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I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows ;
Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses ;
I loiter round my cresses ;
To join the brimming river,
But I go on forever.
Yes, men may come and go; and these are gone,
So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a stile
farm ? ”_ “ Yes," answer'd she.—“ Pray stay a little: pardon
· What do they call you ?”—“Katie.”—“ That were
strange. What surname ? ”_“ Willows.”—“ No!”_" That
is my name.”— 6 Indeed !” and here he look'd so self-perplext, That Katie laugh’d, and laughing blush’d, till he Laugh'd also, but as one before he wakes, Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream. Then looking at her; « Too happy, fresh and fair, Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom, To be the ghost of one who bore your name About these meadows, twenty years ago.”
“ Have you not heard ?” said Katie, “we came
STILL on the tower stood the vane,
A black yew gloom'd the stagnant air, I peer'd athwart the chancel pane
And saw the altar cold and bare. A clog of lead was round my feet,
A band of pain across my brow; “ Cold altar, Heaven and earth shall meet Before you hear my marriage vow.”
2. I turn'd and humm’d a bitter song
That mock'd the wholesome human heart, And then we met in wrath and wrong,
We met, but only meant to part. Full cold my greeting was and dry;
She faintly smiled, she hardly moved ; I saw with half-unconscious eye
She wore the colors I approved.
She took the little ivory chest,
With half a sigh she turn'd the key, Then raised her head with lips comprest,
And gave my letters back to me. And gave the trinkets and the rings,
My gifts, when gifts of mine could please ; As looks a father on the things Of his dead son, I look'd on these.
4. She told me all her friends had said ;
I raged against the public liar;
But in my words were seeds of fire.
“No more of love ; your sex is known :
I never will be twice deceived.
(And women's slander is the worst),
Thro' you, my life will be accurst."
I shook her breast with vague alarms
We rush'd into each other's arms.
We parted: sweetly gleam'd the stars,
And sweet the vapor-braided blue,
As homeward by the church I drew.
So fresh they rose in shadow'd swells;
There comes a sound of marriage bells.”
ODE ON THE DEATH
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
BURY the Great Duke
With an empire's lamentation, Let us bury the Great Duke
To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation,
Mourning when their leaders fall,
Lead out the pageant: sad and slow,
The statesman-warrior, moderate, resolute,