cast

Of those dead lineäments that near thee lie?

O sorrowest thou, pale Painter, for the past,

In painting some dead friend from memory?

Weep on beyond his object Love can last:

His object lives: more cause to weep have I:

My tears, no tears of love, are flowing fast,

No tears of love, but tears that Love can die.

I pledge her not in any cheerful cup, Nor care to sit beside her where she sits

Ah pity-hint it not in human tones,

But breathe it into earth and close it

To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.

THE POET'S SONG.

THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street.

A light wind blew from the gates of the

SONG.

LADY, let the rolling drums Beat to battle where thy warrior stands Now thy face across his fancy comes, And gives the battle to his hands.

Lady, let the trumpets blow, Clasp thy little babes about thy knee: Now their warrior father meets the foe And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

SONG.

HOME they brought him slain with spears.

They brought him home at even-fall: All alone she sits and hears Echoes in his empty hall,

Sounding on the morrow.

The Sun peep'd in from open field,
The boy began to leap and prance,
Rode upon his father's lance,
Beat upon his father's shield-

"O hush, my joy, my sorrow."

XV.

Thim 's my noätions, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick ;

But if thou marries a bad un, I'll leäve the land to Dick.

Coom oop, proputty, proputty-that's what I 'ears 'im saäy

Proputty, proputty, proputtv-cante: an' canter awaäy.

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

[This poem is founded upon a story in Boccaccio.

A young lover, Julian, whose cousin and fos ter-sister, Camilla, has been wedded to his friend and rival, Lionel, endeavors to narrate the story of his own love for her and the strange sequel of it. He speaks of having been haunted in delirium by visions and the sound of bells, sometimes tolling for a funeral, and at last ringing for a marriage; but he breaks away, overcome, as he approaches the Event, and a witness to it completes the tale.]

HE flies the event: he leaves the event to me:

Poor Julian-how he rush'd away; tho bells,

Those marriage-bells, echoing in car and heart

But cast a parting glance at me, you saw,

As who should say "continue." Well, he had

One golden hour-of triumph shall I say?

Solace at least-before he left his home. Would you had seen him in that hour

"He casts me out," she wept, "and goes -a wail

That seeming something, yet was nothing, born

Not from believing mind, but shatter'd nerve,

Yet haunting Julian, as her own reproof

At some precipitance in her burial. Then, when her own true spirit had return'd,

"Oyes, and you," she said, "and none but you.

For you have given me life and love again,

And none but you yourself shall tell him of it,

And you shall give me back when he

returns."

And all the house had known the loves of both;

Had died almost to serve them any way,

And all the land was waste and solitary:

And then he rode away; but after this,

An hour or two, Camilla's travail came Upon her, and that day a boy was born, Heir of his face and land, to Lionel.

And thus our lonely lover rode away,

And pausing at a hostel in a marsh, There fever seized upon him: myself was then

Travelling that land, and meant to rest an hour;

And sitting down to such a base repast,

It makes me angry yet to speak of itI heard a groaning overhead, and climb'd

The moulder'd stairs (for everything was vile)

And in a loft, with none to wait on him,

Found, as it seem'l, a skeleton alone, Raving of dead men's dust and beating hearts.