Yet every trace of man reveals alone,
That there life once hath flourish’d—and is gone.
There, till around them slowly, softly stealing,
The summer air, deceit in every sigh,
Came fraught with death, its power no sign revealing,
Thy sires, Pietra, dwelt in days gone by;
And strains of mirth and melody have flow’d
Where stands, all voiceless now, the still abode.
And thither doth her Lord remorseless bear
Bianca with her child. His alter’d eye