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THE FAREWELL.

with eyes like midnight when it is bright with stars, and a voice like that of the bird which loves the darkness; ~=—=== {the brow of a Madonna, high and calm, and pale, Jook- ing as though earthly passion could never overshadow it; anda smile which shed sunshine where it rested, Kereg, in this jonely bower, where first I won thee, She was so young and gentle that it seemed as if she I come, beloved, beneath the moon’s pale ray, were scarce fitted'to contend with the cares of life, and To gase once wore, through struggling tears upon thee,!so Jight hearted that. she appeared never to have had And then to bear my broken heart away ; one dream of sorrow, Such was she when she listened I dare not Jinger near thee as a,brother; _ to Salvati’s tale of love, as they sat together beneath the I feel my burning heart would still be thine ; boughs of a pomegranate tree, from which he pilfered How could | hope my passionate thoughts to sinother, {the rich.red blossoms to twine them in her hair; while While yielding all the sweetness to another, the sound of minstrelsy came faintly from the distant That should be mine! palace, swelling and dying as the wind rose and fell through the orange trees, _What recks it what he said, or how he said it beneath the moon lighted sky, amid breeze and blossom; enough that she heard it without a frown—that she answered it with a smile; and that, as Salvati pressed her to his heart, he called her his-—his own!—his love—his world! “I'wasa sweet dream; and they walked hand in hand, his arm around her, and her rich warm cheek resting upon his shoulder, slowly, pausingly, under the delicious night wind ; and they told each other the history of their secret affection, how it had grown and strengthened since they first met; and if Beatrice blushed at the confession, he kissed away The gift of angels unto thee belongs ; her blushes, and she did not repent her confidence. Then breathe thy love in music, that thy spirit Ludovico told a less embarrassed tale, and she press- May whisper to me through thine own sweet songs; | ed her small hand apon his lips to stay their utterance ; And though my coming life may soon resemble but the lover heeded not the gentle hindrance, and he The desert-spots through which my steps will flee, showed her how long and. ‘how ardently he had joved Though round thee, then, wild worshippers assemble, |her—for days areicenturies ina lovers calendar ; and My heart will triumph if thine own but tremble the moon had risen high in heaven, and the orange buds Still true to me. were shedding the perfumed dew from their snowy cups, ere they remembered the world was peopled by others beside themselves, and prepared again to mingle with its denizens. A fearful year followed that blissful. evening. A ¢ rival’s blood crimsoned the blade of ‘Salvati ; but the Dut when at eve the tender heart grows fonder, stab was deepor, at his own heart’s core! Could it be And the full soul with pensive love is fraught, that Bea'rice loved the smooth-lipped stranger! His own Then with wet lids o'er these sweet paths thou’lt wander, Beatrice? He would not think that it-was thus: and And, thrilled with love, upon my memory ponder yet she wept over the corpse—such tears as women With tender thought. weep only for those whom they have enshrined in their souls. But Beatrice Monti, the beatiful, the fond, the timid Beatrice >—No, no; it could net be , and Salvati held her to his heart, and leathed himself that he had dared to doubt her. He became ahusband. Not a word, not a look of his young bride, but was to him as light and music. All that tenderness which woman loves so well, he lavished upon her with @ prodigality which proved that his whole heart was in the homage ; and yet, she was not happy. The smile fled from her lip, her step became less buoy- ant, and her faee more sad. Ludovico mourned, won-. dered, yet never doubted ; and when Beatrice placed in his arms her infant girl, he forgot all sorrow in the con- templation of its cherub face. One day he led his fair wife forth into the sunshine, and the child slumbered upon his bosom. He talked to Beatrice of ali which that child might be one day to them, gifted as she seemed to be with her mother’s beauty—that mother who was fairer to him than aught else on earth. He was answered only with tears. Sud- denly a messenger approached them, who was the bearer of atrange tidings—he was a kinaman’ of Salvati, and he came, with joy in his heart, to tell him that the rival whom he had smitten he had nevertheless not slain; that he yet lived, though his friends had. borne him across the sea, when they rescued him from death— there was no blood upon the soulof the young husband, Ludovico aimiled scornfally in doubt, bat the doubi was in vain. The stranger had been seen since his re- turn to Florence; he stl bore the trace of Salvati’s blade, bat he lived. Then, indeed, light returned to the eyes of Beatrice, though she uttered not a word, as Ludovico gloomily

THE BRAVO HUSBAND. led the way back to their splendid home.

