But they, our loved and loving-they to whom We have spread out our souls in joy and gloom, Their looks and accents, unto ours address'd, Have been a language of familiar tone

Too long to breathe, at last, dark sayings and unknown.

XXXVI.

I told my heart, 'twas but the exile's woe
Which press'd on that sweet bosom ;-I deceived
My heart but half :—a whisper, faint and low,
Haunting it ever, and at times believed,

Spoke of some deeper cause. How oft we seem Like those that dream, and know the while they dream,

'Midst the soft falls of airy voices grieved,

And troubled, while bright phantoms round them play,

By a dim sense that all will float and fade away!

XXXVII.

Yet, as if chasing joy, I woo'd the breeze
To speed me onward with the wings of morn.
-Oh! far amidst the solitary seas,

Which were not made for man, what man hath

borne,

Answering their moan with his !—what thou didst bear,

My lost and loveliest! while that secret care
Grew terror, and thy gentle spirit, worn
By its dull brooding weight, gave way at last,
Beholding me as one from hope for ever cast!

XXXVIII.

For unto thee, as through all change, reveal'd
Mine inward being lay. In other eyes
I had to bow me yet, and make a shield,
To fence my burning bosom, of disguise;
By the still hope sustain'd, erelong to win
Some sanctuary, whose green retreats within,
My thoughts unfetter'd to their source might rise,
-But thou didst
Like songs and scents of morn.—

look

Through all my soul, and thine even unto fainting

shook.

XXXIX.

Fallen, fallen, I seem'd-yet, oh! not less beloved,
Though from thy love was pluck'd the early pride,
And harshly, by a gloomy faith reproved,
And sear'd with shame!-though each young
flower had died,

There was the root,-strong, living, not the less
That all it yielded now was bitterness;

Yet still such love as quits not misery's side, Nor drops from guilt its ivy-like embrace, Nor turns away from death's its pale heroic face.

XL.

Yes! thou hadst follow'd me through fear and flight!

led

Thou would'st have follow'd had my pathway
Even to the scaffold; had the flashing light
Of the raised axe made strong men shrink with

dread,

Thou, 'midst the hush of thousands, would'st have been

With thy clasp'd hands beside me kneeling seen, And meekly bowing to the shame thy head— The shame!-oh! making beautiful to view The might of human love-fair thing! so bravely true!

XLI.

There was thine agony-t -to love so well Where fear made love life's chastener.-Hereto

fore

Whate'er of earth's disquiet round thee fell,
Thy soul, o'erpassing its dim bounds, could soar
Away to sunshine, and thy clear eye speak
Most of the skies when grief most touch'd thy
cheek.

Now, that far brightness faded, never more

Could thou lift heavenwards for its hope thy heart, Since at heaven's gate it seem'd that thou and I must part.

XLII.

Alas! and life hath moments when a glance(If thought to sudden watchfulness be stirr'd)— A flush-a fading of the cheek, perchanceA word-less, less-the cadence of a word, Lets in our gaze the mind's dim veil beneath, Thence to bring haply knowledge fraught with death!

-Even thus, what never from thy lip was heard Broke on my soul. I knew that in thy sight I stood howe'er beloved—a recreant from the light!

XLIII.

Thy sad, sweet hymn, at eve, the seas along,-
Oh! the deep soul it breathed!—the love, the woe,
The fervour, pour'd in that full gush of song,
As it went floating through the fiery glow
Of the rich sunset !-bringing thoughts of Spain,
With all her vesper-voices, o'er the main,
Which seem'd responsive in its murmuring flow.
-"Ave sanctissima!"—how oft that lay

Hath melted from my heart the martyr-strength away!

Ave, sanctissima!

'Tis nightfall on the sea;

Ora pro nobis !

Our souls rise to thee!

Watch us, while shadows lie

O'er the dim waters spread;
Hear the heart's lonely sigh-
Thine too hath bled!

Thou that hast look'd on death,
Aid us when death is near!
Whisper of heaven to faith;
Sweet Mother, hear!

Ora pro nobis !

The wave must rock our sleep,

Ora, Mater, ora!

Thou star of the deep!

XLIV.

"Ora pro nobis, Mater !"-What a spell Was in those notes, with day's last glory dying On the flush'd waters-seem'd they not to swell From the far dust, wherein my sires were lying With crucifix and sword?-Oh! yet how clear Comes their reproachful sweetness to mine ear! “Ora”—with all the purple waves replying, All my youth's visions rising in the strain— And I had thought it much to bear the rack and chain!

XLV.

Torture! the sorrow of affection's eye,
Fixing its meekness on the spirit's core,
Deeper, and teaching more of agony,

May pierce than many swords!—and this I bore
With a mute pang. Since I had vainly striven
From its free springs to pour the truth of Heaven
Into thy trembling soul, my Leonor!

Silence rose up where hearts no hope could share:

Alas! for those that love, and may not blend in prayer!

XLVI.

We could not pray together 'midst the deep,
Which, like a floor of sapphire, round us lay,
Through days of splendour, nights too bright for
sleep,

Soft, solemn, holy!-We were on our way
Unto the mighty Cordillera-land,