A phantom of the heart, and not the FROM THE FRENCH OF XAVIER MAR

With armor shattered, and without a SADLY as some old mediæval knight

The vanquished here is victor of the While secret longings for the lost de

L'ENVOI.

The Olympian heights; whose sing- Where are the stately argosies of

NOTHING that is shall perish utterly,
But perish only to revive again

In other forms, as clouds restore in
rain

To-morrow, dearest.

VITTORIA.

Do not say to-morrow. A whole month of to-morrows were too

soon.

The exhaiations of the land and sea. Men build their houses from the ma- You must not go. You are a part of

sonry

Of ruined tombs; the passion and the

pain

me.

JULIA.

Of hearts, that long have ceased to I must return to Fondi.

beat, remain

To throb in hearts that are, or are to

416

Rome

Was for these men, so is our sorrow for | The famous artist, who has come from them. Yours a child's sorrow, smiling through To paint my portrait. That is not a sin

its tears;

But mine the grief of an impassioned

woman,

Who drank her life up in one draught

of love.

VITTORIA.

Only a vanity.

JULIA.

He painted yours.

VITTORIA.

Do not call up to me those days de

parted

When I was young, and all was bright
And the vicissitudes of life were things
about me,
But to be read of in old histories,
Impossible. Ah, then I dreamed your
Though as pertaining unto me or mine
And now, grown older, I look back and
dreams,

see

Are there no brighter dreams,
No higher aspirations, than the wish
To please and to be pleased?

JULIA.

For you there are: I am no saint; I feel the world we live in

Comes before that which is to be here

after,

And must be dealt with first.

VITTORIA.

But in what way?

JULIA.

Let the soft wind that wafts to us the
odor

Of orange blossoms, let the laughing sea
And the bright sunshine bathing all th
world,
Answer the question.