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Juana, mother of the Emperor Charles V., upon the death of her husband, Philip the Handsome of Austria, who had treated her with uniform neglect, had his body laid upon a bed of state in a magnificent dress, and being possessed with the idea that it would revive, watched it for a length of time incessantly, waiting for the moment of returning life.


It is but dust thou look'st upon. This love,
This wild and passionate idolatry,
What doth it in the shadow of the grave ?
Gather it back within thy lonely heart,
So must it ever end: too much we give
Unto the things that perish.

The night-wind shook the tapestry round an ancient

palace-room, And torches, as it rose and fell, waved thro' the

gorgeous gloom, And o'er a shadowy regal couch threw fitful gleams

and red,

Where a woman with long raven hair sat watching by Pale shone the features of the dead, yet glorious

the dead.

still to see,

Like a hunter or a chief struck down while his heart

and step were free; No shroud he wore, no robe of death, but there

majestic lay, Proudly and sadly glittering in royalty's array.

But she that with the dark hair watch'd by the cold

slumberer's side, On her wan cheek no beauty dwelt, and in her garb

no pride ; Only her full impassion'd eyes as o'er that clay she bent, A wildness and a tenderness in strange resplendence


And as the swift thoughts cross'd her soul, like shadows

of a cloud,

Amidst the silent room of death, the dreamer spoke She spoke to him who could not hear, and cried,

aloud ;

“ Thou yet wilt wake, And learn my watchings and my tears, belov'd one !

for thy sake.

“ They told me this was death, but well I knew it

could not be ; Fairest and stateliest of the earth! who spoke of death

for thee?

They would have wrapt the funeral shroud thy gallant

form around, But I forbade--and there thou art, a mon

onarch, rob'd

and crown'd!

“ With all thy bright locks gleaming still, their coronal

beneath, And thy brow so proudly beautiful-who said that Silence hath been upon thy lips, and stillness round

this was death?

thee long,

But the hopeful spirit in my breast is all undimm'd

and strong

" I know thou hast not lov'd me yet; I am not fair

like thee,

The very glance of whose clear eye threw round a

light of glee ! A frail and drooping form is mine-a cold unsmiling

cheek, Oh! I have but a woman's heart, wherewith thy heart

to seek.

“ But when thou wak'st, my prince, my lord ! and

hear’st how I have kept A lonely vigil by thy side, and o'er thee pray'd and

wept ;

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