DIDIER. You love me? Beware, nor with light lips utter that word. You love me!--know you what it is to love With love that is the life-blood in one's veins, The vital air we breathe, a love long-smothered, Smouldering in silence, kindling, burning, blazing, And purifying in its growth the soul. A love that from the heart eats every passion But its sole self; love without hope or limit, Deep love that will outlast all happiness; Speak, speak; is such the love you bear me? MARION. Truly. DIDIER. Ha! but you do not know how I love you! The day that first I saw you, the dark world Grew shining, for your eyes lighted my gloom. Since then, all things have changed; to me you are Some brightest, unknown creature from the skies. This irksome life, 'gainst which my heart rebelled, Seems almost fair and pleasant; for, alas! Till I knew you wandering, alone, oppressed, I wept and struggled, I had never loved. FANNY KEMBLE-BUTLER. THE FIRST BLACK FLAG. _("Avez-vous oui dire?")_ [LES BURGRAVES, Part I., March, 1843.] JOB. Hast thou ne'er heard men say That, in the Black Wood, 'twixt Cologne and Spire, Upon a rock flanked by the towering mountains, A castle stands, renowned among all castles? And in this fort, on piles of lava built, A burgrave dwells, among all burgraves famed? Hast heard of this wild man who laughs at laws-- Charged with a thousand crimes--for warlike deeds Renowned--and placed under the Empire's ban By the Diet of Frankfort; by the Council Of Pisa banished from the Holy Church; Reprobate, isolated, cursed--yet still Unconquered 'mid his mountains and in will; The bitter foe of the Count Palatine And Treves' proud archbishop; who has spurned For sixty years the ladder which the Empire Upreared to scale his walls? Hast heard that he Shelters the brave--the flaunting rich man strips-- Of master makes a slave? That here, above All dukes, aye, kings, eke emperors--in the eyes Of Germany to their fierce strife a prey, He rears upon his tower, in stern defiance, A signal of appeal to the crushed people, A banner vast, of Sorrow's sable hue, Snapped by the tempest in its whirlwind wrath, So that kings quiver as the jades at whips? Hast heard, he touches now his hundredth year-- And that, defying fate, in face of heaven, On his invincible peak, no force of war Uprooting other holds--nor powerful Cæsar-- Nor Rome--nor age, that bows the pride of man-- Nor aught on earth--hath vanquished, or subdued, Or bent this ancient Titan of the Rhine, The excommunicated Job? _Democratic Review_. THE SON IN OLD AGE. _("Ma Regina, cette noble figure.")_ [LES BURGRAVES, Part II.]