To one more tale she would consent; If it should fail, her heart was rent. A Capuchin, at break of day, Unto the castle bent his way, And marvell'd that she would not share A moment to his tale and prayer; For he had linger'd in that hall, The cowl which round his features hung; The face disclosed was wan and worn, As if to tell his heart was torn, And even his accents might have proved That solitude was all he loved; They echo'd in a voice of wail, As he address'd him to his tale. THE FRIAR'S TALE. I. THY name hath still a guilty sound, I even can smile o'er nature's face; I smile-but sadly marvel how This heart of hope retains a trace. * Grotta Ferrata, is situated about two miles from Frascati, and twelve from Palestrina. Tradition tells us what the peasantry devoutly believe, — that it derives its name from an ancient grotto closed with an iron grating, which formerly preserved the miraculous image of the Virgin. I offer no opinion upon the authenticity of this report, save what is embodied in this tale, in which I have rather assigned to the name a feudal origin. For I recline upon a tomb, Where captives mourn'd too brief a gloom; Though fair the scene- though brightly blest, My soul doth wander from its rest, To mingle with the dead below, I cannot see-I must not bless, Of that fair world, the loveliness; I watch the Tiber's silver tide; But I have air around-beside, I watch and weep where others wept; I weep for them who vigils kept, A few dark days before they slept ; But those who watch a dungeon's ray Must ne'er recall the light of day ; |