many had been the attempts to gain the hand of Zara, but it was handmaid to her heart. She, not having entered into the gates of pride, of pomp, and empty gorgeousness, as the rest of her family, overlooked the possessors of mines, of armies, and of kingdoms; and although she was diligent in her search, she never could find a good and sound heart amongst all this greatness; and consequently no reciprocal feelings with her own. Many noble qualities were possessed by some who sought her bed; but something was wanting that left her heart untouched. Fair time, however, was before her, for she was but just a woman; and her beauty was indeed a glowing summer that cometh after the spring.
It chanced that Zara passed a mausoleum where they were burying the dead; and as her breast was always open to powerful excitement, she delayed her suite, and went alone to the door of the sepulchre; here she sat herself on a stone, by a pillar; and sighing, she began the painful office of noticing the feelings of those who mourned. One figure, the peculiar beauty and power of which was subdued by inward sorrow to a declining tenderness, engrossed her wholly. Her interest waxed great, and her heart soft; but when his gentle hand removed
