Lexington weekly intelligencer. (Lexington, Mo.) 1871-1887, 1884-09-27
Aux Italtens.
BY ROBERT BULwER LYTToN.

BY ROBERT BULwER LYTToN.
At Paris 1t was. at the opera there;
And she looked like u queen In book that
night,
And the brooch on her breast 80 bright.
or all the operas that Verdi wrote.
The best to my taste, is the Trnvatore;
And Mario can soothe. with tenor note,
The souls tn purgatory.
And who Was not thrilled In the slrangest
way.
When heard him sing, while the gas burned
low
~ on II scordar di me9"
The emperor there. in his box Of state,
Looked grave; as if he had just then seen
The red flag wave from the city gate.
Where his eagles IN bronze had been.
The empress. too. had a tear in her eye;
You'd have said her fancy had gone back again
For one moment. under the old blue SKY,
To the old glad Lille in Spain.
Well! there in our front row box we sat
Together. my bride-betrothed and l.
My gaze fixed on my opera hat.
And hers on the stage hard by.
Like queen she leaned on her iull white arm
" i:h that regal. in.iolent air she had;
So confident OF her charm!
have not doubt she thinking then
OF her former lord, good soul that he was.
Who died the richest. and soundcst OF men,
The Marquis OF Carabas.
hope that, TO get to the kingdom OF heaven,
Through ee,ies eye hs had not To pass;
" ish him we'll i0r the jOinture given
To my la!y Oi Cnrabas.
Meanwhile was thinking OF my first love
So l had moi b-, n thinking OF auxht for ears;
Till "v' my eyes there beran TO move
Sunl.ili,nx tnat felt like tears.
l thought of The dress that she wore last time
When we stood meath the cypress tree to-
In thai lost land. in that soft cline,
In the crimson evening weather.
OF that muslin dress. tfor the eve was hop:
And her warm white neck ih lib golden cha n
And her full soft hair, list tied in knot,
And falling loose again.
And tn. Jasmine flower in her fair young breast.
y, the faint sweet smell OF that jasmine
flower,
And the one bird singing alone in his nest,
And the one star over the tower.
| 1 thought Of our little quarrels and strife.
And the letter that brought the back my ring
| Aud 1t all seemed then, IN the waete OF life.
Such very little thing!
For thought Of her grave b"low the hill
| Which the sentinel cSpress-tree stands over
| And thought. ''Were she only living still,
| How could forgive her and love hrrr'
And swear. as l thought of her thus. in that
hour.
And how. after all. old things are best.
That smelt the smell OF that jasmine flower
| Which she used to wear IN her breast.
1t smelt SO faint, and 1t smelt 80 sweet.
It made me creep and 1t made me coldi
Like the scent which steals from the clumblinl
| sheet
Where a mummy is half unrolled.
And turned and looked; she was sitting there
In dim box over the stage; and drret
In that muslin dress, with that iull sOlt hair.
And that jasInlne In her breastl
was there, and she was there;
And TIE gllttering horseshoe curved between
From my bride be etrothed, with her raven hal
And her sumptuous scornful mine.
To my early love with her eyes downcast,
| And over her primrose face the shade,
In short, from the future back to the past
| There WAS but u step to be made.
To my early love to my future bride,
One moment looked Then stole to tn
| door,
trav.rsed the passage; and down at hsr side
was sitting u moment more.
NV thinking OF htr, or the music's strain,
Or something which will never he expreat.
Had brought her back from the grave again
With the jasmine IN her breast.
She is not dead, and she is not we'd!
But she loves me now, and sne loved m
then.
And the very first word that her sweet lii
My heart grew youthful again.
The marchioness there of Carabas,
She is wealthy, and young. and handsom
still.
And but for her-well, Well let that pass
She may marry whomsoever she will.
But will marry my own first love,
| With her primrose face for old things are bes
And the flower in her bosom. priZe 1t above
The brooch In my lady's breast.
The world is filled with folly and ain,
And love must cling where it can, say;
Fer beauty Ia easy enough to win
But one Isn't loved every day.
And think in the lives Of most women al
men,
There's moment when all would 20 smootl
and even,
| II only the dead could find out when
To come back and be forgiven.
But the smell of that jasmine foweri
And y, that music! and D, the way
That voice rang out from the donJOn tower,
Non Il scor0er di me.