Count Julio.
151
And she went writhing home, to weep, to loathe
The sordid parent who had brought this blight
Upon the joyous promise of her youth.
It was the still noon of a summer night,
When the young countess from her father's roof
Fled, with a noble of the Roman court!
Morn came, and through the empty corridors,
The balconies, the gardens, the wide halls,
In vain they sought her. Noon passed by, and then
The truth was guessed, not spoken. Silently
Count Julio trod the marble staircases,
And pausing by the door that once was hers,
Stood a brief moment, and then, pressing on,
Stepped through the quiet chamber. All was still,
Bearing no traces of her recent flight.
Here lay a slipper, here a silken robe,
And here a lute thrown down, with a white glove
Flung carelessly beside it. Still the air
Breathed of the delicate perfumes she had loved!
The sordid parent who had brought this blight
Upon the joyous promise of her youth.
It was the still noon of a summer night,
When the young countess from her father's roof
Fled, with a noble of the Roman court!
Morn came, and through the empty corridors,
The balconies, the gardens, the wide halls,
In vain they sought her. Noon passed by, and then
The truth was guessed, not spoken. Silently
Count Julio trod the marble staircases,
And pausing by the door that once was hers,
Stood a brief moment, and then, pressing on,
Stepped through the quiet chamber. All was still,
Bearing no traces of her recent flight.
Here lay a slipper, here a silken robe,
And here a lute thrown down, with a white glove
Flung carelessly beside it. Still the air
Breathed of the delicate perfumes she had loved!
He glanced but once around the silent room,
Then from the mirrored and silk-draperied walls
Then from the mirrored and silk-draperied walls
