The Charleston daily news. [volume] (Charleston, S.C.) 1865-1873, 1873-02-25
-"AW Ita1iens."
By OWEN RID1T a.

BIZ OWEN MER1D1TH.
At Paris 1t was at The opera ihere:- tho
And she looked ike queen IN oooK ina
With he wreath OF pearl in her raven hair,
And the brooch on her breast 30 bright.
or sllthe operas that Verdi wrote.
The best 10 my taste is the 1ToVatore;
And Mario can soetbe with tenor note
The souls In purgatory.
The moon on the tower slept soft as snow;
And who was not thrili'd in the s,rangest way =,
As We neard him sing, While the gas burned
low,
The Emneror there, in his cox OF state,
Look'd grave a. II he h ID just then seen
The red nag wave from the city gate,
Wh,re his eagles IN bronze had been.
The Empress tor, had tear in her eye;
You'd have said that her fancy had gone b Ok
For one moment, under the old blue sky,
To the old glad life In spain.
Wen there in our front row box we sat
Together. my bride beiroh'd and i;
Ny gaze was fixed ON my opera hat,
And hers on the stage hard oy.
End both were silent, and both were sad;
Like queen she lean'd on her 1ul Wnlle arm.
With that regal, ind0lent air she had
So confident OF h.r caarm.
1 have not doubt she was thinking then
or her former lord. good soul that he was,
Who died the richest and roundest OF men,
The Marquis u Caraoas.
1nro' needles eye he had not to pass;
wish him well. for the jointure glvel
To my lady Of Carabas.
no,n-hpa 1poo thintino NJ INV frat love
AS had not been thinking Of sught for years,
TIL over my face there began 10 move
Something that felt like tears.
Thought Of the dress that she wore last time
When we stood meath the cypress trees TO-
gether,
In that lost land. in that soft CLINE,
In the crimson evening weather.
or that muslin dress Qor the eve was hot,)
And her warm, white neck In Its golden chain,
And her full. soft hair just tied In Knot,
And falling loose again. : !
And the jasmin dover 10 her fair young breast.
:. 10, the faint, sweet smell OF that tasmin
And The cn one bird singing alone to his nest,
And the one star over the tower.
thought Of our little quarrels and strife.
And the letter that brought rue back my ring,
And Il all seemed then in the waste Of life,
Such very little thing.
For thought of her grave below the hill,
the eny Vns @
aow could forgive her and love her,"
And swear, as I thought OF her thus, in that
And OF how, after all, old things were BEST
That smelt the smell OF that iasmin flower
Which she u ed TO wear 10 her breast.
1t smelt 30 faint, and 1t smelt 80 sweet,
It made me creep and IL made ue cold
Like the scent that steals from crumoling sheet
Where mummy Is half unrolId.
And turned and looked-she was sitting there
In dim box over the stage; and drest
In that muslin dress, with that full, soft hair.
And that Jasmine In her breast.
was here, and she was there;
And the glisteriDg horseshoe curved between;
Firm my de-betrotAed, with her raven hair,
And her sumptuous, scornful mien.
To my early love, with her eyes downeast,
And over her primrose face the shade,
lin short, from the future back 10 the pastD
There was but one stepto be made.
To my early love from my future bride
One moment looked; then stole to the door;
traverSed the passage and down at ner slde
was sitting, moment more.
NY thinking OF her, or the music's strs!n,
Has brought her back from the grave again,
With the Jasmln 10 her breast.
She Is not dead and she Is not wed, |
But she loves me now and she loved me then;
And the very drsr word that her sweet lips said,
Ny heart grew youthful again.
The Marchioness there Of Carabas,
She is wealthy, and young. and handsome still; |
And but for her.. well. we'll let that pass
She may marry whonieyer she will |
Hut will marry my own first love,
With her primrose face, for old things are sst,
And The flower In her bosom prize It above
The brooch on my lsdy's treast.
The world is filed with folly and sin.
And love must cling where it can say,
For beauty Is ea y enough TO win.
But one isn't loved every day.
And think 10 the lives OF most women and men
THERE'S moment when all would go smooth
sad even
II only the dead could Hnd out when
To come back and be forgiven.
But O, the smell Of that jasmin hower,
And U tha music And the way
That voice rang out from the doDjon tower,
..Non Il scordar di m: ~
s.Nonjti scordar di me I"