slowly and sorrowfully "Ah, father! that is a painful question. I trust in the justice of Heaven that time will yet enable me to do so; but as yet I have no means of proving my innocence, I can as yet only assert it most solemnly." "And I will believe that assertion," said Amidea, emphatically. But Padre Severino exclaimed, "Unhappy and mysterious man! why, then, have you presented yourself before us? You have done wrong to awaken in the half-broken heart of that poor maiden feelings which were better dormant for ever, than thus to mock her with empty visions. Yes, you have done wrong!" Before Florestan could reply, Amidea broke in “ Pardon me, Padre, if my heart contradicts you, and feels that he has done well-very well. He has come just at a time when I was gazing on a dreary horizon, without a speck; he has come to cheer the prospect. And oh! surely his unexpected coming, his resurrection, as it were, from the grave, should be an omen to us that his fame will yet be restored." "Generous Amidea!" said Florestan; "it is for you that my hope lives; it is from you that it is derived. The breaking of your marriage contract was to me a presage that Providence reserved you for me." "I take it thus," answered Amidea. "I can feel no fear; how can I now that you stand before me, risen again from a bloody and dishonoured grave? I can wait with patience for the revelations of time. I never felt such hope, such confidence as I do now." "I feel as you," interposed Buondelmonte, " or I should not have brought Florestan to your presence, though I owe my life to him. You have heard of my escape from a midnight assassin,Florestan was my deliverer, and risked his life for me." 66 “ My Florestan ! good and brave as ever !” "And the good and the brave and the injured will be yet righted," answered Buondelmonte. 66 Yes," said the priest, "yes, so we trust. But what foundation have you, Messer Buondelinonte, now, more than before, for believing the integrity of one whom you were persuaded by his comrades, the other Glee-singers, to believe guilty." "One foundation," replied Buondelmonte, "is the very accusation of those Glee-singers themselves. How can they be credible witnesses against a man with whom they continue to live, in the same retreat, on terms of uninterrupted friendship? If they know his guilt so well, why not deliver him up to justice for lurking in Italy contrary to his sentence?" "True," observed the confessor; "but the elder singer owns that he had never seen Bastiani." "And this proves," replied Florestan," that he accuses me from hearsay, not from his own knowledge. He is the brother of that unhappy Rosara who was stolen by some one to whom my name only' has been attributed. He is worthy of compassion, for he idolized his sister. Were I the person who has injured him, he must have made some discovery during the time we have lived together. The boy Antonio affirms that he knows Florestan Bastiani well; yet he lives with me in peace, and gives no sign of recognition. Is not this a proof that he accuses me wrongfully?" “True! true!" cried all the hearers. "But," added the priest, "how do you account for his assertions ?" "His "I believe him to be deranged," returned Florestan. deep melancholy and his wild accusations afford strong grounds for the belief. He probably heard my story at the time of his first becoming insane; it took possession of his mind, and he identifies himself with it." "And," said Padre Severino, "he accounts for the disappearance of Rosara by affirming that she was murdered by you." Florestan uttered an exclamation of horror. "What wondrous calumnies are heaped upon my unhappy head! First sacrilege, then murder! And I never even once beheld my supposed victim. But, reverend Padre, can you believe Antonio, since he lives in amity with such a wretch as he describes me to be?" "Oh! my son," said the old man, taking the hand of Florestan, whom he really loved, "believe me it is not austerity that makes me desirous to sift these mysteries to the bottom. It is my love for you and for my daughter, whose happiness depends on the restoration of your fame. It is my anxiety to be convinced that you can one day claim and obtain her hand. With what joy shall I welcome that day!" "Believe me, believe me," said Florestan, with energy, "I would never have dared to reappear before you or Amidea, if I did not come in innocence and hope." "I will believe you, Florestan," replied Amidea. "You could not be so cruel as to seek me only to renew useless agitations; you know that I have borne my share of trouble. My happiness was shaken to the foundation by the first accusation against you. I clung to every little hope of your