A TALE OF ITLAY. : i One more short month, and the infant. of the Connt Ludovico Salvati was the captainof a troop of bandits Salvati was motherless. Beatrice had fled! The

infesting the Lower Alps. Of lofty stature, muscular father and the child were alike deserted. ‘he wretch- frame, and undaunted temperament, he seemed espe-'ed and bereaved man caught up the weeping girl—-

cially fitted for the deaperate post in which his evil etars: weeping it knew not wherefore—and in his turn aban-

had placed him, We say his evil stars, for Salvita was doned the home which was to him now desolate. He

tae cadet of a noble family, of which honorable mention wandered, he cared not whether, for many weary days; is made in the archieves of Florence. He was a man ithe peasants whom he encountered in his way shared of cultivated intellect and high aspirations, one who) with him, and his motherless infant, their simple, and

was never destined to tread the obscure path of mindlesa often scanty, meal; and he slept with the child nestled

mediocrity, but maddened by disappointment and des-|in his bosom, under the bright clear sky, or beneath a

pair. The miseries of Salvati would have made a maniac |cotter’s roof. It was thus the bandits found him. He of a less desperate nature; they made hima robbet.| wee a reckless man. They urged him to become their His name was the bye-word of terror to travellers and chief; and he started at once from his lethargy of sor- merchants, and the sound ot fear by which the matrons | row, By their means he micht yet taste revenge ! The of the Alpine hamlets goothed thir wayward nurselings | very thought was éabailastic: He told them. all hie into subimission ; ‘ Hark : Salvar.” sufficed alike to B]- wrongs,and they talked of vengeance; that was enough ‘ jenice the most turbulent, aud to silence the most alee was thenceforward theirs—body and soul. ‘He vine: ‘hactory, sae ‘ed the pistols and daggers in his belt : he pressed the

Meanwhile, Salvati himself knew no happiness on| plumed hat upon his brow ;and placed his little Beatrice earth, save in the consciousness that his name could |in the arms of one of the genilest of the bandit’s wives.

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thus strike terror to the hearts of those who in early |tt istrue that he shuddered as he gave her into such or « opist , rive oe } Si.¢ i e ae at

youth had taught his er to quail. He had been injur-| rude keeping, but he was anticipating vengeance; and seio 7 rat ani e ht 7O aw ae +i a * = . >

ed, deep!y eles : had vowe ivengeance—ner he tarned away with a bitter smile upon his lip.

Ci an cm _ Se ae ee ; | tle watched and watched for years, and yet his long-

n fis frst manhood, 1ovice ha ed: s}j Se ; : aie “y Cs om aie dees monn qj not as ng was unappeased; and, meanwhile, his child grew

betas tales ile inhi” j ‘t 5 SCONS.” ye: Gay he} healthfully among the Alpine breezes with all the love-

t { our ie Mm a 3 aiV j *alace 1Ws-1 1} 2S 7 i

walked oom tl a , ine Salvati ! bace, InUs-|“iness and grace of her mother floating about. her Jike

ing on the idol of his geul; by night he closed his eyes

But fate hath willed it; the decree is spoken ; Now life thay lengthen out its weary chain, For, reft of thee, its loveliest links are broken, May we but clasp them all in Heaven again ;' Yes, thou wilt there be mine, in yon blue Heaven; There are sweet meetings ef the pure and fond ; Oh, joys unspeakable to such are given, _ W hea the sweet ties of love that here are riven, Unite beyond.

A glorious charm from Heaven thou dost inherit ;

Yet, not when on our bower the light reposes In golden glory, wilt thou sigh fer me;

Not when the young bee seeks the crimson roses, And the fair sun-beams tremble o’er the sea;

And when, at times, thy bird-like voice entrances ‘The listening throng with some enchanting lay, If 1 am near thee, let thy heavenly glances One gentle message to my heart convey ; {ask bat this—a happier one has taken ‘Frora my lone life the charm that made it dear; J ask but this, and promise thee aushaken, To meet that look of love —but, oh ! ’twill waken Such raptures here !

Aud now farewell! I dare not lengthen These sweet sad moments out; to gaze on thee is bliss indeed, yet it but serves to strengthen The love that now amounts to agony ; This is our last furewell, our last fond meeting; The world is wide, and we must dwell apart; My spirit gives thee now its last wild greeting, With lip to ip, while pulse to pulse is beating, And heart to heart.

#arewell! farewell! Our dream of blisa is over, All, save the memory of our plighted love; 1. now must yield thee to thy happier lover, Yet-oh, remember thou art mine above! "Tis a sweet thought, and when by distance parted, "Twill hie upon our hearts, a holy spell, But the sad tears beneath thy lids have started, Aad l—alas! we both are broken hearted ! Dearest, farewell !

