Year: 1860




And she look'd like queen in a book that


night,


With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair,
And the brooch on her breast, so bright
OF all the operas that Verdi wrote,
The BEST to my taste, is the IToDatOre;
And Mario can soothe with tenor note
The souls in purgatory.
The moon on the tower slept soft as snow;
And who has not thrilled in the strangest


way, How
As we heard him sing, while the gas burn'd
mon ii scOrda di me
The Emperor there, in his box of state,
Look grave, as if he had just there seen
The red flag wave from the city gate,
Where his eagles in bronze had been.
The Empress, too, had tear in her eye.
You'd have said that her fancy had gone


back again,
For one moment, under the old blue sky,
To the old glad life in Spain.
Well! there in our old front row box we sat
Together, my bride betrOlhd and l;
My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat,
And hers on the stage hard by.
And both were SILENT and both were sad,
Like queen, she leand on her full, white
With that regal, indolent air she had,
So confident of her charm!
have no doubt she was thinking then
OF her former lord, good soul that he was
Who died the richest and roundest of men,
The Marquis of Carabas.


Through needles eye he had not to pass.
l wish him well. for the jointure given
To my lady of Carabas.
Meanwhile, was thinking of my first love.
As had not been thinking of aught for years,
Till over my eyes there began to move
Something that felt like tears.
l thought of the dress that she wore last time.
When we stood meath the cypress tree to.


gether,


In that lost land, in that soft cline,
In the crimson evening weather.
Of that muslin dress. (for 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 jessamine flower in her fair young


breast.


60, the faint, sweet smile CT that jasmin


fowerD


And the one bird singing alone to his nest,
And the one star over the tower.



And the letter that brought me back my ring,
And it all seem'd then in the waste of life,
Such very little thing!
For thought of her grave below the hill,
Which the sentinel cypress tree stands over.
And thought-"Were she only living still,
How could forgive her and love her!
And swear, as 1 thought of her thus, in that
hour,
IL ho,k
That smelt the smell of that jasmin flower,
Which she used to wear in her breast.
1t smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet,
1t made me creep, and it made me cold,
Like the scent that steals from the crumbling
sheet,


When mummy is half unrol'd.
And turnd and look'd. She was sitting there
| In dim box, over the stage; and drest
In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair,
And that jasmin in her breast
| | was here, and she was there.
And the glttering horseshoe curved be.
tween,
| From my bride betroth'd, with her raven hair,
And her sumptuous, scOrnful mien.
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 step to be made.
To my early love from my future bride


One moment look d. Then I stole to the
door,


l traverse the passage; and down at her side
WAS sitting, moment more.
My thinking of her, or the music's strain,


Or something which never will be exprest,
Had brought her back from the grave again
| With the jasmin in her breast.
She is not dead, and she is not wed


But she loves me now, and she loved me
then!


And the very first word that her sweetIlips
Nv 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 whomever she will.
But will marry my own first love.


With her primrose face; for old things are
| best;
And the flower in her bosom. prize it above
The brooch in my lady's breast.
The world is filled with folly and sin,


And love must cling where it can, say;
| For beauty is easy enough to win;


But one isn't loved every day.
And think, in the lives of most women and
| men,


There's moment when all would go smooth
! and even,


If only the dead could find out when
TO come back, and be forgiven.
But 0 the smell of that jasmin flower!


And . that music and the way
That voice rang out from the donion tower;
Non ii scordar di me,


Non to sc0rdar di me!