ence robb'd, return'd;
And ever so their tranquil lights had burn'd,
Save that I fear'd those dear and dangerous eyes
Might then the secret of my soul surprise.
But one thing more, that, ere our parley cease,
Memory may shrine my words, as treasures sweet,
And this our parting give your spirit peace.
In all things else my fortune was complete,
In this alone some cause had I to mourn
That first I saw the light in humble earth,
And still, in sooth, it grieves that I was born
Far from the flowery nest where you had birth;
Yet fair to me the land where your love bless'd;
Haply that heart, which I alone possess'd,
Elsewhere had others loved, myself unseen,
And I, now voiced by fame, had there inglorious been."
"Ah, no!" I cried, "howe'er the spheres might roll,
Wherever born, immutable and whole,
In life, in death, my great love had been yours."
"Enough," she smiled, "its fame for aye endures,
And all my own! but pleasure has such power,
Too little have we reck'd the growing hour;
Behold! Aurora, from her golden bed,
Brings back the day to mortals, and the sun
Already from the ocean lifts his head.
Alas! he warns me that, my mission done,
We here must part. If more remain to say,
Sweet friend! in speech be brief, as must my stay."
Then I: "This kindest converse makes to me
All sense of my long suffering light and sweet:
But lady! for that now my life must be
Hateful and heavy, tell me, I entreat,
When, late or early, we again shall meet?"
"If right I read the future, long must you
Without me walk the earth."
She spoke, and pass'd from view.

MACGREGOR.

THE TRIUMPH OF FAME.

PART I.

_Da poi che Morte trionfo nel volto._

When cruel Death his paly ensign spread
Over that face, which oft in triumph led
My subject thoughts; and beauty's sovereign light,
Retiring, left the world immersed in night;
The Phantom, with a frown that chill'd the heart,
Seem'd with his gloomy pageant to depart,
Exulting in his formidable arms,
And proud of conquest o'er seraphic charms.
When, turning round, I saw the Power advance
That breaks the gloomy grave's eternal trance,
And bids the disembodied spirit claim
The glorious guerdon of immortal Fame.
Like Phosphor, in the sullen rear of night,
Before the golden wheels of