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Troubled at heart, almost he felt a hope
That yet some chance his victim might delay. So as he mus'd, adown the neighbouring slope
He saw a lonely traveller on his way ; And now he knows the man so much abhorr'd, His holier thoughts are gone, he bares the murderous sword.
- The house of Valdespesa gives the blow!
“Go, and our vengeance to our kinsman tell !"Despair and terror seized the unarm'd foe,
And prostrate at the young man's knees he fell, And stopt his hand and cried "oh, do not take A wretched sinner's life! mercy for Jesus' sake!"
At that most blessed name, as at a spell,
Conscience, the God within him, smote his heart. His hand for murder rais'd unharming fell,
He felt cold sweat-drops on his forchead start, A moment mute in holy horror stood, Then cried, "joy, joy, my God! I have not shed his blood !"
He rais'd Anselmo up, and bade him live,
And bless, for both preserved, that holy name; And pray'd the astonish'd foeman to forgive
The bloody purpose led by which he came. Then to the neighbouring church he sped away, His over-burthen’d soul before his God to lay,
He ran with breathless speed,-he reached the door,
Tumultuous tides his throbbing pulses swell-
vouchsafed ; before the cross he fell, And rais'd his swimming eyes, and thought that there He saw the imaged Christ smile favouring on his prayer.
A blest illusion ! from that very night
The monk's austerest life devout he led; And still he felt the enthusiast's deep delight,
And seraph-visions floated round his head; The joys of heaven foretasted fill'd his soul, And still the good man's name adorns the sainted roll.
R. S. Y.
LUCRETIA. A MONODRAMA.
Scene, the house of COLLATINE.
Welcome, my father! good Valerius,
I sate at eye
Of battles, and the long and perilous seige,
Nay hear me out!
noble spirits, prompt
of utterance gone ; astonish'd-stunn'd, I saw the coward ruffian, heard him urge His damned suit, and bid me tamely yieldYield to dishonour. When he proffer'd death Oh I had leapt to meet the merciful sword ! But that with most accursed vows he vow'd That he would lay a dead slave by my side, Murdering my spotless honour.--Collatine!
From what an anguish have I rescued thee !
Look if it have not kindled Brutus' eye!
Thinkest thou, my husband, that I dreaded death?