The atom darkness in a slow turmoil; As when of healthful midnight sleep bereft, Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil, We put our eyes into a pillowy cleft, And see the spangly gloom froth up and It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache, XLII 'Ha! ha!' said she, I knew not this hard life, I thought the worst was simple misery; I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife Portion'd us happy days, or else to die; Who hath not loiter'd in a green churchyard, And let his spirit, like a demon-mole, Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard, To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole; Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd, And filling it once more with human soul? Ah! this is holiday to what was felt But there is crime -a brother's bloody When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt. knife! Sweet Spirit, thou hast school'd my in- I'll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes, XLVI She gazed into the fresh-thrown mould, as though One glance did fully all its secrets tell; |