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Forgiving love as shall embalm it there!
For if you would remember me aright—
As I was born to be-you must forget
All fitful, strange, and moody waywardness
Which e'er confused my better spirit, to dwell
Only on moments such as these, dear friends!
-My heart no truer, but my words and ways
More true to it: as Michal, some months hence,
Will say,
"this autumn was a pleasant time,"
For some few sunny days; and overlook
Its bleak wind, hankering after pining leaves.
Autumn would fain be sunny-I would look
Liker my nature's truth; and both are frail,
And both beloved for all their frailty!


Aureole !

Par. Drop by drop!-she is weeping like a child!

Not so! I am content-more than content

Nay, Autumn wins you best by this its mute

Appeal to sympathy for its decay!

Look up, sweet Michal, nor esteem the less

Your stained and drooping vines their grapes bow down,
Nor blame those creaking trees bent with their fruit,
That apple-tree with a rare after-birth

Of peeping blooms sprinkled its wealth among!
Then for the winds-what wind that ever raved
Shall vex that ash that overlooks you both,
So proud it wears its berries? Ah! at length,
The old smile meet for her, the lady of this
Sequestered nest! This kingdom, limited

Alone by one old populous green wall,
Tenanted by the ever-busy flies,

Gray crickets, and shy lizards, and quick spiders,
Each family of the silver-threaded moss-

Which, look through, near, this way, and it appears
A stubble-field, or a canebrake—a marsh
Of bulrush whitening in the sun: laugh now!
Fancy the crickets, each one in his house,
Looking out, wondering at the world-or best,
Yon painted snail, with his gay shell of dew,
Travelling to see the glossy balls high up
Hung by the caterpillar, like gold lamps!

Mich. In truth we have lived carelessly and well!
Par. And shall, my perfect pair-each, trust me, born
For the other; nay, your very hair, when mixed,
Is of one hue. For where save in this nook

Shall you two walk, when I am far away,

And wish me prosperous fortune? Stay! Whene'er
That plant shall wave its tangles lightly and softly,
As a queen's languid and imperial arm

Which scatters crowns among her lovers, you

Shall be reminded to predict to me

Some great success! Ah, see! the sun sinks broad
Behind St. Saviour's: wholly gone, at last!

Fest. Now, Aureole, stay those wandering eyes awhile!
You are ours to-night at least; and while you spoke
Of Michal and her tears, the thought came back
That none could leave what he so seemed to love:
But that last look destroys my dream—that look!

As if, where'er you gazed, there stood a star!

How far was Würzburg, with its church and spire, And garden-walls, and all things they contain, From that look's far alighting?

I but spoke

And looked alike from simple joy, to see
The beings I love best, shut in so well
From all rude chances like to be my lot,
That, when afar, my weary spirit,-disposed
To lose awhile its care in soothing thoughts

Of them, their pleasant features, looks, and words,—
Need never hesitate, nor apprehend

Encroaching trouble may have reached them too,
Nor have recourse to Fancy's busy aid
To fashion even a wish in their behalf
Beyond what they possess already here;
But, unobstructed, may at once forget
Itself in them, assured how well they are.
Beside, this Festus knows, he thinks me one
Whom quiet and its charms attract in vain,
One scarce aware of all the joys I quit,
Too fill'd with airy hopes to make account
Of soft delights which free hearts garner up:
Whereas, behold how much our sense of all
That's beauteous proves alike! When Festus learns
That every common pleasure of the world

Affects me as himself; that I have just

As varied appetites for joy derived

From common things; a stake in life, in short,

Like his; a stake which rash pursuit of aims
That life affords not, would as soon destroy ;-
He may convince himself, that, this in view,

I shall act well advised: and last, because,

Though heaven and earth, and all things, were at stake, Sweet Michal must not weep, our parting eve!

Fest. True and the eve is deepening, and we sit

As little anxious to begin our talk

As though to-morrow I could open it

As we paced arm in arm the cheerful town

At sun-dawn; and continue it by fits

(Old Tritheim busied with his class the while)

In that dim chamber where the noon-streaks peer
Half frightened by the awful tomes around;
And here at home unbosom all the rest

From even-blush to midnight: but, to-morrow!
Have I full leave to tell my inmost mind?
We two were brothers, and henceforth the world
Will rise between us :—all my freest mind?
'Tis the last night, dear Aureole !


Oh, say on!

Devise some test of love-some arduous feat
To be performed for you-say on! If night
Be spent the while, the better! Recall how oft

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My wondrous plans, and dreams, and hopes, and fears, Have never wearied you . . . oh, no! . . . as I Recall, and never vividly as now,

Your true affection, born when Einsiedeln

And its green hills were all the world to us,

And still increasing to this night, which ends
My further stay at Würzburg . . . Oh, one day
You shall be very proud! Say on, dear friends!

Fest. In truth? "Tis for my proper peace, indeed,
Rather than yours; for vain all projects seem
To stay your course: I said my latest hope
Is fading even now. A story tells

Of some far embassy despatched to buy
The favour of an eastern king, and how
The gifts they offered proved but dazzling dust
Shed from the ore-beds native to his clime:
Just so, the value of repose and love,

I meant should tempt you, better far than I
You seem to comprehend-and yet desist
No whit from projects where repose nor love
Have part.

Par. Once more? Alas! as I forbode !
Fest. A solitary briar the bank puts forth
To save our swan's nest floating out to sea.

you wish?

Par. Dear Festus, hear me. What is it
That I should lay aside my heart's pursuit,
Abandon the sole ends for which I live,
Reject God's great commission—and so die!
You bid me listen for your true love's sake:
Yet how has grown that love? Even in a long
And patient cherishing of the selfsame spirit
It now would quell; as though a mother hoped
To stay the lusty manhood of the child
Once weak upon her knees. I was not born

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