Marcian Colonna :: :: University of Virginia Library

They died not. Housed within a fisher's cot
Life dawned on them, and pain was soon forgot.
Time flew, and health returned and quietness,
And still i' the world they found enough to bless.
Colonna plied him in the fisher's trade;

And Julia watched his evening sail,—afraid
If but a crested wave was on the deep,
And if she heard the ocean billows sweep
Loudly along the shore, she looked on high,
And prophesied of storm and tempest nigh.
—One eve, returning home with shout and song,
The fishers plied their tossing boat along,
And Marcian at the helm the rudder guided,
And looked upon the waters, which divided
Beside the barque, seeming to rise and die,
Like short hours in a deep eternity.
He saw a menial standing on the strand,
Who, turning from a chart within his hand,
Looked round to note the place—Again—It was—
He saw—Orsini's slave—Alas, Alas!
Oh! Love, fair Love! is there no wilderness
For thee to hide thee in thy dark distress?
No haven and no hope, sweetest of all,
For thee to celebrate thy festival?
A sad short world is this, and yet thou hast
No home where thou may'st dream 'till life be past.
Tumult and strife and storm, and wild dismay,

Envy and hate,—and thus we pass away;
And trample on the flowers that deck our road,
And goad ourselves, if others do not goad.