And, ah! let it never

Be foolishly said,

That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed;
For man never slept

In a different bed

And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed.

IX.

My tantalised spirit

Here blandly reposes,

Forgetting, or never

Regretting, its roses

Its old agitations

Of myrtles and roses :

X.

For now, while so quietly

Lying, it fancies

A holier odour

About it, of pansies

A rosemary odour,

Commingled with pansies

With rue and the beautiful

Puritan pansies.

XI.

And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many

A dream of the truth

And the beauty of AnnieDrowned in a bath

Of the tresses of Annie.

XII.

She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,

And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breast

Deeply to sleep

From the heaven of her breast.

XIII.

When the light was extinguished,

She covered me warm,

And she prayed to the angels

To keep me from harmTo the queen of the angels To shield me from harm.

XIV.

And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed
(Knowing her love),

That you fancy me dead;

And I rest so contentedly

Now in my bed

(With her love at my breast),

That you fancy me dead-That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead.

Than all of the many

Stars in the sky,

For it sparkles with Annie

It glows with the light

Of the love of my AnnieWith the thought of the light eyes of my Annie.

Of the

ROME.-A Hall in a Palace. ALESSANDRA and CASTIGLIONE.

Alessandra. Thou art sad, Castiglione.

Castiglione.

Sad-not I.

Oh, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome!
A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra,
Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy!

* "Politian' was a juvenile production, and is the least meritorious work Poe has left.-ED.

Aless. Methinks thou hast a singular way of

showing

Thy happiness! What ails thee, cousin of mine?

Why didst thou sigh so deeply?

Cas.

Did I sigh?

I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion,

A silly-a most silly fashion, I have

When I am very happy.

Aless. Thou didst.

hast indulged

Did I sigh? (Sighing.)

Thou art not well. Thou

Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it.
Late hours and wine, Castiglione,-these
Will ruin thee! Thou art already altered—
Thy looks are haggard: nothing so wears away
The constitution as late hours and wine.

Cas. (musing.) Nothing, fair cousin, nothing—not even deep sorrow

Wears it away like evil hours and wine.

I will amend.

Aless.

Do it! I would have thee drop

Thy riotous company, too-fellows low born
Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio's heir

And Alessandra's husband.

Cas.

I will drop them.

Aless. Thou wilt- thou must. Attend thou also

more

To thy dress and equipage, they are over-plain