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Salvati’s revenge had. been 80 Jong delayed, that the thirst for its indulgence became demoniacal, when he heard that his enemy was at length within his erasp— and Beatrice,too? She who had won his heart ouly to break it!—she who was once the wife of his bosom— the mother of his infant girl! She was even pow with the man upon whom his curse rested—to whom it had clung for yeats—upon whom it was now so soon to fall,

The seducer and the seduced were there, within ar. row flight; and they breathed the same air with the outlaw and his child. Salvati writhed with agony, the fair-browed lover had been watched into a place at the foot of the very mountain within whose fastnesses were bivouacked the band of Ludovico. |The false one and her guilty companion could sun themselves boldiy be- neath the blue sky of heaven, while the bereaved hos band and his innocent babe were hidden from the gaze of men, lest the arm of justice should overtake them. The reflection was maddening; and excited by this bitter thought, engendering memories still more wreteh- ed, Ludovico took his deserted daughter by the hand, just as a glorious sunset had flashed and. faded. into those sober tints which steep the world in twilight, and tried to find comfort in the sweet looks and tones of the only being who loved him, but he could not support even the converse of the light-hearted child; and -cast- ing himself gloomily down, with his rifle in his hand, im achasm of the rock, he bade Beatrice go forth, and’ gambol in the soft air, For a while the girl stood pen-. sively beside him, her hands folded upon ber breast, and her large dark eyes rivetted on his countenance; but. after a time she looked forth over the ledge of. rock against which she leant, and watched the wild birds ag they winged their joyous way to their nightly resting

laces. . Suddenly, Ludovico was startled by her scream, and hehurriedly sprang from the'earth; in another instant » he heard the report of a rifle, and Beatrice sank dowa beside him,—the ball had entered her heart,~she wag dead! Salvati laid her gently down again upon the » earth from which ip his terror he had lified her; and» then fiercely gazing down into the valley froma point whence he could not be perceived from beneath, he discerned two liuman figures. The foremast was that ofa tall eavalier, the other was a lady, and farther ie the distance the bandit distinguished a party of attend- ants. He saw the truth at once—the cavalier was en- gaged in shooting with his rifle at the birds which were fiying homeward to their eyries in the rock, and the lady was witnessing his prowess, The little Beatrice had attracted her attention by her movements, and thie sportsman, believing it to be some mountain eagle watching in fancied security the destruction of its: feathered associates, and anxious to exhibit. to his fair companion a proof of his skill.as a marksman, had but too fatally taken his aim. But Ludovico, in another instant, learnt still more than this,—it was not enough that the sweet spirit which had so long and su lovingly ministered to hisown, whenall else had forsaken hin, lay quenched at his feet—it was not enough that the pure and beautiful image m which that spirit had been enshrined, was now a ghastly, senseless, gory heap-- destiny had not yet done with him. A light laugh came to his ear—a laugh of mirth asa requiem for his dead infant—he could not be mistakea —he had heard such laughter in by gone days, ere the hlight of misery had withered him—it was the voice of Beatrice—of his false wife! He turned and Jooked at his lost child, bent over her for an instant, as if to con- vince himself that there was indeed no hope, and then seizing his rifle, he took a steady aim, and again the sharp quick sound reverberated among the heights— another peal ef laughter rang out as its echo, but this time it was the Jaugh of Ludovico. The cavalier, the murderer of hia litthe one, fell as that. borrible mirth swelled on the evening breeze. As quick as thought the rifle was reloaded, and he jooked fora second with a glad and gloating heart upon the afliighted party whe cowered round the fallen man; then he onee’ more raised his weapon; but this time his hand was unsteady, and his frame shook--the strong man guivered like a leaf! Again he glanced back on the dead object of all hist hope, and of all his tenderness, and that look sufficed. In the next imstant a shout of horror rang upwards fiom the plain: mother and child were alize lifeless. Salvati had:taken no coward aim.

* * * + * *

A few months subsequently, Florence was thronged by curious crowds, who came to witness the executios of Ludovieo, the bandit chief. He had surrendered himself to justice ;-he had avowed the murder of his wife; the pillage of travellers ; the contro! of a fierce hand which had long been the terror of the country.— No voice was raised in mercy ; it was a forgotten word in Florance; while all cried aloud for justice. Men de not jadge by the wrecked heart and wrung spirit, but by the peril and the spoil; what to them were the anguish andthe despair which bad wrought the ruin 2 their pity had been unchallenged, for Salyati had borne a haughty brow before his accusers—he had himeelf supplied them with both the charge and the culprit; and

‘|morning at lenoth arrived—too slowly for those whe

were merely to he the dookers on at the lecal tracecy-— when all might if his high courage would still uchold him—what marvel then that they peoted fot the trig] — But they knew not Ludevieo Salvati! He had cune with the world, and the world with him . A busy throng

amy to dream ofher. Peatrice Monti wasa Florentine.

(8 atinosphere of light, and all the hardihood of a youne yj Hountuneer.

entered his dungeon to.summen bum to Lis Cgeth «cau

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