The Venetian bracelet :: :: University of Virginia Library

A trifle, toy—but that fair Countess gave
No common gift when she became a slave;
And only did she hold her gift redeem'd,
By that high worthiness she had but dream'd.
A peasant, yet she felt his equal still;
And when her lofty state beseem'd her will,
It was such pride, such pleasure, to have known
Leoni's love was for herself alone.
And in her young romance's loftier view
One touch of vanity might mingle too:
It was the triumph of her lowlier state
She had been even then a noble's mate.
Amenaïde had many faults; her youth
Had seen too soon life's bitterness and truth:
The cutting word, the cold or scornful look,
All that her earlier days had had to brook—

The many slights the humble one receives—
Lay on her memory like wither'd leaves;
And homage from the crowd, and lovers' praise,
Were all too apt disgust and doubt to raise.
There was a something wayward in her mood;
She left her heart too much to solitude:
For kindly thoughts are social; but she held
A scornful creed, and sympathy repell'd.
That sullen barrier had one gentle break—
She loved,—she loved,—and for Leoni's sake
Believed there were some angel steps on earth:—
As truth that keeps the promise of its birth;
As faith that will not change, that will not tire,
And deems its gold the purer for the fire.
Her love was all her nature's better part,
The confidence, the kindness of her heart

The source of all the sweet or gentle there:
But this was past—what had it left?—despair!