verge: Between two worlds life hovers like a star, Some people would impose now with How little do we know that which we are! graves like some passing And the pale smile of Beauties in the grave, The charms of other days, in starlight gleams Of amatory egotism the Tuism, It was no mouse; but lo! a monk, array'd In cowl and beads and dusky garb, appear'd, Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade, With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard; His garments only a slight murmur made; (I state this, for I am cautious to a pitchHe moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, Of nicety, where a fact is to be gain'd) A lamp burn'd high, while he leant from a niche, But slowly; and as he passed Juan by, Glanced, withont pausing, on him a bright eye. All there was as he left it: still his taper But seeing him all cold and silent still, This savour'd of this world; but his hand His readiness to feel his pulse and tell shook He shut his boor, and after having read The cause, but Juan said, “He was quite well." "Quite well; yes; no." These answers were "Jest!" quoth Milor, "Why, Adeline, yon mysterious, And yet his looks appear'd to sanction both, But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth It was not the physician that he wanted. Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his Also the muffin whereof he complain'd, Then ask'd her Grace what news were of With some slight, light, hereditary twinges Then Henry turn'd to Juan and address'd Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late." “Oh! have you never heard of the Black Tells an odd story, of which by the bye: Or that our sires had a more gifted eye For such sights, though the tale is half believed, The Friar of late has not been oft perceived. know Though he came in his might, with King To turn church-lands to lay, The last time was Connections stronger than he chose to avow now, 7 And whether for good, or whether for ill, But still to the house of Amundeville Because the present tale has oft been told, He flits on the bridal eve; As did the Cynic on some like occasion; And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death, Deeming the Sage would be much mortified, He comes-but not to grieve. When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn, And they seem of a parted soul. Or thrown into a philosophic passion, For a spoil'd carpet-but the "Attic Bee" Was much consoled by his own repartee. Thus Adeline would throw into the shade And that it is so, every body knows, But beware! beware! of the Black Friar, Show off to please their company or mother. He still retains his sway, For he is yet the church's heir Amundeville is lord by day, But the monk is lord by night. Nor wine nor wassail could raise a vassal To question that friar's right. Say nought to him as he walks the hall, Then Grammercy! for the Black Friar; And whatsoe'er may be his prayer, Oh! the long evenings of duets and trios! The "Tanti palpiti's" on such occasions: In Babylon's bravuras-as the home roam O'er far Atlantic continents or islands, The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling The calentures of music which o'ercome wires Died from the touch that kindled them to All mountaineers with dreams that they are nigh lands, No more to be beheld but in such visions,— And the pause follow'd, which, when song Was Adeline well versed, as compositions. sound; |