Page:The Maremma.pdf/6

But is she blest?—for sometimes o'er her smile
A soft sweet shade of pensiveness is cast,
And in her liquid glance there seems awhile,
To dwell some thought whose soul is with the past.
Yet soon it flies—a cloud that leaves no trace
On the sky's azure of its dwelling-place.

Perchance, at times, within her heart may rise
Remembrance of some early love or woe,
Faded, yet scarce forgotten—in her eyes,
Wakening the half-formed tear that may not flow.
Yet radiant seems her lot as aught on earth,
Where still some pining thought comes darkly o'er our mirth.

The world before her smiles—its changeful gaze
She hath not proved as yet—her path seems gay
With nowers and sunshine—and the voice of praise
Is still the joyous herald of her way;
And beauty's light around her dwells, to throw,
O'er every scene, its own resplendent glow.

Such is the young Bianca—graced with all
That nature, fortune, youth, at once can give;
Pure in their loveliness—her looks recall
Such dreams, as ne'er life's early bloom survive;
And when she speaks, each thrilling tone is fraught
With sweetness, born of high and heavenly thought.

And he, to whom are breath'd her vows of faith
Is brave, and noble—Child of high descent,
He hath stood fearless in the ranks of death,
'Mid slaughtered heaps, the warrior's monument:
And proudly marshalled his Carroccio's*^[1] way,
Amidst the wildest wreck of war's array.

And his the chivalrous, commanding mien,
Where high-born grandeur blends with courtly grace;