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AUX 1TALIENS.
THE POEM OF TII OPERA SEASON.
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When the opera season comes around there Is always a revival of Interest In this poem.
At Paris it was, at the opera there
And she looked like a queen in a book that night,
With the wreath of pearls in her raven hair,
And the brooch on her breast, so bright.
Of all the operas that Verdi wrote,
The best, to my taste, is the "Trovatorei"
And Mario can soothe with a tenor note
The souls in Purgatory.
The moon on the tower slept soft as snow;
And who was thrilled in the strangest way,
As we heard him sing, while the gas burned fow,
"Non ti scordar di me?"
The emperor there, in his box of state,
Looked grave, as if he had just then seen
The red flag wave from the city gate,
Where his eagles in bronze had been.
The empress, too, had a tear in her eye, ;,.
You'd have said that her fancy had gone back again,
For one moment, under the old blue sky,
To the old glad life in Spain.
Well, there in our front-row box we sat
Together, my bride betrothed and Ij
My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat,
And hers on the stage hard by.
And both were silent and both were sad. .
Like a queen she leaned on her full white arm,
With that regal, indolent air she had
So confident of her charml
I have not a doubt she was thinking then
Of her former lord-good soul that he was!
Who died the richest and roundest of men,
The Marquis of Carabas.
I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven,
Through a needle's eye he had not to pass;
I wish him well, for the jointure given
To my lady of Carabas.
Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love,
As I had not been thinking of aught for years,
Till over my eyes there began to move
Something that felt like tears.
1 thought of the dress that she wore last time,
When we stood, 'neath the cypress trees, together,
In that lost land, in the soft clime,
In the crimson evening weathe
Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot),
And her warm wnue new. iu . -
And her fuU soft hair just tied in a knot,
And tailing loose again
And the jasmine flower in her fair young breast
(Oh the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower,)
And the one bird singing alone to his nest,
And the one star over the tower.
I thought of our little quarrels and strife.
And the letter that brought me back my ringr
And it aU seemed then, in the waste of life,
Such a very little thlngl
For I thought of her grave below the hill,
Which the sentinel cypress-tree stand, over.
And I thought. . . ."were she only -living .Ml,
Howl could forgive her and love her!
And I swear, a. I thought of her tbi in that hour
Andof how, after all. old things were best,
That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower
Which she used to wear in her breast.
It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet.
When a mummy is half unroUed.
And I turned and looked. She was sitting there
In a dimbox, over the stage and drest
InthSmusUn dress, withhair,
And that jasmine in her breastl
From my bride betroth'd, with her raven hair,
And her sumptuous, scornful mien.
To my early love, with her eyes down '!
And over her primro.c --"' -f
(In short, from the Future back to the Past) . . .
There was but a step to be madt.
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To my early love from my future bride
One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door.
I traversed the passage and down at her side,
I was sitting, a moment more.
My thinking of her, or the music's strain,
Or something which never will be expre st,
Had brought her back from the grave again,
: i With the jasmine in her breast.
She is not dead, and she Is not wedl '
But she loves me now and she loved me then!
And the very first word that her sweet lips said,
My hear grew youthful again.
rheMar(k'oness there, of Carabas,
She is wealthv, and young, and handsome still
And but for her . . . .well., we'll let that pass.
She may marry whomever she will. :-
But I will marry my own first love, , ; 7
With her primrose face, for old things are fceitl
At the flower in her bosom, I prize It above ' . ,,
The brooch In my lady's breast. , , .
The world Is f iUed with folly and sin, ,
And Love must cling where It can, I iay
For Beauty Is easy enough to wln : ' i
But one Is not loved every day.
a.j t Mntr. in td HvM nf moat women and men,
There's a moment when all would go smooth and even,
If only the dead cou'd tlnd out when
To come back and be forgiven.
But oh, the smell of that jasmine flower!
And oh, that music! and oh, the way
' That voice rang out from the donjon tower,
Non tl scordar dl me,
Non tl scordar dl me!
Owen Meredith.
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WEBER MAN S..
The Maurice Grau Opera Co.. of New JrpiK.nave recmy ,
made arratrgementi whereby the WedkbGbaWd Pianos will be 1
mBaA"...:?.:'i.:i;L uM. . th Mtrnoolitah oners honee in
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used pxciuiiveiy oy meni nv iub w"vi!" -f - - - -i"l
N?w York City: and to all the r concert throughout the United
Sfatee. Thle marked recognition of the merita or the Wbubb
Piano easily place, it above all other pianoa in the moat cultured
Tbrieerafagency for thi. renowned Imtrument la held by
Mattlew Piano Co.
II20 O aitroot, Lincoln, PTotor.
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ADMIRING A PRETTY FOOT
clad in a handsome and perfect fitting
shoe, everyone does that lovee beauty iu
any fern. But whether your foot la
pretty or not, it always looks eo when
the shoe is well shaped and of Hoe ma
terial. We have a superb stock of
ladles' and misses' flco shoes, that sra
made to wear well and fit well, and you
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g erhins,gh.eiaon, & Chamberlain o,
mrvrDC Send The Courier your LEGAL; notices .
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