Yours was my heart, though turn’d my eyes away;
    Grieve you, as cruel, that their grace was such,
    As kept the little, gave the good and much;
    Yet oft and openly as they withdrew,
    Far oftener furtively they dwelt on you,
    For pity thus, what prudence robb’d, return’d;
    And ever so their tranquil lights had burn’d,
    Save that I fear’d those dear and dangerous eyes
    Might then the secret of my soul surprise. 
    But one thing more, that, ere our parley cease,
    Memory may shrine my words, as treasures sweet,
    And this our parting give your spirit peace. 
    In all things else my fortune was complete,
    In this alone some cause had I to mourn
    That first I saw the light in humble earth,
    And still, in sooth, it grieves that I was born
    Far from the flowery nest where you had birth;
    Yet fair to me the land where your love bless’d;
    Haply that heart, which I alone possess’d,
    Elsewhere had others loved, myself unseen,
    And I, now voiced by fame, had there inglorious been.” 
    “Ah, no!” I cried, “howe’er the spheres might roll,
    Wherever born, immutable and whole,
    In life, in death, my great love had been yours.” 
    “Enough,” she smiled, “its fame for aye endures,
    And all my own! but pleasure has such power,
    Too little have we reck’d the growing hour;
    Behold!  Aurora, from her golden bed,
    Brings back the day to mortals, and the sun
    Already from the ocean lifts his head. 
    Alas! he warns me that, my mission done,
    We here must part.  If more remain to say,
    Sweet friend! in speech be brief, as must my stay.” 
    Then I:  “This kindest converse makes to me
    All sense of my long suffering light and sweet: 
    But lady! for that now my life must be
    Hateful and heavy, tell me, I entreat,
    When, late or early, we again shall meet?”
    “If right I read the future, long must you
    Without me walk the earth.” 
    She spoke, and pass’d from view.

    MACGREGOR.

THE TRIUMPH OF FAME.

PART I.

Da poi che Morte trionfo nel volto.

      When cruel Death his paly ensign spread
    Over that face, which oft in triumph led
    My subject thoughts; and beauty’s sovereign light,
    Retiring, left the world immersed in night;
    The Phantom, with a frown that chill’d the heart,
    Seem’d with his gloomy pageant to depart,
    Exulting in his formidable arms,
    And proud of conquest o’er seraphic charms. 
    When, turning round, I saw the Power advance
    That breaks the gloomy grave’s eternal trance,
    And bids the disembodied spirit claim
    The glorious guerdon of immortal Fame. 
    Like Phosphor, in the sullen