Marcian Colonna An Italian Tale with Three Dramatic Scenes and Other Poems: By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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 | Marcian Colonna |  |
X.
For weeks amongst the woods did Marcian roveAnd wilds: At last, unto his widowed love
He came again, while yet the fever stained
His cheek and darkness on his brow remained.
She saw the hectic colour burning bright
Clouded by looks of sorrow, and one night—
It was a night of sultry summer weather,
And they were sitting in the garden where,
Guided by fate, and drawn like doves together,
They once had met, and meeting mocked at care,
And he first sank upon her bosom fair:
Her white and delicate fingers now by his
Were held and not withdrawn, and with a kiss
He thanked her, yet with idle question tried
To cheat away the grief she could not hide.
He felt that he had planted in her heart
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And leave the lady of his love in tears—
Weighed down (and for his sake) by silent fears?
He could not: Oh he felt the pleading look
Of her who loved him so, nor could he brook
Still to be thought a frantic. “Thou shalt know,
Dearest,” he said, “my hidden story now;
Forgive me that before I told thee not:
I thought—I wished to think the thing forgot.”
—He pondered then, as to regain a thought:
At length, with a firm tongue, (but mingling still
Much fancy with the fact, as madmen will,)
He told his tale—his dream:—
| Marcian Colonna | |