The stars came out; and, one by one,
Each angel from his silver throne

Looked down and saw what I had done:

I dared not hide me, Rosaline !

I crouched; I feared thy corpse would cry
Against me to God's quiet sky,
I thought I saw the blue lips try
To utter something, Rosaline!

I waited with a maddened grin
To hear that voice all icy thin
Slide forth and tell my deadly sin
To hell and heaven, Rosaline!

But no voice came, and then it seemed,
That, if the very corpse had screamed,
The sound like sunshine glad had streamed
Through that dark stillness, Rosaline!

Dreams of old quiet glimmered by,

And faces loved in infancy

Came and looked on me mournfully,

Till my heart melted, Rosaline!

I saw my mother's dying bed,

I heard her bless me, and I shed

Cool tears, but, lo! the ghastly dead

Stared me to madness, Rosaline !

And then, amid the silent night,
I screamed with horrible delight,
And in my brain an awful light
Did seem to crackle, Rosaline!
It is my curse! sweet memories fall
From me like snow, and only all

Of that one night, like cold worms, crawl My doomed heart over, Rosaline !

Thine eyes are shut they never more

:

Will leap thy gentle words before

To tell the secret o'er and o'er

Thou couldst not smother, Rosaline !

Thine eyes are shut; they will not shine

With happy tears, or, through the vine That hid thy casement, beam on mine, Sunful with gladness, Rosaline!

Thy voice I never more shall hear,
Which in old times did seem so dear,

That, ere it trembled in mine ear,
My quick heart heard it, Rosaline!
Would I might die! I were as well,
Ay, better, at my home in hell,
To set for aye a burning spell

'Twixt me and memory, Rosaline!

Why wilt thou haunt me with thine eyes,

Wherein such blessed memories,

Such pitying forgiveness lies,

Than hate more bitter, Rosaline ?

Woe 's me! I know that love so high

As thine, true soul, could never die,

And with mean clay in churchyard lie, — Would it might be so, Rosaline!

ALLEGRA.

I WOULD more natures were like thine, That never casts a glance before, — Thou Hebe, who thy heart's bright wine So lavishly to all dost pour,

That we who drink forget to pine,

And can but dream of bliss in store.

Thou canst not see a shade in life;

With sunward instinct thou dost rise,

And, leaving clouds below at strife,

Gazest undazzled at the skies, With all their blazing splendors rife, A songful lark with eagle's eyes.

Thou wast some foundling whom the Hours Nursed, laughing, with the milk of Mirth; Some influence more gay than ours

Hath ruled thy nature from its birth,

As if thy natal-stars were flowers

That shook their seeds round thee on earth.

And thou, to lull thine infant rest,

Wast cradled like an Indian child;
All pleasant winds from south and west
With lullabies thine ears beguiled,

Rocking thee in thine oriole's nest,
Till Nature looked at thee and smiled.

Thine every fancy seems to borrow
A sunlight from thy childish years,
Making a golden cloud of sorrow,

A hope-lit rainbow out of tears, -
Thy heart is certain of to-morrow,
Though 'yond to-day it never peers.