acquittal; I wept over those extinguished hopes. I mourned over your supposed death; then I suffered myself to be persuaded that I ought to obey the wishes of my country, and the reward of my sacrifice has been she stopped short, remembering Buondolmonte's presence; and seeing that he looked embarrassed, she said frankly, Forgive me if I unthinkingly alluded to what is more than expiated now. Yet," she added, smiling, "I am inclined to doubt that you knew the good service you rendered me by your inconstancy. Tell me honestly, did you on that day know of Florestan's existence ?" Buondelmonte confessed he did not. "Well," replied Amidea, "I am too much pleased with the issue of the event to seek further into it. In general we take the will for the deed, but I am content to take the deed for the will. But," turning to her lover, "was it not you, Florestan, who sang to me that lay of hope, The silver-white lily?'” Florestan assented, and she resumed "It was a cheering song, but I did not guess half it promised. I only thought it prophesied justice to the dead. But why did you let your comrades agitate me with that contradicting song?" Florestan expressed surprise; she explained to him the occurrence, and he at once understood the cause of his comrade's conduct. "How came you with those men under the name of Brunetto ?" asked Amidea. "And why was I not killed in the Battle of Bouvines ?" said Florestan, with one of his smiles of former days. "There is so much to be explained," observed Buondelmonte, "that questions would be endless. It were better, Florestan, that you recounted all your adventures in order, as you did to me on the night you saved me. Meantime I will relieve you of my presence, and spend an hour with the superior. But before I go there is a health we must pledge." He poured out a cup of wine to each and continued-" This is Aleatico, the wine of your favourite Arezzo." And Amidea remembered what she had felt when he offered her Aleatico at the Palazzo Donati. "Come," continued Buondelmonte, cheerily, we three will drink 'to the speedy restoration of Florestan's fame."" The pledge was drunk, and Florestan reminded Amidea of the last evening they spent together at Arezzo, when they had breathed a last kind wish to each other over a cup of Aleatico. 66 Something of that I had heard," said Buondelmonte, gaily, "and I was determined your meeting should be as charitable as your parting was. Now farewell awhile; and, reverend Padre, do not marry them till I come back; it would not be proper without a witness, you know." And he left the room, and they heard him run merrily down. the stairs, humming a tune as he went. Amidea eagerly demanded of Florestan his story; he promised compliance, and seated himself opposite to her and the priest. And Florestan and Amidea felt that simple turret-room was to them more than a palace; that quiet hour was worth a life-time. They were very happy-not with riotous, vehement joy; it was a sober and chastened feeling. Vehement joy wearies the spirit; chastened happiness refreshes it. The happiness that comes after suffering and sorrow is like the blessed rest that steals over the senses after a release from wearying pain. The spoiled child of prosperity does not know the blessedness of this feeling, even as he who has never been a weary watcher knows not the value, the blessing of sleep. VIOLA. A LEGEND OF THE ADRIATIC, BY THE STUDENT. THE stars are brightly beaming, love, Their gentle rays down-streaming, love, That now, while the world is dreaming, love, Day is for busy care, my love, For strife and the victor's palm, But at eve our spirit's share, my love, Then over the waters wide, love, 'Mid the stillness and repose, Swiftly our bark shall glide, love, Unheeding friends or foes, Whilst bright in the heavens our guide, love, The star of evening glows. Then, now by the pale light beaming, love, Over the rippling sea, From the deep blue sky down-streaming, love, To guide my bark to thee. While the weary world is dreaming, love, Forth let us wander free. Soft falls thy gentle step, lady so fair, Back with that jealous veil! mantling thy charms, Joy thee, Colonna, now! night is around thee, Else might thy rivals claim charms that have bound thee; Else as thy lady-love left her proud halls, Where now her light step in loneliness falls, High hearts had bounded, and strong arms had striven, The light bark is entered, her treasure secured, Then silent she glides from her resting unmoored; Like the sea-bird that bathes its bright plumes in the spray, She speeds o'er the waters-away and away! And list now! the Spirit of Silence awakes, Though sweet is the breath that its slumberings breaks- |