Page:Literary Souvenir 1831.pdf/5

And a 'broidered banner swept the space,—
She saw it was wrought with the crest of her race!

She saw a noble city arise—
Tower and temple darkened the skies:
Then gallant and stately warriors passed,
Till throne and coronet rose at last.
One chieftain stepped his comrades before,—
He was of her race,—she asked no more.

Calmly she folded her arms on her breast,
As if disdaining the pride she repressed;
Perhaps 't was the mournful midnight that stole
In sadness unwonted over her soul.
Dark the clouds gathered upon the gale,
Whose sound was less of triumph than wail.

Next day, her kinsmen in counsel met—
Deep was the cast on that council set—
And they paused till the lady came to the board,
And her words like the red wine their spirit poured.
"On! on!" she said, "with a dauntless brow,
The star of the Medici's dominant now."

Her spirit passed in its earnest words,
As the harp that breaks from its over-wrought chords.
Her kinsmen went forth in pride and power,
Florence was theirs ere the evening hour;
But the day of triumph was that of doom,
And their war-trumpets rang o'er their Sybil's tomb.
L. E. L.