So Arden enter'd, and thus spoke; the while His restless eye belied his ready smile: "Return'd, I find thy mandate, and attend To hear a mystery, or to serve a friend." "Or front a foe!" A stifled voice replied. O'er Arden's temples flush'd the knightly pride. "What means that word, which jars, not daunts, the ear? I own no foe,--if foe there be, no fear." "Pause and take heed--then with as firm a sound Disdain the danger--when the foe is found! What, if thou had'st a sister, whom the grave To thy sole charge--a sacred orphan--gave-- What, if a traitor had, with mocking vows, Won the warm heart, and woo'd the plighted spouse, Then left--a scoff;--what, if his evil fame, Alone sufficed to blast the virgin name, What--hourly gazing on a life forlorn, Amidst a solitude wall'd round with scorn, Shame at the core--death gnawing at the cheek-- What, from the suitor, would the brother seek?" "Wert _thou_ that brother," with unsteady voice, Arden replied: "not doubtful were thy choice: Were I that Suitor----" "Ay?" "I would prepare To front the vengeance, or--the wrong repair." "Yes"--hiss'd the Indian--"front that mimic strife, That coward's die, which leaves to chance the life; That mockery of all justice, framed to cheat Right of its due--such vengeance thou wouldst meet!-- Be Europe's justice blind and insecure! Stern Ind asks more--her son's revenge is sure! 'Repair the wrong!'--Ay, in the Grave be wed! Hark! the Ghost calls thee to the bridal bed! Come (nay, this once thy hand!)--come!--from the shrine I draw the veil!--Calantha, he is thine! Man, see thy victim!--dust!--Joy--Peace and Fame, } _These_ murder'd first--the blow that smote the frame } Was the most merciful!--at length it came. } Here, by the corpse to which thy steps are led, Beside thee, murderer, stands the brother of the Dead!" Brave was Lord Arden--brave as ever be Thor's northern sons--the Island Chivalry; But in that hour strange terror froze his blood, Those fierce eyes mark'd him shiver as he stood; But oh! more awful than the living foe That frown'd beside--the Dead that smiled below! That smile which greets the shadow-peopled shore, Which says to Sorrow--"Thou canst wound no more!" Which says to Love that would rejoin--"Await!" Which says to Wrong that would redeem--"Too late!" That lingering halo of our closing skies Cold with the sunset never more to rise!