Sulpizia's eyes were closed. I crossed
her hands upon her breast. I touched my brother--he started a
moment--looked at me, at his wife, and sunk slowly, senseless by the
couch."
VI.
Think of it! The birds sing--the sun shines--the leaves rustle--the
flowers bud and bloom--children shout--young hearts are happy--the world
wheels on--and such tragedies are, and always have been!
I sat with the old Marchesa upon her balcony, and listened to this
terrible tale. She tells it no more, for she is gone now. The Marchesa
tells it no more, but Venice tells it still; and as you glide in your
black gondola along the canal, under the balconies, in the full moonlight
of summer nights, listen and listen; and vaguely in your heart or in your
fancy you will hear the tragic strain.
THE TORTURE CHAMBER.
BY WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.
Down the broad, imperial Danube,
As its wandering waters guide,
Past the mountains and the meadows,
Winding with the stream, we glide.
RATISBON we leave behind us,
Where the spires and gables throng,
And the huge cathedral rises,
Like a fortress, vast and strong.
Close beside it, stands the Town-Hall,
With its massive tower, alone,
Brooding o'er the dismal secret,
Hidden in its heart of stone.
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