ISABEL. I EYES not down-dropt nor over bright, but fed With the clear-pointed flame of chas ity, Clear, without heat, undying, tended by Pure vestal thoughts in the trans lucent fane Of her still spirit; locks not widedispread, Madonna-wise on either side her head; Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign The summer calm of golden charity, Were fixed shadows of thy fixed mood, Revered Isabel, the crown and head, The stately flower of female fortitude, Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead. 11. The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged intellect to part Error from crime; a prudence to withhold; The laws of marriage character'd in gold Upon the blanched tablets of her heart; A love still burning upward, giving light To read those laws; an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, tho' undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride; A courage to endure and to obey ; A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, ⚫ Mariana in the moated grange.' WITH blackest moss the flower-plots That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange: Unlifted was the clinking latch; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, 'My life is dreary, She said, 'I am aweary, aweary, About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark: For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding gray. She only said, 'My life is dreary, Thro' light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change. Then in madness and in bliss, A sudden-curved frown. II. Smiling, frowning, evermore, Of wealthy smiles: but who may know Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Thy smile and frown are not aloof Each to each is dearest brother; All the mystery is thine; Smiling, frowning, evermore, SONG-THE OWL. I. WHEN cats run home and light is come, And the far-off stream is dumb, II. When merry milkmaids click the latch, Twice or thrice his roundelay, Alone and warming his five wits, |