The night is come—and now to eyes Behold the scarlet curtain rise, Which never novel’s page had read, But history, voyages, instead, With lives of great and virtuous men, Such as a Plutarch loved to pen; For poetry the maid had pleaded, And but enjoyed it—wisely weeded: Little she dreamed, how much less knew, What things Italian play-wrights do! Judge then—to make her entrance easy, The piece was “Norma,” played by Grisi! A Priestess breaking vestal vows, A mother twice—not once a spouse: All frenetic with jealous rage, Which nought but vengeance can assuage, Grasping a keen and murderous dagger, To yon low couch behold her stagger, Where sleep her babes:—but love prevails, The mother stays—the murderess fails! When this dark picture Mary saw She trembled—scarcely dared to draw Her breath—the while Bellini stole With magic witchery through her soul, And tears relieved her; then there came O’er her young brow the blush of shame. Around she timid glanced her eye, But none looked shocked, and none looked shy; Faces, as youthful as her own, Were placid all—nor there were shewn The feelings wakened in _her_ breast, By Norma’s love and shame confessed! The curtain falls—the horror’s o’er, And Mary calmer breathes once more! [Illustration: _The Opera_ _BRISK MUSIC GAYER SCENES ANNOUNCES AND IN A HALF-DRESSED DANSEUSE BOUNCES_ ] Brisk music gayer scenes announces, And in a half-dressed _danseuse_ bounces, With arms that wreathe, and eyes that swim, And drapery that scarce shades each limb, And lip that wears a studied smile, Applauding coxcombs to beguile, As _entre-chat_ or _pirouette_ Doth “_Brava!_” thundered loud, beget. When Mary saw her vault in air, Her snow-white tunic leaving bare Her limbs—and heard that deafening shout Grow louder as she twirled about, With one leg pointing towards the sky As if the gallery to defy; Surprised, and shocked, she turned away, Wondering how women e’er could stay, And thinking men must sure be frantic Who patronised such postures antic; She felt abashed to meet the eye Of every fop that loitered by: And, oh! how rudely did it vex Her fresh, pure heart, to mark her sex Thus outraged, while the noblest came To gaze and revel in their shame. Her troubled look the mother saw, And rose all-pitying, to withdraw, Convinced such shows must pain dispense To one bred up in innocence. But there was one who joyed to see The pure and shrinking modesty Of this fair girl—’twas Deloraine! Ah! stands he at her side again? [Illustration: _The Maiden’s Chamber_ _HERE GAY AND PLACID SPEED THE HOURS AMONG HER MUSIC, BOOKS, AND FLOWERS_ ] Yes, he now knows that there can be No maid more innocent than she; And doth with pitying look survey The bolder damsels—pleased to stay, And watch what makes the indignant blush Warm to his idol’s forehead rush.