S. S.-VOL. II.

THE CONFESSION.

Return'd, she stood in her accustom❜d place,
But change had pass'd o'er that once tranquil face;
A change that told of struggles of the heart,
From some bright dream of earthly bliss to part.
Yes; she had learn'd To LOVE; thenceforth her life
She knew must be, at best, a weary strife,
Pent in the lonely cloister's changeless gloom;
While, in the far-off world should spring and bloom
To perfect beauty many a flower of joy,

Her young and fluttering hopes she must destroy;
And stifle, in their very hour of birth,

All aspirations for the love of earth.

The hours sped by; she mingled in the throng

Of the pale sisters, join'd the sacred song;

But all her dreams of bliss lay far away,

Her smile was gone, her step no longer gay;

Yet still a gleam of tender thought was cast
O'er the pure face from which the light had pass'd.

And now within the dark confession-cell

She kneels; but o'er her whisper'd words a spell
Seems thrown. She dares not speak of mortal love
To one whose heart (she deems) is fix'd above:
And yet she tells her tale of secret pain;
How, when at twilight hour the choral strain
Swells loud and sweet, when solemn prayers are said,
'Mid the proud sculptured trophies of the dead,
She longs to leave the sisters' holy care,
And rush, unfetter'd, to heaven's blessed air.
She tells the Father, that her heart is sad,
To think the glorious world, so blithely glad,
Must soon be hidden from her longing eyes;
That 'neath those soft and blue Etruscan skies,
HER footsteps must not rove in careless glee,
Like waters, winds, and birds, that wander free.

The dark confessional lay hid in gloom,

And Juliet proudly waited for her doom.

She knew, long watchings through the noon-tide bright,

And weary vigils all the silent night,

And countless orisons, must be her task;

Nor would her lofty spirit stoop to ask

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The Father's pity, nor desire to win

One moment's mercy for her heinous sin.
The astonish'd Padre bade her watch and pray,
And meet him there again at early day;
And then he sought the Lady Abbess, stern;
And cold and wrathful was her brow, to learn
How Juliet, the promised bride of Heaven,
Her youthful heart to earth's vain joys had given.

The night lay calm upon the folded flowers,
And moonlight slept on Santa Clara's towers;
While Juliet left the lonely chapel-aisle,

To breathe her sorrows 'neath the stars awhile.
Morn found the portal open to the breeze,
The shrine deserted; and beneath the trees,
Deep trampled footsteps. Juliet was gone!
She and her daring lover far had flown

O'er the bright hills ere morning's splendours woke,
And on the waking world in beauty broke.
He whom she loved so well was by her side,

And claim'd her for his own belovéd bride;
And on to distant lands they sped their way,
With guileless hearts, and visions bright and gay.
He left behind the home of early years,

Th' abode of pomp and splendour; yet no tears
Were shed the while he gazed his last adieu
On towers, now bathed in morning's roseate hue:-
And she, th' escaped, the fearful, panting bird,
Dreading a footstep in each leaf that stirr'd,--
She gazed at last upon the glittering sea,—
The welcome bark was there-and she was FREE.
O'er the blue, bounding waves the oars flew on,
While gaily shone the glorious golden sun;
And Juliet look'd a last and glad farewell
To the gray aisles, and sad Confession-cell!

MUSIC ON THE WATER S.

Ir was a stately festal hall,

The soft light stream'd around;
And young feet trod the mazy dance,
As o'er enchanted ground:

Bright flowers of foreign lands were there,
And perfume's odorous breath;

Rich garlands with their gorgeous bloom-
And a creeping shade of-Death!

Music, throughout the gliding hours,
Had pour'd its proudest song;

They ceased, those full triumphant chords,
And o'er the listening throng

There came a softening spell, the while
An old Venetian lay

Flung its sweet thrilling cadences

Through wreaths and blossoms gay.

But one, the queen of that fair crowd,
With burning heart and cheek,

Stood with hush'd breath; and while her eye,

So lustrous, yet so meek,

Flash'd with a strange unearthly fire,

The rose-hues faded fast

From her young face, and left it pale,

Like skies when day is past.

She was a child of Italy's

Sunny and fragrant land;

Winds laden with the myrtle's breath

Her raven hair had fann'd.

Venice, that "City of the Sea,"

Girt with its liquid walls,

Was her loved home; she once had dwelt

Within its ducal halls.