As with the plaintive tones of those that weep,
And I am sad, while Spring her festival doth keep.
UGOLINO,
A TALE OF FLORENCE.
———
BY M. TOPHAM EVANS.
———
I.
“Dark as the mouth of Acheron, and the rain seems inclined to warrant a second deluge,” grumbled a rough voice, proceeding from one of the dark alleys which branched out from the Porta san Piero.