VI.

I curled and combed his comely head,
He looked so grand when he was dead.

The wind is blowing in turret and tree.

I wrapt his body in the sheet,

And laid him at his mother's feet.

VOL. I.

O the Earl was fair to see!

TO

WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM.

1 SEND you here a sort of allegory,
(For you will understand it,) of a soul,
A sinful soul possessed of many gifts,
A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,
A glorious Devil, large in heart and brain,
That did love Beauty only, (Beauty seen
In all varieties of mould and mind,)

And Knowledge for its beauty; or if Good,
Good only for its beauty, seeing not

That Beauty, Good, and Knowledge, are three sisters
That dote upon each other, friends to man,

Living together under the same roof,

And never can be sundered without tears.

And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be
Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie
Howling in outer darkness. Not for this
Was common clay ta'en from the common earth,
Moulded by God, and tempered with the tears
Of angels to the perfect shape of man.

THE PALACE OF ART.

I BUILT my soul a lordly pleasure-house,
Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.

I said, "O Soul, make merry and carouse,
Dear soul, for all is well."

A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnished brass,
I chose. The ranged ramparts bright
From level meadow-bases of deep grass

Suddenly scaled the light.

Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf
The rock rose clear, or winding stair.
My soul would live alone unto herself
In her high palace there.

And "while the world runs round and round," I said.

'Reign thou apart, a quiet king,

Still as, while Saturn whirls, his steadfast shade

Sleeps on his luminous ring."

To which

my soul made answer readily:

"Trust me, in bliss I shall abide

In this great mansion, that is built for me,

So royal-rich and wide."

Four courts I made, East and West, South and North,

In each a squared lawn, wherefrom

The golden gorge of dragons spouted forth

A flood of fountain-foam.

And round the cool green courts there ran a row
Of cloisters, branched like mighty woods,

Echoing all night to that sonorous flow

Of spouted fountain-floods.

And round the roofs a gilded gallery

That lent broad verge to distant lands, Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky Dipt down to sea and sands.

From those four jets four currents in one swell
Across the mountain streamed below
In misty folds, that floating as they fell
Lit up a torrent-blow.

And high on every peak a statue seemed
To hang on tiptoe, tossing up

A cloud of incense of all odor steamed
From out a golden cup.

So that she thought, " And who shall gaze upon
My palace with unblinded eyes,

While this great bow will waver in the sun,
And that sweet incense rise?"

For that sweet incense rose and never failed,
And, while day sank or mounted higher,
The light aërial gallery, golden-railed,

Burnt like a fringe of fire.