University of Virginia Library

XLI.

“Where was that pageant play'd?” Sebastian said,
And on the peasant fix'd his eager eye;
“Was 't in Valencia, twelve months since?” a sigh
Closed his quick tone. The peasant bow'd his head.
“Aye,” said the feverish questioner, “that sight
Is yet by many a heart remember'd well.
Who that had seen the festal of that night,
My marriage eve, could next day's woes foretell?
Maria, sweet, unwedded bride, farewell!”
He paused, then said, in faint soliloquy,
“Are there not days that Fate has kept in store,
At once its whole wild weight of grief to pour,
The bitter price of long and prosperous years?
Ruin'd Sidonia! from that hour of tears
Thy heart was heap'd with woe; the distant wave
Rolls over what was once thy noble son.
But she, his best beloved, his hallow'd one,
Whose life consoled him for the double grave;
Better she ne'er was born;—her hard heart gave
The deadliest blow;—he dies the death of shame.
She fled her convent, stain'd her noble name;
Fled, with a menial for her paramour;—
Bane of her house, beyond all earthly cure;—
Undone! in body and in soul undone!”
“Are there no tidings?” said the listener.—“None;
She lives in daring guilt, if yet she lives.”
“What of her sire?”—“He dies, and he forgives.”