194
COUNTESS LAURA.
The outstretched palms of his untainted soulTowards heaven for strength. A moment thus; then asked,With reverential wonder quivering throughHis sinking voice, "Who, spirit, and what art thou?""I am that blessing which men fly from,—Death.""Then take my hand, if so God orders it;For Laura waits me." "But, bethink thee, man,What the world loses in the loss of thee!What wondrous art will suffer with eclipse!What unwon glories are in store for thee!What fame, outreaching time and temporal shocks,Would shine upon the letters of thy nameGraven in marble, or the brazen heightOf columns wise with memories of thee!""Take me! If I outlived the Patriarchs,I could but paint those features o'er and o'er:Lo! that is done." A smile of pity litThe seraph's features, as he looked to heaven,With deep inquiry in his tender eyes,The mandate came. He touched with downy wingThe sufferer lightly on his aching heart;And gently, as the sky-lark settles downUpon the clustered treasures of her nest,So Carlo softly slid along the propOf his tall easel, nestling at the footAs though he slumbered; and the morning brokeIn silver whiteness over Padua.
