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Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold,
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.”


WHERE art thou, beloved To-morrow?

When young and old, and strong and weak, Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,

Thy sweet smiles we ever seek,-
In thy place-ahl well-a-day!
We find the thing we fled-To-day.


WILD, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one
Who staggers forth into the air and sun
From the dark chamber of a mortal fever,
Bewildered, and incapable, and ever
Fancying strange comments in her dizzy brain
Of usual shapes, till the familiar train

* This fragment is a poem which Shelley intended to write founded on a story to be found in the first volume of a book entitled “ L'Osservatore Fiorentino."

Of objects and of persons passed like things
Strange as a dreamer's mad imaginings,
Ginevra from the nuptial altar went;
The vows to which her lips had sworn assent
Rung in her brain still with a jarring din,
Deafening the lost intelligence within.

And so she moved under the bridal veil,
Which made the paleness of her cheek more pale,
And deepened the faint crimson of her mouth,
And darkened her dark locks, as moonlight doth,-
And of the gold and jewels glittering there
She scarce felt conscious, but the weary glare
Lay like a chaos of unwelcome light,
Vexing the sense with gorgeous undelight.
A moonbeam in the shadow of a cloud
Was less heavenly fair-her face was bowed,
And as she passed, the diamonds in her hair
Were mirrored in the polished marble stair
Which led from the cathedral to the street;
And even as she went her light fair feet
Erased these images.


The bride-maidens who round her thronging

came, Some with a sense of self-rebuke and shame, Envying the unenviable; and others Making the joy which should have been another's Their own by gentle sympathy; and some Sighing to think of an unhappy home ;

Some few admiring what can ever lure
Maidens to leave the heaven serene and pure
Of parents' smiles for life's great cheat; a thing
Bitter to taste, sweet in imagining.

But they are all dispersed—and lo! she stands Looking in idle grief on her white hands, Alone within the garden now her own; And through the sunny air, with jangling tone, The music of the merry marriage-bells, Killing the azure silence, sinks and swells ;Absorbed like one within a dream who dreams That he is dr ing, until slumber seems A mockery of itself—when suddenly Antonio stood before her, pale as she. With

and with pride, He lifted his wan eyes upon the bride, And said—“Is this thy faith?” and then as one Whose sleeping face is stricken by the sun With light like a harsh voice, which bids him rise And look upon his day of life with eyes Which weep in vain that they can dream no more, Ginevra saw her lover, and forbore To shriek or faint, and checked the stifling blood Rushing upon her heart, and unsubdued Said—“Friend, if earthly violence or ill, Suspicion, doubt, or the tyrannic will Of parents, chance, or custom, time, or change, Or circumstance, or terror, or revenge, Or wildered looks, or words, or evil speech, With all their stings and venom, can impeach

agony, with


Our love,—we love not :-if the grave, which

hides The victim from the tyrant, and divides The cheek that whitens from the eyes that dart Imperious inquisition to the heart That is another's, could dissever ours, We love not.”_" What! do not the silent hours Beckon thee to Gherardi's bridal bed ? Is not that ring”

-a pledge, he would have
Of broken vows, but she with patient look
The golden circle from her finger took
And said—“Accept this token of my faith,
The pledge of vows to be absolved by death;
And I am dead or shall be soon—my knell
Will mix its music with that merry bell ;
Does it not sound as if they sweetly said,
• We toll a corpse out of the marriage bed?'
The flowers upon my bridal chamber strewni
Will serve unfaded for my bier-so soon
That even the dying violet will not die
Before Ginevra.” The strong fantasy
Had made her accents weaker and more weak,
And quenched the crimson life upon her cheek,
And glazed her eyes, and spread an atmosphere
Round her, which chilled the burning noon with

Making her but an image of the thought,
Which, like a prophet cr a shadow, brought
News of the terrors of the coming time.
Like an accuser branded with the crime

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He would have cast on a beloved friend,
Whose dying eyes reproach not to the end
The pale betrayer-he then with vain repentance
Would share, he cannot now avert, the sentence-
Antonio stood and would have spoken, when
The compound voice of women and of men
Was heard approaching; he retired, while she
Was led amid the admiring company
Back to the palace,—and her maidens soon
Changed her attire for the afternoon,
And left her at her own request to keep
An hour of quiet and rest :—like one asleep
With open eyes and folded hands she lay,
Pale in the light of the declining day.

Meanwhile the day sinks fast, the sun is set, And in the lighted hall the guests are met; The beautiful looked lovelier in the light Of love, and admiration, and delight, Reflected from a thousand hearts and eyes Kindling a momentary Paradise. This crowd is safer than the silent wood, Where love's own doubts disturb the solitude; On frozen hearts the fiery rain of wine Falls, and the dew of music more divine Tempers the deep emotions of the time To spirits cradled in a sunny clime: How many meet, who never yet have met, To part too soon, but never to forget ? How many saw the beauty, power, and wit

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