Rienzi abandoned Rome. Yes, now, Nina, we part. If this is my last hour, may God shield and bless thee!" What! Part? Never! This is my place! I am the wife of Cola di Rienzi, the great Senator, and by his side will I live and die! All Rome cannot separate me from him!” Again from earth to heaven arose that ominous shout "Down with the tyrant!" And once again Rienzi vainly pleaded with Nina. "Be it so then; come, we will die together! Listen! But a few days ago and Long live Rienzi!' was the cry. Now, Beware lest the traitor escape disguised.' "Enough, enough! Let Rome perish! I feel at last that I am nobler than my country!" Then in a loud voice he cried-"I am the Senator; who dare touch the representative of the people?" Silent he stood, awaiting the issue. What lurid glare lights up the morning sky? The whole Capitol is in flames, with Nina and Rienzi in their bridal chamber, now the chamber of execution. "Die, traitor!" and the life of Rienzi flowed out at Nina's feet. Alone with her dead she stood upon his funeral pyre. Ere yet the sound of that thrilling cry had died upon the air, down with a mighty crash thundered the whole wing of the Capitol-a blackened and smouldering mass. The lurid glare of the conflagration cast its reflection upon a smooth and placid stream, far in the distance, while, with a beauty, soft beyond all art of painter and of poet, the sunlight quivered over the autumnal herbage and hushed into tender calm the waves of the golden Tiber.-Adapted from Bulwer's "Last of the Tribunes." THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT SEAT. Where hast thon been toiling all day, sweetheart, The Master's work may make weary feet, Was thy garden nipped with the midnight frost, "No pleasant garden toils were mine. How camest thou on the judgment seat, "I climbed on the judgment seat myself, For it grieved me to see the children round "They wasted the Master's precious seed, They trained not the vines, nor gathered the fruit, And what didst thou on the judgment seat, "Nay; and that grieved me more; I called and I cried, But they left me there forlorn; My voice was weak, and they heeded not, Or they laughed my words to scorn." Ah! the judgment seat was not for thee, The servants were not thine; And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame The voice that shall sound there at eve, sweetheart, It will hush the earth, and hush the hearts, "Should I see the Master's treasures lost, The gifts that should feed His poor, And not lift my voice (be it as weak as it may), And not be grieved sore?" Wait till the evening falls, sweetheart, The Master is near and knoweth all; But how fared thy garden plot, sweetheart, 66 Nay! that is saddest of all to me, That is saddest of all! My vines are trailing, my roses are parched, Go back to thy garden plot, sweetheart, And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines, Go make thy garden fair as thou canst, Perchance he whose plot is next to thine And the next shall copy his, sweetheart, Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart, In the Master's voice of praise to all, By the Author of the" Cotta Family." MAY DAYS. In sweet May time, so long ago, Dark rough logs from the ancient trees, Above the smoky boards and beams, Down through the crevice poured golden gleams, Till the wheel dust glimmered like diamond dreams; Mother busy with household cares, Baby playing with upturned chairs, Old clock telling how fast time wears. These within. Out under the sky Flecked mists were sailing, birds flitting by, Up from the earth curled leaves were coming, O, how I longed to burst away, Then hope went spinning a brighter thread; So pleasant thoughts would time beguile, 66 My child may rest, I will reel awhile." Rest! 'twas the est that childhood takes, To the wilds, where the earliest woodland flings. But ye come together to me no more, For common work, and humdrum ways. But my steps were turned, I was up the lane, "You are my good girl to work so well." Great thoughts my childish heart would swell, 'Till the happy tears like rain drops fell. I would toil for her, I would gather lore, From many books a mighty store, And pay her kindness o'er and o'er. She should work no more at wheel or loom, S the sweet dream ran, as the wheel buzzed on, "fill the golden gleams of light were gone, And the chilling rain came dripping down. |