Marcian Colonna :: :: University of Virginia Library

Colonna, sad Colonna—he hath fled
Wildly unto his home; there Julia lay
Upon her pillow slumbering, calm and gay
As sleep may be.—“The waves, the waves” he said,
“The sick sea-waters yawn and yield their dead—

The dead? he is alive: Peril nor pain
Death nor the grave would keep him in its bed.
The black Orsini is returned,—again.”
“Marcian,” she utter'd faintly, and a gleam
Played 'round her mouth: it was a happy dream.
“Thou lovely thing whom nature made so fair,
Young treasure of creation—must despair
Sear thy transcendent beauty, because thou
Wrapped thy sweet arms about a maniac's brow?
Julia! she sleeps, she sleeps; a happy sleep.
Oh why did I draw her within the sweep—
I—of my fiery star? It comes. I see
The comet red, which Fate, mine enemy,
Hath placed about me like a circle sure;
I cannot fly, and yet, shall I endure?
Endure—I must, evil and hate—I must,
And Hell, until I wither into dust:
That may be soon.—She moves poor wench. My love!
Hearest thou I call upon thee? My pale dove?
Still on my bosom, still.” She woke: his eye
Rolled round and round, like one in misery,

Fearful to speak: But silence is not dumb,
And in his deep eloquent agony
She read strange fearful things. He whispered “Come—
We must be gone—” (“Be gone? dear Marcian!”)
“Aye, quickly, for alas, we have no home
Nor refuge here. On land Italian
We must not build our hearths, nor hope to dwell
In safety now, from youth to age—“tis well
Perhaps 'tis well,” she said—“And wilt thou go
On a long journey with me,—far away?
I may not tell thee now; but a dire foe
Has risen upon me. Wilt thou wander—say?”
(“All the world over I—”) “Oh! thou hast said
Comfort unto my soul,” he uttered.
“Whilst I may lay my head upon thy breast,
It matters not; my Heaven is there—my rest.
Let the red star shine on, for I am thine—
Thine while I am: In darkness and dismay,
Here, or in wildernesses far away,
In poverty forlorn, or love divine,
In prisons or in freedom—aye, in death.”
—He ceased, and straightway he was calm: his breath

Was in a moment stilled: one gentle sigh
Came from pale Julia, but he trembled not,
For she was his—the rest was all forgot.
—That night they left the land of Italy.