THE COLISEUM.

TYPE of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
Of lofty contemplation left to Time
By buried centuries of pomp and power!
At length at length after so many days
Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

Vastness and Age! and Memories of Eld!
Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!
I feel ye now I feel ye in your strength
O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane !
O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!
Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!
Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle !
Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
Lit by the wan light of the hornéd moon,
The swift and silent lizard of the stones !

All of the famed, and the colossal left

By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

Not all

we rule

the Echoes answer me — "" not all! Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever "From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, "As melody from Memnon to the Sun. "We rule the hearts of mightiest men "With a despotic sway all giant minds. "We are not impotent - we pallid stones. "Not all our power is gone. - not all our fame "Not all the magic of our high renown "Not all the wonder that encircles us "Not all the mysteries that in us lie "Not all the memories that hang upon "And cling around about us as a garment, " Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

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HYMN.

AT morn
at noon —at twilight dim
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn !
In joy and wo— - in good and ill
Mother of God, be with me still!
When the Hours flew brightly by,
And not a cloud obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine

With sweet hopes of thee and thine !

Alessandra.

Thou art sad, Castiglione.

Castiglione. Sad! not I.

Oh, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome!
A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra,
Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy!

Aless. Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing

Thy happiness! what ails thee, cousin of mine?
Why didst thou sigh so deeply?

Cas. Did I sigh?

I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion,

A silly

a most silly fashion I have

When I am very happy.

Aless. Thou didst. hast indulged

Did I sigh? (sighing.) Thou art not well. Thou

Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it.
Late hours and wine, Castiglione, - these

Will ruin thee! thou art already altered

Thy looks are haggard — nothing so wears away
The constitution as late hours and wine.

Cas. (musing.) Nothing, fair cousin, nothingnot even deep sorrow

Wears it away like evil hours and wine.

I will amend.

Aless.

Do it! I would have thee drop

Thy riotous company, too - fellows low born

Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio's heir

And Alessandra's husband.

Cas. I will drop them.

Aless. Thou wilt thou must. Attend thou also

Aless. (haughtily.) Thou mockest me, sir!
Cas. (abstractedly.) Sweet, gentle Lalage!
Aless. Heard I aright?

I speak to him he speaks of Lalage!

Sir Count! (places her hand on his shoulder) what art thou dreaming? he's not well!

What ails thee, sir?

Cas. (starting.) Cousin! fair cousin!— madam! I crave thy pardon - indeed I am not well.

Your hand from off my shoulder, if you please.
This air is most oppressive! Madam the Duke !
Enter Di Broglio.

Di Broglio. My son, I 've news for thee! - hey? what's the matter? (observing Alessandra.) I' the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione kiss her, You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute! I've news for you both. Politian is expected